by Mary Deal
“No, the doctor called Hazel as soon as he knew. Hazel was just as surprised.”
“Then let's hope she's out looking for him.”
“Yeah, sure.” He didn't sound that hopeful. Fortunately, all the drawers in Joe's desk were closed. Otherwise he'd have slammed a few. He paced in front of the view window and looked out. The bright sunlight streaming in accentuated his worry wrinkles. He looked tired.
Abi reminded him of a truth. “I don't think the authorities care at this point.”
“I know, I know. But a nurse reported seeing three slacky looking guys on the same floor of the hospital.”
“Oh, no. Dreggars, you think? Would they be so bold?” It was unfortunate that a guard had not been assigned to Yates's hospital room.
“Britto said no one knew those guys and they disappeared when someone tried to talk to them.”
“I don't like the sound of that.”
“I hear you. Britto may have been right about a gangland undercurrent in this whole thing. Yates could be running from those punks.”
That evening, they couldn't wait any longer. She and Joe jumped into the Range Rover and drove to Hazel's house in Creighton. Hazel had been crying but stepped outside under the dusky porch light and hugged Abi. “I'm so sorry, after all ya' done.” Her eyes were puffy. She meant it sincerely.
“Getting his sight back could be traumatic for him.”
“Taint no reason for lettin' a body down.”
Abi tried to smile sympathetically. “Do you have any idea where he might go?”
“Been too long, too much booze.” She threw up her hands. “He don't know nobody no more and Creighton's all changed.”
If Yates was dying for a drink, he might have headed for the nearest bar. Abi looked across the street. “What about—“
“He ain't over there. I checked. Ever since I got home.” She gestured to the front of the house, “I been a-sitting in the window watching.”
The only thing they could hope for was that Yates was out enjoying his restored sight and would return when he came to his senses about needing some rest. Hopefully it would be in the next few hours.
“Would you call us? Please?”
Hazel nodded. Abi wrote her cell phone number on a business card and handed it to her.
Hazel examined the card. “I just don't understand. You go and give him back his life—in exchange for your daughter's—and he just ups and quits on ya'.”
Unable to hold back anger and disappointment, Abi inserted a nitro tablet under her tongue when Joe walked to the other side of the vehicle and couldn't see.
Joe called Det. Britto and Joe's side of the conversation sounded no more encouraging. He hung up and took a deep breath. “The whole PD's on alert.”
It would probably serve no purpose for her and Joe to drive around looking for a drunk. He left the hospital without telling anyone which probably meant he didn't wish to be found. Still, Joe zigzagged his way across Creighton concentrating on the area of cheap bars and clubs, looking for anyone who even remotely resembled Yates.
“This is futile, Joe. By now, he's found a dive somewhere and is swimming in a bottle.”
Then a newscaster on the car radio said there had been a rumor that the Supreme Court might be able to review the Winnaker case sooner than expected. “What this means…” Abi turned up the volume. “…is that Winnaker could win a new trial, or tragically, be headed for lethal injection earlier than expected, before the holidays. More on this as we receive updates.”
“How cruel! Before the holidays? I want Christmas with Becky!”
“And you'll have it. You'll have Christmases with Becky Ann for years to come.”
“Not if—”
“Abigail!”
“I can't help myself. We've got to do more.”
Joe pounded a fist against the steering wheel. “I'll tell you what we're doing next.” He sounded more like issuing a warning. “We're going to find out more about those other two, Dara and Sling.”
The media crews heeded Det. Britto's warning and stayed away from Abi's home. Surely they had other breaking news to cover. Besides, when she drove into her garage and tapped the remote to drop the door, the persistent cameramen knew better than to get caught inside. They stayed away from Joe's house all together. Not just because he had a long front yard with tall maples and evergreen hedges that hid the house somewhat but also because many of those reporters were his acquaintances.
