Fire Angel

by Susanne Matthews

  He stood, reached for the jerry can and poured gasoline over the struggling men.

  “Let me out of here,” a voice in the distance cried.

  He looked away and caught a glimpse of himself in the darkened window. He wore a Blue Jays’ cap and a leather jacket. Turning away, he set the case of beer down beside him and reached into his pocket, pulling out a book of matches. He struck one and within seconds, everything went wrong.

  Instead of the small flame he’d expected, the match flared and ignited the rest of the matches in the book he held. He yelped, the flames scorching his fingers and the edge of his plaid shirt. He dropped the burning booklet onto the table where the gasoline soaked playing cards and money caught fire. Jumping away, he tripped over the empty beer bottles, breaking one of them and cutting his hand on it.

  “God damn it,” he yelled, watching mesmerized as the fire defied him and spread faster than he’d ever seen it do. Flames crawled along the ground toward him. Aware that he was in as much danger as his victims, he jumped over a small box, slipped on the greasy floor, and went down hard. Suddenly, flames licked hungrily at his jacket. Moving as if the hounds of hell were after him, he ran out the garage’s back door, pulling his jacket off as he did.

  The vision ended, as did the flash of pain she’d experienced, and she dropped to the floor, hanging her head between her bent knees. That had been far more intense than she’d expected. The last thing she needed to do was pass out and have Jake come in and find her that way. Closing her eyes, she fought for her sanity.

  It took a good ten minutes and several deep yoga breaths before Alexis felt completely in control again. That experience had been intense, not something she wanted to repeat but was afraid she would before this case was closed.

  She inhaled heavily and blew the air out forcefully. My God. Who was the she he’d been obsessed with? He’d been so gripped by his need for revenge, he’d ignored what he had to have known about gasoline and in a garage of all places. Even before he’d started splashing gasoline around, the place had been full of fumes and striking the match like that—on a matchbook covered in gasoline as were his hands? He’d been lucky to get out of there alive.

  Who had called to him? Jake had mentioned a body in the back room. Why hadn’t that person tried to escape? Had he been restrained in some way? Somehow, that idea creeped her out almost as much as this stalking and targeting, posing and burning did, and it went far beyond anything she’d ever seen. He’d meant to kill all four people, three in his perfect scene, the other because it suited him to do so. One, two, four. The man had to die for the pattern to take shape.

  Standing, she walked over to the map, looking for the items she’d seen in the vision. There they were. Six beer bottles, badly melted, one broken. Two cans of pop.

  She pulled a small notepad out of her kit, and as they came to mind, she jotted down questions for Jake.

  Who was supposed to play cards that night? Was someone missing who should’ve been there? Why didn’t the guy in the backroom try to leave? Did anyone check the beer bottles or the soda cans for Rohypnol? Four men, six bottles of beer, two cans of pop. Easy way to drug them.

  She examined the other items from the garage, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. A small refrigerator contained soda and beer, but those bottles were capped. The Rohypnol couldn’t have been in those.

  She frowned. There was something about those beer bottles and the ones in her vision. She closed her eyes once more. The color was wrong. These had blue labels. The one Fire Angel had carried had pale yellow labels with a small red and white insignia. She’d seen that label before. Where?

  If Fire Angel had brought the beer with him, he would’ve had to open them to add the drug, and that made sense. There would’ve been the extra thrill of doing it right under their noses. Had they been aware of the fact they were dying? It had all happened so fast...

  She filled out a requisition slip and reached for the bin containing the bottles and the cans. They were in bad shape, but anything was possible. Returning all of the other items to where they’d been, she opened the door, turned off the light and let the door close and lock behind her. Slipping off her coveralls, she put them into the plastic bag from her kit along with the booties and gloves. She would throw these away and get a fresh set out of the box in the trunk of her car. After more than two uses, they usually smelled as bad as the crime scene and were just as likely to contaminate it.

