False Friend

by Andrew Grant

  “I knew right away I was witnessing something special,” Mr. Ford told this reporter after making his call to 911. “The majesty with which the fire spread told me that this was no accidental blaze. It had to be intentional. The work of an expert. No. An artist. Someone with a level of skill and vision, combined with an exceptional degree of technical brilliance, the like of which has never been seen in the United States before. In fact, if you think about it, to have such a genius living and working right here in Birmingham is a pretty amazing privilege!”

  Chapter Four

  Saturday. Afternoon.

  The address Lieutenant Hale had given Devereaux was in Homewood, coincidently not too far from Alexandra’s house. On their way to the theater Devereaux had noticed the traffic backing up, as usual, on the Red Mountain Expressway so he started out using 20th Street and Highland Avenue to bypass the worst of it. He thought he’d made good time but when he reached the house on Yorkshire Drive he saw that Tommy Garretty’s car was already parked outside. That was the way it went with Garretty. He was taller than Devereaux. Younger. Slimmer. He came from a large, wealthy family over the mountain that had always supported him, no matter what he chose to do with his life. And he had the instinctive ability to always back the right horse—the quickest route, the shortest line, who’d come out on top in the Iron Bowl before the season had even started, you name it. Devereaux had hated him the first time they’d met. He’d cursed Lieutenant Hale for making them ride together. But try as he might, he couldn’t stay mad at Garretty for long. And as if to underline what he missed without him, Devereaux had recently ended up being partnered with someone else—Jan Loflin, a detective on loan from Vice—after a round of departmental musical chairs. That had turned out to be a temporary arrangement, fortunately for all concerned, and Devereaux was very glad to have things back to the way they were before.

  Devereaux pulled up behind Garretty’s car and took a moment to survey the property. The street sloped so steeply that what started as the first floor on the right-hand side of the house had become the second floor by the time it reached the left, with a two-car garage beneath. Aside from that, Devereaux guessed the overall style would be described as faux English. The rest of the structure was symmetrical, with triangular gables at each side, a dormer window in the center of the neatly-tiled roof, and walls that were rendered in cream and punctuated by dark wooden beams. The place was huge. It loomed over its neighbors, and Devereaux noticed that the more traditional single-story homes on both adjoining plots were up for sale. He couldn’t help wondering if that was just a coincidence…

  “What kept you, Cooper?” Garretty climbed out of his car and slapped Devereaux on the back. “Couldn’t tear yourself away from the show?”

  “You got me.” Devereaux tried to smile at his partner, but his heart wasn’t in it. The play hadn’t been his cup of tea, but it was at least an opportunity to spend time with Alexandra. The disappointed look on her face as he’d left his seat was beginning to haunt him, as was something else. An observation an old girlfriend who’d worked in Dispatch had once shared with him. When a citizen calls in to volunteer information, it’s even money you’re answering the phone to an asshole. “Come on. Let’s see what this yahoo has to say for himself.”

  —

  Devereaux rang the bell and the door was answered after a couple of minutes by a man in his late forties. He was a shade over six feet tall, and his deep tan was accentuated by the white linen pants and crisp sky blue shirt he was wearing.

  “Jeff Nelson?” Devereaux showed the guy his badge. “Mind if we come inside a minute? We have a few follow-up questions regarding the fire you witnessed.”

  Nelson nodded, glanced over his shoulder, then gestured for the detectives to step quickly into the hallway.

  “Honey?” Nelson ushered Devereaux and Garretty into the first room on the left, over the garage. “A couple of guys are here. I need to talk a little business with them for a minute, so give us some space, OK?”