Every news program had something more to say about the Winnaker case, as they still called it. Regular shows were often interrupted with news bulletins each time the media thought they had a new tidbit of information the public needed to hear. Information about Becky and Preston's birth certificates had been talked to death. More attention was being attributed to the Dregs. Recently, the media aired information about Stan Yates's surgery and showed old snippets of the coverage of his house fire and the court case when he testified. Through it all, they made it sound like Abi's involvement might break the case wide open. Then, if anyone missed the TV new reports, they could always find them printed on the front pages of every newspaper along the coast.
When she and Joe finally arrived at her home, they were exhausted. They went to bed immediately, anticipating an early morning visit to Det. Britto's office to learn more about the two people whose names kept popping up like subliminal reminders which are never heeded soon enough.
Just as Abi was falling asleep, several motorcycles rumbled noisily down the street and woke her. She detested their disturbances and now loathed them even more. She pulled the covers over her head. As soon as she fell asleep, she was jarred awake again by the blaring intermittent wail of the smoke alarm.
“Abi!” Joe was choking but ripped the covers away. “Fire, Abi! The house is on fire!” Then all the sprinklers let loose.
Chapter 34
Joe tried to scoop Abi up in his arms, but she jumped up grabbing her bathrobe from the foot of the bed. It was already sopping wet. “What the hell?” She ran out onto the landing with Joe behind her. They choked on smoke billowing up from the floor below. She pressed the wet robe over her nose and mouth and Joe grabbed up a sleeve and pressed it to his face. They were already drenched and noxious fumes and smoke swirled around them as they fought to breathe.
In the eerie flickering illumination, crumpled waterlogged newspaper littered the staircase all the way up. With fire creeping up the stairs, the peach colored carpet glowed flame-orange and hissed and popped in protest of the sopping mess. The walls and other areas not reached by the sprinklers were ablaze. Water from the sprinklers squirted jets in a wide circular pattern. Flames licked and crackled in any area where they caught hold. Walls and ceilings began to explode. They could be trapped on the landing.
Joe pulled her away from the staircase and yelled through the bathrobe. “Not that way!”
Abi headed for Becky's art room but pointed, directing Joe's attention to the other bedroom screaming. “The ladder… in the closet!”
Joe quickly retrieved the rolled up rope ladder and burst in where Abi was as she ripped framed art off the walls. She threw them in a heap on her bathrobe, which lay spread out in the middle of the room.
“What the…?” He slammed the door shut.
“Becky's art. We've got to save it.”
Joe yanked a wet throw rug sending an easel flying. He crammed the rug hard under the door and yelled over the crackling of the fire and hiss of the water jets. “There's no time for that!” Both choked and spit water. The glow of flames from the front windows below them lit up the outside of the art room. Joe opened the side window and released the screen, attached the ladder to the sill and let it unroll outside. “C'mon! Leave that!”
“It's all I've got to help her get her memory back.” Abi screamed as she continued throwing small, framed pictures onto the pile. Glass shattered in some of the frames. She remembered the lump of clay and threw it onto the pile. With water pouring over her and through her
matted hair, she began to wrap the robe into a knot. Joe put his hands above his eyes to divert the stream of water then stepped in quickly to tie the sleeves tightly around the sopping mass and awkwardly carried it to the window.
“Throw it!” She held up the screen. He hesitated. “Throw it! Let 'em break. I don't care about the frames.”
He tossed as hard as he could and the mass landed with the sound of shattering glass. Joe helped her through the window and out onto the ladder. Her hands and feet were slippery. The drenched nightgown stuck to her body and prevented much leg movement. Suddenly she lost her footing and screamed out as she hung on by a hand.
Joe leaned out the window and grabbed her flailing arm and helped her steady herself while she regained a foothold. She tugged at her wet, sticking gown to raise it above her knees so as not to impede her climbing down.
“They're here!” Someone on the lawn screamed to others. “Over here.” A neighbor kept water from a garden hose trained on the first floor windowpane below them as they descended. They made it past the window to the ground and dragged the bathrobe and its contents clear of the house just as the rear side windowpanes exploded. Orange flames and white smoke belched horrifically. Neighbors were already soaking down the sides of their own homes and the Yarwood Sycamores and Live Oaks in Abi's yards.
