Trial By Fire

by DiAnn Mills

She squeezed back the hint of a tear. “I simply want life to be normal, except life will never be the same again. Not for me or my grandchildren.”

  “I’m sorry, Savannah.”

  She looked into his deep-blue eyes. “I want the future to be hopeful for them and me. How that will happen is a mystery.”

  “Has Grandma been to the grocery?”

  She frowned. “I’m Savvy. Couldn’t handle the old lady grandma stuff. In answer to your question, I haven’t had time. Every meal’s been fast food.”

  “Make a list, and I’ll go after work.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m your superhero.” He laughed. “I may have a bald head and a few inches hanging over my belt, but inside, I’m a mix of Superman and Captain America.”

  Words failed her and a shiver crept up her arms. Paul cared more than she ever imagined. All this time, she’d ignored his nudging for a relationship. Now with three children to raise, he still pushed forward. She added admirable to his list of attributes.

  “You’re my best friend,” she said and hoped no one was recording the interview room.

  “We have a beginning.”

  “Paul, you’re scaring me.”

  “Good. Now we’re on even ground.”

  They were in their late fifties, professionals, and she had bubbles in her stomach like a teenager. Savannah had no idea how she felt about him because she’d never allowed herself to drift there. She couldn’t have another person she loved die.

  * * *

  “Savvy, do you think our beds will ever get here?” Prime said as she set the table with utmost precision. Had the careful instruction come from her mother or Travis?

  “Tomorrow, I hope.”

  “I don’t mind sleeping with you, but my brother kicks all night.”

  “He thinks he’s Spider-Man in his sleep.”

  “Mom used to say the same thing.”

  “Did she teach you good manners too?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It was a part of a class called etiquette. I learned how to wear the right colors, how to introduce people, set the table. Other things too.” She bit her lip. “I miss her.”

  Savannah froze. She’d never been good with spontaneous affection. “One way to honor your mother’s memory is to talk about her and remember to practice what she taught you.” She bent to the little girl’s side.

  Prime nodded, and for a moment Savannah thought the girl might cry. A first.

  “We’ll need to buy you school clothes before too long. You’ll be a big help in picking out colors. I hope to find a private Christian school for all of you. Sweetheart, I can’t teach you at home like your mom, but I’ll find a school that loves you.”

  Prime gave a shaky smile and turned to finish setting the table. Savannah drained the pasta. The kids didn’t like mac and cheese, just pasta with olive oil and salt. The buzzer alerted her to the brisket, and she lifted it from the oven.

  “Daddy used to make that.” Cloud pointed to the roaster cooling on the counter.

  She startled. She hadn’t been aware of Cloud and Mac entering the kitchen. And Cloud talked! “Brisket was one of his favorites when he was a boy. Loved all the barbecue sauce.”

  Huge blue eyes layered with a curtain of lashes widened. “My daddy was a little boy?”

  Prime and Spider-Man were listening.

  “Yes, he was a baby in my tummy.”

  “That’s random.” Prime shook her head.

  How could one so little behave so old? Savannah took a deep breath. She hadn’t played much with Travis . . . always in a hurry to get to work. Solved cases she no longer remembered. She snatched Mac into her arms, complete with his pacifier, and held him like a baby. “Your daddy was much smaller than this.” Oh, my, those Spider-Man pajamas needed washing. “Then he grew up to be a big man.”

  “And our daddy!” Cloud wrapped her arms around Savannah’s legs. “Savvy, please don’t go away like Mommy and Daddy.”

  She stood Mac on the floor with Cloud still attached. God help her. She never knew how to be a mother and knew even less about being a Savvy. Trembling, she drew the little girl into her arms . . . Savannah Cloud.

  “I have no intentions of leaving you.”

  “Did Mommy and Daddy want to leave us?” Cloud said.

  “No, honey, but God needed them in heaven for something special.”

  “Why?” Mac said.