  The room felt like a cross between an office and some overpaid designer’s idea of an old-fashioned London club, though the air was scented with sweet potpourri rather than the stench of cigar smoke. The walls were paneled in dark, richly polished wood. Oil paintings of fox hunts hung on either side of the window, beneath shiny brass accent lights that snaked out from the top of their gilded frames. A pair of Chesterfield sofas met at right angles in the far corner, and a twin pedestal mahogany desk with a green leather inlaid top sat opposite the door. Behind it was a green leather chair with a double row of antiqued brass tacks around its edges, and the floor was covered by a tightly woven oriental rug. The furniture was all lightly distressed, which made a nice contrast with the flawlessly smooth walls, though Devereaux would have placed good money that the majority of the action it had seen had taken place in a factory.

  “Will this take long?” The guy closed the door and turned to face the detectives.

  “It shouldn’t.” Devereaux nodded toward the Chesterfields. “Mind if we sit?”

  “Sure, I guess.” Nelson waited for the detectives to settle themselves, one on each couch, then retreated to the far side of the desk and lowered himself into the chair.

  “OK.” Devereaux took his notebook out of his jacket pocket. “Just a few quick questions, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “I don’t know what else I can give you.” Nelson shrugged. “I told the 911 guy everything I could think of.”

  “I’m sure you did.” Devereaux opened his notebook. “But run us through it again, just in case. Let’s start at the beginning. You were driving on, what, Thirty-first?”

  “Right.” Nelson nodded.

  “Where were you heading?”

  “Home.”

  “Where had you been?”

  “Why does that matter?” Nelson glanced at the door.

  “We don’t know what matters at this point.” Devereaux kept his voice neutral. “So we need to build a full picture of what happened. The more you can tell us, the more it’ll help.”

  “I’d been to a gallery.” Nelson’s voice was noticeably quieter. “I have someone who helps me with antiques, that sort of thing. I’m looking to invest in a few new pieces.”

  “There’s a high-end antique gallery near Jones Valley school?” Devereaux raised his eyebrows. “The neighborhood must have changed some since I was a kid.”

  “It’s not that near the school.” Nelson glanced at the door again. “It’s a home gallery. In Wenonah. And the owner doesn’t advertise.”

  “Interesting.” Devereaux nodded slowly as if he was weighing what he’d heard. “I’m a bit of a collector myself. Maybe I’ll get the address from you sometime. Meanwhile, let’s get back to the fire. Tell me what you saw, in as much detail as you can.”

  “There’s not much to tell.” Nelson placed his hands flat on the desk. “I was driving by the school—”

  “What time?”

  “I’m not sure.” Nelson looked at his watch. “About three-twenty, probably?”

  “OK. And?”

  “I saw it was on fire, so I called 911.”

  “Did you stop?”

  “No. I didn’t see the point. You don’t need to stop to say There’s a fire and give an address. It takes, like, two seconds. But it’s OK—I have hands-free. I didn’t break any traffic laws, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “It wasn’t.” Devereaux took out his phone and pulled up Lieutenant Hale’s email. “Now, with these next questions, Jeff, I need you to think real carefully before you answer. The information’s going to one of the top guys at Fire and Rescue. It’s important. Got it?”

  Nelson nodded and put his hands back on his lap.

  “Good. So, the flames. Were they concentrated in one place, or spread out across the building?”

  “They were in one place, I think. It’s hard to be sure. The school’s kind of side-on to Thirty-first, and the main building’s quite deep. All the smoke looked like
it was coming from somewhere around the center, maybe. You’d have got a better look from the next street on the right, whatever it’s called. Dowell? That’s where the main entrance is.”

  “OK. Now, still thinking about the flames. From what you could see, were they spreading fast? Or staying pretty much in the same place?”

  “I’m not sure. It was more the smoke that I could see.”

  “OK. The smoke. What color was it?”

  “Black. Kind of oily looking.”

  “That’s good. And what was it like? Dense? Or wispy?”

  “Oh, dense. That’s for sure. I couldn’t see through it at all.”

  “And what about the smell? Did the smoke have any kind of odor to it?”

  “You bet. It was foul. Gross. Like a garbage dump was burning, rather than a school. It made me want to puke. That was another reason for not hanging around there.”