  After dropping off the bag she hoped contained candle wax and the beer bottles to the lab, asking them to rush a search for the drug, she joined Jake in his office.

  “Finished?” he asked when she opened the door and poked her head inside.

  “I am for now.” She smiled. “How’s the leg?”

  “Better. Did you find anything?”

  “Maybe.” She explained what she could without alluding to her visions. “I was wondering why the guy in the back room didn’t make a run for it.”

  “Funny you should ask. The lock was sent to the Centre of Forensic Science and the results just arrived. According to the experts, the door was locked, the key jammed in it and broken from the outside. The bastard locked the kid in. Why? He wasn’t from around here. What could he possibly have done to him?”

  “Perhaps he saw him,” she said, chewing her lip. “If he’d survived the fire, he might’ve been able to identify Fire Angel.”

  “Did you find anything to back that up?”

  Alexis licked her lips. She couldn’t very well tell him she’d heard the kid cry out while she’d been in a trance, nor that the Fire Angel had thought of him specifically while getting the fire ready.

  “Not anything concrete, but it’s as good a theory as any. Did you talk to the taxidermist?”

  “Yeah. He claims it was done by someone with some training, but the whole job’s not quite up to professional standards. It’s in good shape, and in his words, older than dirt. It’s stuffed with sawdust. That’s why it’s so heavy. Most professionals use wax beads—you know, the stuff they use in those little stuffed animals kids like. Mia has a couple of dozen at home, at least six of which are unicorns or dragons.”

  “Those have been around for a long time, too. Did he say anything else?” She cocked her head.

  “Not much except that the eyes were large black marbles, and the stitching style isn’t one he’s ever seen. It’s similar to what he’s seen his mother do—she’s a quilter. Small tight stitches—very precise and meticulous. Ian brought in a couple of birds of his own so that he could show us the difference. He suggested talking to the Temagami Elders to see if the technique is one of theirs. It isn’t one taught in taxidermy classes.”

  “Did you ask him about the nicotine gum?”

  “I did. He’s on some pills. He tried the gum, but in his words, it tastes like shit. I didn’t ask but he volunteered that he took Lynette to lunch yesterday while someone was shooting at us.” He shrugged. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.” Her stomach growled to punctuate the word. “What time is it?”

  “Almost one. The guys ordered in pizza for lunch. Maybe the scavengers didn’t eat it all and there’s some left.”

  The breakroom was deserted when they arrived, but the table still held three large pizza boxes. An assortment of canned drinks and bottles of water sat in a plastic bin.

  “What’ll you have? It’s traditional Greek-style pizza. We’ve got Hawaiian, that’s ham and pineapple, the other one is Canadian, with mushroom, bacon, and pepperoni, or my favorite, the Marko Special, with sausage, pepperoni, bacon, mushrooms, green peppers, olives, and onions.”

  “How do they get all that on one slice without it falling off?”

  He laughed. “They smother it in cheese. Try a piece,” he said, lifting the lid and serving a slice onto a paper plate. He stood and walked over to the microwave.

  Her mouth watered. “Good grief, the toppings are more than an inch thick, but does it ever look good. Won’t it get sogg
y heating up in there?”

  “No. They’ve got a special plate for it.” The microwave dinged and he removed her piece and added his.

  She reached for the plate, picked up the slice the way Jake did, and bit into it.

  She moaned. “Oh, my God! This is the best pizza I’ve ever tasted.”

  Two pieces later, she leaned back against the sofa, patting her belly.

  “That was delicious, but I’m absolutely stuffed.”

  Jake nodded. “So am I.”

  “You should be. You ate at least four pieces,” she said and shook her head. “If I’d eaten that much, I would’ve exploded.”

  “Not really.” He chuckled. “The Hawaiian doesn’t count. It’s a lot thinner. Marko took over the pizzeria from his dad about four years ago. According to Minette, he makes the world’s best pizza. You might remember him. he was one of James’s cronies.”