  Savannah wished she had an answer. “All I can say is God loves you very much, and He’ll help us get used to each other.”

  Her words sounded lame. How could she explain God’s sovereignty when she didn’t understand it herself? She’d like to give Him a piece of her mind . . . for robbing these children of their parents . . . and taking her son.

  Chapter 5

  Tuesday afternoon, Paul drove Savannah to Amazing Grace Church, the fourth that had fallen prey to the arsonist. The senior pastor, Dr. Haden Phillips, was eager to help. The fire department had responded to the call before the building burned to the ground. Their meeting with Dr. Phillips was to be held in the parsonage, adjacent the church.

  “Do you think this will prove my hunch about a grudge against churches that were once white?” Savannah finished her Dr Pepper, hoping the caffeine would send a burst of energy through her veins.

  “Not sure. Three of the churches have a diverse membership, including all the races that fought against the US since World War II. This fourth one is solely African American.”

  “That still doesn’t punch a negative into my race theory.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Inside the pastor’s study, Savannah and Paul also met Pastor Lee Golden. After appropriate greetings, she focused on Dr. Phillips, who offered the most approachable body language.

  “Dr. Phillips, do you have any idea who made the call to the fire department? We were told a female drove by and saw the blaze. Refused to give her name.”

  “No, ma’am.” Dr. Phillips’s presence filled the room, a large man in stature and countenance. “You and I both know there could be multiple reasons why a female wouldn’t want to give her name at that hour. Whatever her reason, she saved our church from total ashes, which leaves us in better shape than others.”

  She thanked him and nodded at her partner.

  “We’re looking for a common thread,” Paul said. “Although you’ve spoken with other agents, repeated interviews often jog our memories for new information.”

  “We’re open to as many meetings as necessary to stop the arsonist,” Dr. Phillips said. “Beginning tonight, we’re holding prayer meetings for the criminal and those who’ve had property destroyed.”

  “We commend your work. You’ve already given us a list of those who’ve been a problem or became disgruntled and left your church.”

  Dr. Phillips shifted. “Typically those who have dissenting opinions are healthy for us. Keeps us on our toes. The two names I gave were those who’d been openly hostile and threatened one of the staff. No hate mail though.” He glanced at Pastor Lee Golden, a middle-aged man with silver streaks of hair who confirmed he hadn’t missed anyone on his previous report.

  “Regarding your membership,” Savannah said. “Any families who have left the church and then returned? Possibly not have the same name?”

  “You mean an extended family in which some left our congregation?” Dr. Phillips’s eyes emitted sincerity.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure there are. Folks who leave a church don’t always leave because they’re angry.” He directed his attention to Pastor Golden. “When we’re finished, would you look into this?”

  Pastor Golden frowned and scribbled on a notepad. Stiffened posture and the lines embedded in his forehead showed his displeasure. Was he angry about something other than the agents’ interview? Savannah made a mental note to ask Paul about it.

  “Do you know Daryl Jacobs?” Paul said to Dr. Phillips. When he shook his head, Paul pulled up a pic on his cell. “Have you seen this man?
”

  Dr. Phillips held the phone for several seconds. “I don’t think so.”

  Paul showed him a photo of Jesse Mendoza. One look and Dr. Phillips gave the phone to Pastor Golden.

  “This man gave us a bid on yard work,” Pastor Golden said. “It was too high, and one of our members offered to maintain the grounds without charge.”

  “Was Mendoza upset?”

  “Not at all. Said he understood free. Had manners. Asked about our church. Wanted to know if Hispanics were welcome. He’s not your suspect.”

  “Has—?”

  “Sounds like you’re condemning a man before he has a chance to defend himself.”

  “No one said he’s guilty, Pastor Golden. We’re looking into every detail to end these fires.”

  Pastor Golden stood, his jaw tight. “When a man talks about his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, he’s no criminal. The woman who called the fire department could have done it.”