  “What about artificial smells? Chemicals? Gasoline? That kind of thing?”

  “Oh. No. Nothing like that.”

  “OK. Now, think about the building itself. The doors and windows. Were any of them left open? Or broken?”

  “Well, there aren’t any windows on that side. Just brick walls. I think there’s a door, though. Like an emergency exit. It was closed. I’m pretty sure. Look, Detective, are we nearly done here?”

  “Nearly. I just have one more question. People. Did you see anyone there, at the scene?”

  “No.” Nelson glanced at the door again, this time for a little longer. “I don’t think so.”

  “Was there any cover nearby? Like trees, or bushes? Could anyone have been hiding, watching the fire?”

  “I don’t remember any bushes. There are a few trees, but they’re too small. They look freshly planted. No one could hide behind them.”

  “Any walls? Or ditches?”

  “No. Just scrubby grass.”

  “What about vehicles? Does the school have a parking lot?”

  “It does, but it was empty.”

  “Did you see anyone driving away? Don’t just think about cars. Think trucks and bikes, too. Or any vehicles being driven erratically, anywhere in the area?”

  “No. Nothing. It seems like a quiet neighborhood, when the school’s out.” Nelson pushed his chair back and got to his feet, again glancing toward the door. “Look, Detectives, how about this? Leave me your numbers. Or your email, or whatever. If anything comes back to me, I’ll let you know. Right away. I guarantee.”

  Neither detective showed any sign of moving.

  “I have a question.” Garretty waited for Nelson to stop fidgeting and look at him. “Your wife. Does she know about the fire? About you calling 911?”

  “Yes, of course she does.” Nelson looked down and stared intently at the gold embossed border on the desktop.

  “That’s good.” Garretty leaned forward. “Because I want to tell you something. About an old case of mine. It was years ago, not long after I got my shield. A young woman had disappeared. She’d been on a night out, downtown, and she never made it home. A guy contacted us and told us he’d seen her, walking alone down Fourteenth Street. What he didn’t add until two weeks later was that he’d also seen her coming out of a converted loft building on the corner with Fifth Avenue. He kept that part quiet because the loft was opposite the entrance to a skeevy strip club called Geraldine’s Stairway to Heaven, and he didn’t want anyone to know where he was when he spotted her. Anyway, the owner of the loft had come after the woman and killed her, but we were looking for a random guy off the street. And in the next two weeks, three other women lost their lives. Three women we could have saved, if the witness had told us everything up front when he’d first had the chance.”

  “That’s tragic.” Nelson glanced at the door again. “But why are you telling me about it? Do you think I’m holding something back?”

  “I don’t know.” Garretty crossed his arms. “Are you?”

  “This is unbelievable!” Nelson came out from behind the desk. “I volunteer to help, and you come into my house and start making accusations? Do you want me to bring my lawyer into this?”

  “OK, let’s all just settle down.” Devereaux levered himself up from the couch and blocked Nelson’s path. “I’m sure Mr. Nelson’s nothing like that guy, Tommy. And I’m sure that if he has anything else he needs to tell us, he’ll find a discreet way to do it. Right?”

  Nelson didn’t respond.

  “You know what else?” Devereaux closed his notebook. “It’s getting late. I skipped lunch, and now I’m starving. I don’t want to go all the way back downtown to eat. So I was wondering, Mr. Nelson. Is there anyplace around here worth trying?”

  “Maybe.” Nelson’s focus was switching rapidly from one detective to the other. “Depends what kind of thing you want to eat.”

  “I’m flexible about the food.” Devereaux slipped the notebook back into his pocket. “The location’s the important thing, right now. It needs to be close. The kind of place you could get to from here without it being a big production. And it would have to be quiet. With some privacy. Where you could talk without being overheard all the time. Do you know anywhere like that?”

  Nelson thought for a moment. “Sure. I know a place. It’s ten minutes from here. Hold up. I’ll give you directions.”

