Fatal Game

by Diane Capri

  The more she stared, the more absurd the cylinder looked. No one would want something so crude and ugly in their house without good reason. The pipes and wires indicated it was plumbed into the house in some way. The cylinder looked intact.

  Was it bottled oxygen, perhaps? The notes Carter had supplied didn’t indicate that Melissa Green had breathing problems, but he might not have known. Or perhaps she had someone else living with her who needed the oxygen?

  She took more pictures and then quickly shot video with her phone before a van from a local television station labored into the clearing, and she lost her chance.

  Several people jumped out of the van. A technician tended to a satellite dish on the roof. The cameraman donned a bulky jacket and set up his Steadicam. The reporter was last out. She wore a prim blue pantsuit and checked her blonde hair and makeup in the van’s wing mirrors.

  The cameraman walked the length of the front lawn, getting his establishing shots. He knelt in front of the fire engine for footage of the vehicle with the smoking remains of the house in the background.

  The reporter approached the mother and child. As she talked, she beckoned to the cameraman. He curved around for a sweeping shot of the anchor kneeling beside the little girl with her doll still clutched to her chest.

  Jess couldn’t hear the words as the reporter spoke into her microphone. The cameraman closed in.

  The fire chief started toward the group, dragging a heavy hose behind him.

  Jess followed.

  The reporter was talking into the camera now. She was kneeling, holding her microphone in front of the mother. The reporter flipped the microphone back and forth, obviously asking the mother questions. Jess couldn’t see the mother’s face.

  “Leave her alone,” the fire chief shouted.

  The cameraman angled around to block the chief’s path to the reporter.

  The reporter stood up. “We have every right to—”

  The chief twisted the lever on his hose, winding it wide open, then snapping it shut. The force of the water’s quick blast jolted him back.

  The water hit the cameraman in the back of his knees. His legs collapsed. The weight of his gear pulled him down, and he tumbled backward.

  The reporter rushed forward. “What the hell—”

  “I’ll do the same to you next,” the chief said, a bulldog expression on his face to match the threat.

  “That’s expensive equipment, you crazy—”

  “It’ll be expensive scrap if you don’t get out of here.” The chief moved his hand to the lever again, ready to make good on the promise.

  The reporter stood still. “We’re just doing our job, and you know it.”

  “You’re on private property. Get lost.”

  “You have no right—”

  The chief pulsed the hose again. He aimed to the side of the reporter, but the overspray was enough to douse her clothes and rearrange her perfect hair into a bedraggled mess.

  She screamed.

  “Leave these people alone and get off this—”

  The reporter waved her fist. “You’re going to damn well pay for this.”

  Blue and red lights strobed through the gaps in the trees along the driveway.

  The cameraman rolled to his feet and lifting his heavy camera from the wet ground, struggled to stand.

  The chief stepped forward, adjusting his grip on the lever that fired the hose to make sure no one doubted his intentions.

  Two white and green police cars burst into the clearing. They had different logos from the black and tan cruiser Captain Jackson had arrived in, which suggested a different jurisdiction.

  A stocky blond man jumped out of the driver’s seat. He raced to the woman and girl and knelt beside them. He wrapped them both in a hug, close to his chest. From the insignia on his shirt, Jess guessed he was a captain, too.

  Policemen fanned out around the building, talking to the firemen and corralling the witnesses.

  The reporter and cameraman retreated to their van.

  Several minutes had passed before the second police captain led the woman back to her Toyota while he carried her daughter. Once they were settled, he approached the fire chief. The captain’s name tag said R. Mercer.

  The fire chief waved at the soggy pile that had once been a home. “Some sort of explosion. We heard it all the way down at the fire station.”

  “How many inside?”

  “Jackson and two others, as far as we know. We tried to ask him, but he wasn’t very coherent.” The fire chief glanced down at the ground and cleared his throat before he said, “I’m not sure whether he’ll make it.”

  “It was Officer Cook. And another man. Captain Jackson called him Ernie. He was a locksmith,” Jess said.

  Captain Mercer narrowed his eyes to look at Jess. His frown threatened to consume his entire freckled face. “And you are?”

  “Jessica Kimball. I was in the kitchen when the explosion happened.”

  “You live here?”

  Jess shook her head. “Melissa Green lives here. She’s been missing for several days. We were searching the house.”

  “You a friend?”

  Jess shook her head again. “Taboo Magazine.”

  “If Captain Jackson was here, this was a police investigation. So what were you doing in the house?”

  “I saw something and went in to check it out.”

  Mercer raised his eyebrows, expectantly.

  “Melissa Green lived alone. Yet the kitchen was stocked with enough food to feed an army.”

  “So you broke in.”

  “The door was open.”

  Captain Mercer turned away to look at the remains of the house again.

  “My eyes were irritated by something before the explosion happened,” Jess said.

  Mercer grunted.

  “At the time, I thought it could have been pollen. Or something harmless.”

  Mercer glanced back at her. “Probably a gas leak, judging from the amount of damage.”

  Jess shook her head. “It wasn’t a gas leak because I would have smelled it.” She pointed into the smoldering remains, toward the charred metal cylinder. “Who has a gas bottle like that in their house?”

  Mercer leaned forward and studied the bottle. He nodded and jerked his thumb toward one of his men, who headed off to check out the cylinder. To Jess, Mercer said, “We’ll need a full statement from you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Monday, May 22

  Bear Hill, Arizona

  Jess gave her statement to an officer who looked remarkably like a handsome movie star whose name she couldn’t quite place. He collected her phone number and verified her status by calling the Taboo offices before letting her go.