  Savannah saw Paul’s nod for her to take over. “I agree it’s hard to believe a Christian man or woman could be involved with anything illegal.” She smiled. “But none of us are sinless. I’m sorry you’re offended.”

  “Please, sit down, Pastor.” Dr. Phillips’s voice thundered . . . made her wonder if God Himself had entered the study.

  Pastor Golden mumbled a response. “What do you plan to do with the names of those who’ve chosen to worship at other churches?”

  Savannah leaned toward the man. “Pastor, I understand your concern for innocent believers who could be wrongly charged with a crime. Our purpose is to find a link with the other torched churches and end the fires.”

  “People who serve in churches are God-fearing people. You’re wasting taxpayer money.”

  Her weariness hit frustration level. “It wouldn’t be the first time a crime was committed in God’s name.”

  Pastor Golden narrowed his eyes. “Not on my watch.”

  Dr. Phillips cleared his throat. “Lee, tell them the truth. They’ll find out anyway.”

  Savannah focused on Pastor Golden. What was he hiding?

  “It’s none of their business.”

  “Tell them or I will.”

  Pastor Golden hesitated.

  Anger permeated the air.

  “Jesse Mendoza is my son-in-law, a changed man who has no grudge against the church. He and my daughter attend regularly.”

  * * *

  With the interview concluded and the two back in Paul’s car, Savannah repeated what she remembered from the conversation. “What do you think?”

  He pulled away from the curb. “I’m analyzing all we saw and heard. Pastor Golden wants to protect his family. That’s understandable. I think we can delete Mendoza from our suspect list. Although he’s still employed by an ex-con who could be involved in the fires.”

  “This church was the only one not burned to the ground. The rain helped, but the gas wasn’t spread around the entire building.” She glanced at him. The comfort of working together gave her freedom to say whatever she thought. “Our firebug got scared off. The footprints stopped and retraced, but not before he lit a match.”

  “A serial arsonist is angry and focused. Our guy may want the excitement of getting attention.”

  “We’re dealing with a smart man.”

  “What fires in the last year have been arson or suspected arson?”

  She typed the request to the FIG and saw the time. She grabbed her cell phone. “I need to check on the kids.”

  Paul chuckled. “Parenting looks good on you.”

  She tossed him a frown. A woman answered at the church’s day care. “This is Savannah Barrett. I enrolled three children today—Prime, Cloud, and Mac Barrett. How are they doing?”

  “I’ll check with their teachers. Would you like to hold or for me to call you back?”

  “I’ll hold.” Her mind soaked in what they knew about the arsonist. “If we could figure out why our firebug targets churches, I’d feel like we’re making headway. If he’s a psycho, then his behavior can be unpredictable, as in setting fire to a church during the day or when it’s full. Heaven forbid he torch one where a crowd of people are worshiping.”

  The woman at the day care responded. “Mrs. Barrett, I have the teachers’ reports for your children.”

  “Thanks. The two younger ones were having difficulties when I dropped them off.”

  “Prime is adjusting well. She’s playing with other children. I’m afraid Cloud has cried most of the day, and Mac prefers to play by himself with an imaginary friend.”

  “Spider-Man.”

  “Yes.”

  If only she could make a pact with Spider-Man to use the toilet and give up his pacifier. “Would you tell them I love them, and I’ll be there before six.”

  A child crying deafened the call. Couldn’t they control the children?

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barrett.”

  “I understand. The child is obviously upset. I’ll let you go so you can tend to him or her.”

  “Actually, you could help by talking to her. It’s Cloud.”

  Chapter 6

  Seven thirty Wednesday morning, Savannah drove to work with her head full of information that could lead to the firebug’s arrest. The kids had been dropped off at the church’s day care with another horrendous scene by Miss Cloud and Mr. Mac. Prime did the mothering routine, which made the whole thing worse.

  She breathed in a breath designed to shove aside stress so she could focus on the day ahead. Didn’t work.