  Chapter Five

  Saturday. Late afternoon.

  Alexandra was thinking about opening a bottle of Zinfandel.

  It felt like a night for red wine, sitting alone in her kitchen after returning home from the show. A night for a heavy red wine. Because it struck her that she’d gotten used to feeling Devereaux’s presence around the house in the weeks they’d been back together. And that she liked it. But at that moment, after taking just a single glass out of the cupboard, she was feeling something else. Something unwelcome. Devereaux’s absence.

  Spending time in that house without Devereaux wasn’t a novelty. Alexandra had only bought the place after they’d split up—after she’d kicked Devereaux out—eight years earlier. She’d moved there from Vestavia Hills because she wanted to homeschool their as-yet unborn daughter, and after cutting her hours and switching to consulting for other law firms rather than practicing in her own right she’d needed to trim her budget. She’d never resented the changes she’d had to make. But somehow, in the glow of having attention paid to her as more than just a lawyer or someone’s mom, and the fascination of seeing Nicole responding to a second parent, she’d forgotten the reality of being in a relationship with a cop. Of never being able to depend on having time together. Never knowing when the phone would ring and call him away. Never knowing when he’d get home. What state he’d be in. Emotionally, as well as physically. Whether he’d get home at all…

  Was it worth it? That was a tough question. What would she do if a friend came to her with a similar situation? That was much easier. She’d tell her to put it down on paper. Make two columns. Put the pros on the left. The cons on the right. See how they stacked up. And see if you found yourself wanting one side to be longer than the other…

  Alexandra left the wine to breathe for a minute, took a legal pad from the drawer she used to store her homeschooling supplies, and sat down at the kitchen table to write. Superficial as it was, the fact that she was taking action made her feel better. At first she felt a strange shyness about listing such personal details, but point by point she began to build some momentum. She was feeling so good about the process that when Nicole appeared in the doorway after fifteen minutes and asked if they could do some drawing together instead, she was reluctant to stop.

  Much to her surprise, Nicole took the rebuttal without complaint. Another point in the plus column for Devereaux, Alexandra thought. Nicole’s behavior was markedly better since he’d been around. In the past there’d have been a half-hour tantrum to deal with. Now the little girl trotted back upstairs without a word.

  —

  Back in her room, Nicole crossed to her toy shelves and took down two of her dolls. A
little girl, and a mom.

  Soon after that, she reached for a third doll.

  A paramedic.

  Chapter Six

  Saturday. Late afternoon.

  Devereaux parked in the shadow of the tall sign advertising the famous Meat ’n’ Three lunchtime special in the Homewood Diner’s triangular lot and made his way inside. A waitress he didn’t recognize asked him where he’d like to sit, and he picked his usual booth to the side of the entrance to the kitchen. He didn’t find the slatted benches particularly comfortable, and he thought the pink gingham-patterned Formica tabletop was pretty much of an atrocity, but it was the spot Nicole had chosen on the couple of occasions in the last month he’d brought her for a secret ice-cream treat when Alexandra had gone to bed early, so he felt an affinity for it. The waitress fetched Devereaux an iced tea without waiting to be asked, then left him alone to study the menu. Three minutes later his phone buzzed. It was a text from Garretty:

  Incoming…!

  Devereaux smiled and ordered a black coffee and a slice of peach pie, figuring those should keep him occupied for the little time he’d be there on his own. He also asked the waitress to bring over another couple of menus.

  Nelson arrived nine minutes later, with Garretty hard on his heels. They weaved their way through the uneven rows of square wooden tables to reach Devereaux’s booth then slid onto the opposite bench, waited for their iced teas to arrive, and sat in silence for another thirty seconds.

  “Good call on the diner, Jeff.” Devereaux set down his fork. “Great pie.”

  “The chicken fried steak smells good, too.” Garretty made a show of sniffing the air. “I might have had to get me some of that, if I didn’t have a date tonight. How about you, Jeff? Are you hungry?”