  “I can’t argue about the compliment, but as far as remembering him, I’m not sure. Other than making my life miserable, James and his friends didn’t move in the same circles as I did. Besides, I’ve done my best to forget those guys.” And anything else about her last four years in Paradise.

  “Damn, I almost forgot.” Jake pulled a small envelope out of his pocket. “The mailman delivered this earlier. There doesn’t seem to be anything suspicious about it and the writing doesn’t match the notes.”

  Alexis reached for the letter. It might not be Fire Angel’s writing, but she recognized it. She slit the envelope open and pulled out the small card.

  “It’s from my uncle. He wants me to call him. Hell may freeze over before I do that.”

  “Would seeing your uncle really be that bad?” Jake asked, deep creases marring his forehead once more. “He and Allan Sinclair are both AA members, and friends. He’s probably the one who told Nick you were here. The man probably just wants to say hello.”

  “Right, and what if I don’t want to?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I’m not ready to deal with this yet, especially while I’m in a serial killer’s sights. Let me focus on one enemy at a time. Maybe when the case is over, I’ll call him before I leave town.”

  “Your uncle’s not your enemy—”

  Alexis shoved the note in her pocket knowing that, later when she was alone, it would bring back all kinds of memories she wanted to forget. Uncle Nick had never let his congregation and the rest of the community see his true colors. He’d hated her, and she’d known it.

  “You don’t know what happened, so leave it alone,” she ordered, staring into the can of pop as if it were a genie’s magic bottle and held all the answers. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom. When I come back, I want to talk about your interviews.”

  Jake nodded. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I’ll share what I have. It isn’t much. Do you want to go back to my office or stay here?”

  “Let’s stay here, at least until someone else shows up.”

  Alexis rose and headed to the Ladies’ Room. She probably shouldn’t have barked at Jake, but damn it all to hell. No one knew what her life had been like with that man. Uncle Nick in AA? That was a good one. He was probably still working on his one-month chip.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jake frowned as he watched Alexis leave the room. Whatever had made her run away from Paradise twenty years ago was still a tender, festering wound. He would have to be careful what he said. Nick Pruett was a friend, albeit not a close one. Whatever sins he’d committed in the past were between him and God, but Alexis certainly didn’t feel that way.

  Hurrying back to his office, he grabbed the file off the desk and carried it back to the breakroom. She hadn’t returned yet.

  He huffed out a breath. He would love to know how she did what she did. How could she have known that the guy in the office couldn’t have left even if he’d wanted to? Her theory that the kid might’ve seen Fire Angel’s face was a good one, but his gut told him there was more to it. What had gone on in the evidence locker? She’d come out knowing far more than the technicians had. Maybe on the drive home he could ask her about the article and the name Fire Psychic.

  Austin Brooks, the lab tech came into the breakroom, interrupting his musing.

  “Lynette said Alexis was in here,” he said, his eyes filled with excitement, waving a report in front of him.

  “She’s just gone to freshen up. What is it?” Jake asked.

  What had the young tech so excited? The poor kid had been swamped since this had started and yet he still managed to get evidence examined and reports filed at lightning speed.

  “I tested that stuff she gave me. The wax is the same composition as the one from the cabin, and she was right, those bottles all contained Rohypnol. I can’t say how much, but probably enough to incapacitate for a short period at least. The soda cans were clean. You can give her this when she gets back. I need to go over the bits of playing cards in the ash. Now that I know they weren’t waxed, I may be able to identify their origin.”

  “Whatever you can learn will help,” he said, frowning, as he set the report on the table.

  Alexis had been so certain the wax was important. He’d dismissed it then, but couldn’t do so now. How had she known? Was that part of what she did? If she’d been right about the wax, was she right about Fire Angel standing inside the cabin watching Slaney burn? He’d seen that table, read the preliminary reports. Absolutely nothing had pointed to a candle.