Sirens, bells, blast horns and flashing lights announced the arrival of fire trucks. Firefighters began breaking out equipment. Joe directed the paramedic truck to stop near them in the neighbor's driveway. Paramedics pulled down trauma kits and blankets. Joe stood wearing only his sopping under shorts. He accepted a dry blanket and wrapped it around Abi, then threw another over his shoulders. Police cars arrived and officers began blocking off the street. Neighbors in bathrobes poured out of surrounding homes.
A fireman asked, yelling through cupped hands. “Anyone else in there?”
“Just us.” Joe yelled back as he stooped down beside Abi on the grass near the bathrobe and art debris.
A neighbor stepped forward. “She needs help.”
“You hurt, lady?”
“Her medicine.” The neighbor stood wringing her hands. “I'll bet she didn't have time to get her nitro.”
“I've got it. I've got it!” Joe unclenched a fist that held the bottle. He, too, seemed surprised to have it.
Abi leaned against him as paramedics took her vitals. Soon, her palpitations calmed. “Joe, my savior.”
“We're safe.” Joe held her and lovingly wiped hair back from her face. “Tell your heart to stay strong.”
A firefighter yelled from halfway across the lawn. “You got vehicles in the garage?” Someone had inserted a probe down the window slot of the Range Rover and opened the door. A couple of firemen rolled it to a safe spot across the street.
Abi's next-door neighbor appeared with a set of spare keys to her house that they had exchanged back when Abi moved in. “Her car's in there.” She passed the keys to a fireman.
They got the garage opened and two others pushed Abi's small BMW across the street into a neighbor's driveway. Just as they came back across the street, the inside door in Abi's garage adjoining the entry foyer exploded and flames belched out. Someone handed Joe a bathrobe, which he slipped into, then added his blanket around Abi.
On a fireman's instruction to clear the area, Joe dragged the shattered artwork across the neighbors' driveway and onto their front lawn. The torn bathrobe pulled further apart leaving a trail of glass shards and pieces of wooden frames.
They could only stare as the flames hissed and popped against the deluge of water. Nighttime fog had been pushed back. The late May winds painted the sky with the feverish glow of cinders and blew them against neighboring homes. From the back of the house came the sound of glass breaking and falling to the ground as firefighters smashed the upstairs windows to attack the fire from within.
Brilliant red-orange flames licked out of the lower windows, gobbling up the comfortable place Abi called home. The entire lower floor became engulfed before the sprinklers and fire hoses gained control. Smoke billowed out of the upstairs window through which they had escaped.
A dark sedan screeched to a halt nearby. Det. Britto jumped out and ran toward them. He called out and waved to someone else. “Hey, Pierce! Still on the job, eh?”
“Knocking 'em down.” The fireman yelled over the noise.
Det. Britto joined them and Pierce walked over.
Though he wore slacks, Det. Britto wore bedroom slippers and a sports coat over his pajama shirt. He bent down and put an arm around Abi's shoulders. “You okay?”
“Yes, but what are you doing here?” She smiled to show her appreciation.
“Guess I beat our guys, huh?”
“Your guys?”
“Yeah, the PD's investigators.” A few more cars braked noisily to a stop. “That's them.”
“Police investigators at a fire?”
“Yes, ma'am. Especially when there's dirty work suspected.” He stood again.
A couple of stringers arrived, filming for Top O' The Hour News, as Joe sometimes did.
“How'd you know, Britto?”
“My scanner. The minute I heard this address, I knew all I needed to.”
“You folks live here?” Pierce leaned in close to be heard.
“Yeah.” Joe nodded toward the fire. “That's Abi's house.”
The fireman curiously eyed the tattered robe and the glint of fragmented glass that left a scattered trail across the lawn. “What's this?”