  She listed the various justifications inside an arsonist’s mind, particularly a serial arsonist.

  Excitement driven . . . a thrill seeker who liked the attention of a big fire.

  Extremism or terrorism. Since the targets were churches, this had a strong possibility. She didn’t discount a hate crime.

  Revenge. For what?

  Possibly mental illness.

  A combination of items. This made the most sense.

  Savannah compartmentalized her thoughts and moved on to the profile. Most likely male. Childhood trauma. Antisocial behavior. Highly intelligent.

  Houston’s firebug was methodical—he used regular gasoline and wore clean or new tennis shoes. Could be someone with a little OCD who targeted churches.

  She hadn’t uncovered any more information than the previous day. Her initial ideas had spun to speculation while Sunday approached with the threat of another torched church.

  At the office, she headed to the break room for a Dr Pepper and met Paul in the hallway. “I have a list of all the churches’ memberships,” he said. “Just sent it to you.”

  “A lead?”

  He held the break room door open. “Not a single match.”

  “What about a list of visitors?”

  “Already sent.”

  She grinned. “We’re such a good team.”

  “Keep thinking that.”

  Their cell phones buzzed simultaneously. A fire had broken out in a small church north of downtown Houston shortly after eight this morning with the same MO as the previous fires.

  “He’s at it again,” Paul said. “Let’s hope he’s getting too sure of himself.”

  Paul drove Savannah to the scene, where firefighters battled a losing war. The stone-and-wooden structure had quickly ignited. The pastor, who lived across the street, told agents that when he opened the door of his home, a circle of fire engulfed the church.

  “If I’d been on my typical schedule, I’d’ve been inside the church when it ignited,” the pastor said. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  A gas can lay near the scene like a calling card.

  After the initial questions about those who were angry with him or upset with the church, Paul and Savannah watched the firefighters struggle against the blaze.

  “Same firebug?” Savannah said. “Or a man who planned to kill a pastor inside his church?”

  “What if it’s both? This guy left his gas can for us to see. The fire surrounded the perimeter of the
building like the others. Maybe he’s playing with us.”

  She wrapped her fingers around her phone. “Let’s look for footprints.”

  “It’s a little hot.”

  “Never stopped me before.”

  Paul followed her toward the crumbling building, grumbling about the danger.

  A firefighter stopped her access. She let him think she’d adhere to his instructions, but her gaze swept around the smoldering church. When the firefighter returned to his post, she slipped to the side.

  She needed to get close enough to look for evidence. Footprints would be a link to the present case, but anything left behind pointing to the firebug sounded good.

  There it was—trodden-down burned grass. Footprints. Pay dirt.

  “Savannah, get back.” Paul’s warning alarmed her.

  Sparks burned her arm and singed her skin. Paul and the firefighter were right. This was dangerous, but she had to get a little closer.

  She coughed at the burning in her chest. Just a few more feet. She snapped a pic of the footprint. Hard to tell if it was the same as the others.

  A crack sliced through the air. She glanced up. The structure was headed her way. A scream rose in her throat, but the sound refused to come. She backed up, blinded by the smoke.

  Someone grabbed her and yanked her back seconds before the church collapsed.

  She heard her name. Paul had saved her life.

  “Thanks.” Her choked-out whisper sounded pathetic. “Got the footprint.”

  “I should shake you,” Paul said, his arms around her. “Those kids need you alive. So do I.”

  * * *

  After a trip to the emergency room to treat minor burns and smoke inhalation, Savannah listened to one more of Paul’s tongue-lashings while he drove her to pick up the kids from day care. Her chest ached and it hurt to talk. She’d get even another day. But he was right. Prime, Cloud, and Mac didn’t need to face another death.

  She scribbled on a notepad, because her throat and chest burned, and shoved it into his side until he had a chance to read it. This was as bad as texting and driving. I’m sorry. Stupid move.

  “Amen,” he said.

  Is the footprint a 10½ D?