  Alexis came into the room and dropped onto the couch beside him, reaching into the plastic bin for a water bottle. She opened it and drank down half of it in one gulp.

  “Thirsty?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

  “I always am after pizza or after I examine a fire scene,” she chuckled. “Since I’ve done both ... I know we need to get back to work, but now that you’ve mentioned Marko, tell me more about my cousin’s gang. Could one of them be behind this? You knew them all. I don’t remember them well, but something’s been nagging at me ever since the owl. Maybe talking about the past will jar it loose.”

  Jake sat back. The report could wait a few minutes. He laced his hands behind his head.

  “The Furious Five as some called them, since those guys always seemed angry at someone or something, consisted of James, the ring leader, Marko, Sam, Jeremiah, and Lumpy. Frank and Neil were gophers, some days themselves victims of the gang’s bullying, other days willing accomplices. Wally Bancroft tried to fit in, but he never quite did. James didn’t seem to mind them hanging around, but the others barely tolerated them. After you left, and James died—”

  “James is dead?” she asked, her freckles the only points of color on her pale face.

  “I assumed you knew. He and your Aunt Emily were killed in a car accident about two years after you left.”

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “Your uncle was drunk, got behind the wheel, and lost control of the car.”

  “And of course, he wasn’t hurt,” she spat the words.

  “He didn’t get off uninjured, that’s for sure,” Jake said, frowning at how tense she was. What could Nick Pruett have done to her to cause her to react this way? “No one knew that your uncle abused alcohol until James and your Aunt Emily were killed. Nick was busted up pretty badly, but the real shame came in the public humiliation that followed. He spent twelve months in jail—it could’ve been a lot longer—the only thing that prevented that was the ‘old boys’ network’ he belonged to. After all, it could have been any one of them. When he got out of prison, he’d aged, lost his congregation—not sure if they defrocked him or not—he continued with Alcoholics Anonymous. I think that was a condition of his parole. Now he runs a private clinic over on Clear Lake where he works with recovering alcoholics and drug abusers. He’s changed, tried to make amends for what he did. He was nominated for volunteer of the year a couple of years ago for his work with ‘at risk’ kids.”

  “I don’t care if he was nominated for the starring role in the Second Coming.
That won’t bring my aunt back. She was the only bit of decency in that house. I’m not sure I can ever forgive him for what he did to me or for what happened to me afterward because of him.”

  He sat up straighter as she shifted her body on the sofa. As much as he wanted to ask what had happened to her, he realized this was far too public a place for a confession like that.

  She must’ve realized it, too.

  “So, who took over the gang when James died?”

  Her eyes were filled with a hardness that hadn’t been there earlier.

  “Actually, no one did, at least not in the way you’re thinking. After you left, they didn’t seem to be as big a deal as before. A couple of the guys had already drifted away. His death was a wake-up call for the rest of them. They managed to graduate from high school. Jeremiah joined the army. He was in Afghanistan when I was there. He died in the same accident that claimed Luke, Mia’s father.” He swallowed the bitterness and the blame for that and continued. “Sam is a firefighter in North Bay, married with a wife and two kids. Marko has three and owns the pizzeria; Lumpy, better known as Glen now, is a paramedic, one of the guys who took Leroy and Jethro out of the house. His wife works at the clinic with Andrew Shillingham. As far as the others go, Frank looks after the mobile canteen as I’ve mentioned before. He was married but his wife left him. He just moved back here about four years ago. Wally is the local bank manager. He’s been known to sit in on the poker game now and then, but according to both Lynette and Frank, his wife makes his life a living hell if he loses. Neil moved out west and died in a car accident. Is there anything else you want to know?”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t see any of them involved in this, but what do I know? Glen couldn’t have done it. That I know for sure.”

  “I guess. I was so certain ... What did you learn from your interviews?”

  “Not much, but before I forget, Austin rushed your results. They’re on the table.” He indicated the report. “You were right about the wax and the Rohypnol in the bottles but not in the cans.”