Abi leaned over the soggy bathrobe and picked out some of the ruined pictures. “My daughters art.” The fireman wouldn't understand and she wasn't about to explain.
“Her daughter has amnesia. These might help her regain her memory.”
“Oh, I see.” Pierce looked toward the house, mumbled something to himself about the artwork and then nodded slowly and then bent over to look at some of the art. Then he looked straight into Abi's eyes. “I know who you are. It's all over the news. That's why the media hounds are here.”
Joe jerked his head in the direction of the newsmen. “Unfortunately.”
“Abi, Joe, this is….” Det. Britto paused to look at the fireman's insignia. “Hey, you're moving up. Captain Jack Pierce.” Pierce offered his hand and then Det. Britto, again, turned to Abi and Joe. “Pierce was a rookie at the Yates fire.”
As the men talked, Abi gingerly pulled additional pieces of artwork and photos from the pile of debris. Some of them were beyond saving but she gathered them anyway. A neighbor went to find dry binders in which to store them. Blood trickled from cuts on Abi's hands. Then she saw it. Among the broken frames and glass lay the water-soaked lump of clay. She tried to pick it up and it crumbled between her fingertips. She could only sit and stare as if seeing her life disintegrating.
After a long moment of silence and watching the flames, Det. Britto finally spoke. “Believe me. I'm relieved that you two got out of this.” Light from the flames played over his smug grin. He studied the scenario as if enjoying the occasion. “Slower than an arsonist's failure.” He kept shaking his head.
“What's that, Britto?”
“Strange.” He still smirked, shaking his head. “Strange how something so right can come out of something so wrong.”
Chapter 35
The next day, Det. Britto walked into the room. “That fire was just too, too coincidental. You, my dear, did a very foolish thing.”
Abi flashed a warning glance that told him she would do the same thing over again if need be. Her bandaged hands rested on pillows. A cardiac machine monitored her vital signs. She had not been sent to the Intensive Care Unit and that was a relief.
“She'd give her life for her daughter.” Joe sat beside her on the edge of the bed, a few Band-Aids on his hands and wrists as well.
“Foolish, that's all I've got to say.”
Joe almost laughed. “No, I was the foolish one. I forgot my pants.”
Det. Britto laughed heartily. “With all
that water and what little you had on stuck to your skin, your neighbors must have considered you the encore.”
Joe chuckled. “So have they learned anything?”
“Investigation's ongoing. This one we know is arson.”
“That would make it look like I planned the whole thing.”
“Why is that, ma'am?”
“I took out a second mortgage to finance Yates's eye surgery.” Still, her store profits were booming and she would soon be able to pay it off.
Det. Britto's mouth hung agape. “Tell me you didn't.”
Joe took her hand. “Stubborn is what she is. I could have paid for—”
“We've been through that, Joe.”
“This doesn't look good.” The detective stood shaking his head. “Not at all.”
“But I had nothing to do with the fire.”
“I'm sure you didn't. In fact, it's my opinion that this is definitely related to your daughter's case. But right now, all we got here is an arson and what others would call a sure fire motive.” Realizing his pun, he seemed embarrassed.
“What motive?”
“Can't the PD put the pieces together? I mean, here's this woman who's trying to prevent an innocent person from being put to death. Then surprising details come to light, details the real perpetrators would rather no one knew.”
“I get your drift, Arno, but the MO is different from the Yates fire. They got into your house, ma'am. Someone actually entered and spread crumpled newspapers to quicken the flames, while you two slept.”
“That's the scary part.” Abi grimaced at the thought.
“The investigators are going to ask how you two never heard anything.”
“Wait, Det. Britto.” Abi told him about the motorcycles that passed by during the night. Any information could be a clue.
“The Dregs, Britto. Do you think it could have been Dreggers?”
“Is the sound of motorcycles something you wouldn't normally hear in your neighborhood?”
“Well, no. That is, two teenage brothers a few blocks away recently got new motorcycles.”
“Do they sound the same as the ones you heard last night?”