  She walked to the Mustang, rummaged through her bag and found her clean running shoes, and dropped the ruined ballerina flats into the trunk. She used a bottle of water and napkins she had saved from the plane to clean her hands. Nothing she could do about the pervasive smell of smoke that clung to every pore.

  There was nothing more she could do here, either. The policeman had suggested she leave and that seemed like a good idea to her. She needed a shower and a meal and about three weeks’ sleep. Her strained muscles were already complaining about the day’s extraordinary exertion.

  As she rolled her Mustang out of the clearing and descended the track to the main road where the air was clearer, she lowered the window and breathed deeply. After half a dozen breaths, she felt better, but she could still smell the fire’s reek on her clothes and her body.

  Mercer had a job to do, and he was likely dealing with shock and grief himself. He must have known Cook, the second officer. He probably knew Ernie the locksmith, too. And, of course, Captain Jackson. But Mercer should have recognized the demolished house was a potential crime scene from the moment he arrived.

  She grunted. There was no innocent way to explain why that explosion occurred, or why fire had consumed the entire house in a matter of minutes, e
ven if the whole thing was a tinder box, like MacKenzie said.

  She pulled out onto the main road as a crime scene van turned into the drive.

  Arson laws varied by jurisdiction, but Jackson and his men had walked into what seemed more and more like a trap, the longer Jess thought about it.

  She worked her way up through the gears.

  Donald Warner’s chauffeur was murdered. His wife was abducted and was presumed dead. Her sister had disappeared. And now her sister’s house had been blown up, killing two more people and leaving another seriously injured.

  All these things were connected. Jess didn’t know how, but they had to be. And she had only two leads, so it wasn’t hard to figure out where to start.

  She picked up her phone and sent the pictures she had taken at Melissa Green’s house. After the last one was delivered, Jess pushed the speed dial on her speakerphone.

  Her assistant, Mandy Donovan, answered immediately. “Jess, how’s things?”

  Jess watched the road. “Someone blew up Melissa Green’s house.”

  Mandy gasped. “When?”

  “An hour ago. I was inside the house at the time.” She rounded a curve and passed a bicyclist.

  Mandy’s voice went up an octave. “Are you okay?”

  “Bruised and a bit singed, but otherwise in one piece.”

  Mandy’s voice was shaky. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Two people were killed in the blast. A police officer and a locksmith.”

  “Oh, no!” Mandy’s second gasp traveled the distance from Denver as if she were sitting in the passenger seat.

  “And a police captain was taken by ambulance to the hospital.”

  Mandy sighed. “Do they know what caused the explosion?”

  “Not yet. The police are all over the scene now.” She passed a slow-moving station wagon full of Cub Scouts. “They’ll figure it out. Explosives leave a lot of evidence behind. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m filthy and exhausted, but I’ll be okay.” She looked down at her clothes. Nothing on her body would ever be worn again. “I sent you some pictures of a gas cylinder. I want to know what was in it.”

  “I’ll have to call around. Can I show people the pictures?”

  “Crop them to show the cylinder and nothing else. And don’t give anyone any information at all. We don’t want to educate the wrong people.”

  “Who are the wrong people?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  Mandy squeaked and cleared her throat. “Sounds like there’s something else?”

  “How are you coming along on that meeting Carter asked you to schedule with Donald Warner?”

  “The guy in prison, right?” Mandy sighed. “We need his permission, and he’s a very bitter man. I had to use every ounce of charm I’ve got.”

  Jess grinned. Count on Mandy to call upon her sex appeal whenever she had the chance. “So? Where are we, then?”

  “That’s why I tried to call you earlier. I sent you some stuff, too.” Mandy was a great assistant, and she knew it. “There’s an application and a background check and all of that. Usually, takes about sixty days to get any kind of meeting with a prison inmate there.”

  Jess groaned and swiped a grimy curl away from her face. “I can’t wait sixty days, Mandy.”

  “I know. Carter had to pull some strings, and it sounds like maybe this isn’t a good thing now, with that explosion and everything, but your appointment is all set. Warner’s expecting you this afternoon.” Mandy paused. “And you need to hurry. You’ve got to be there before five o’clock, local time.”

  “You’re the best, Mandy. Have I told you that before?” Jess heard Mandy laughing when she hung up. Jess glanced at the clock on the dashboard. She’d spent way more time at the Green house than she’d expected to. But Mandy was right. She couldn’t be late.

  Donald Warner was in prison just on the other side of Santa Irene, Arizona, the city where he had worked as a doctor. Jess pointed the Mustang in the right direction and pressed the accelerator to the floor. Her shower would have to wait.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Monday, May 22

  Santa Irene, Arizona

  Hades idly clicked the buy button on the computer screen. A picture of the large Swiss watch he’d selected was displayed. Solid gold with diamonds on the face in place of numerals. The price was thirty-eight thousand dollars. Overnight delivery was included, but the tax was extra. He scrolled right and chose a quantity of two.

  He’d already maxed out Lawson’s credit cards, so he entered Lawson’s address and bank account details this time. A big bold button labeled Confirm glowed. He clicked it, and the website promised his purchase would arrive first thing in the morning.

  Cora was working on a laptop on the sofa.

  “What have you got?” he said.

  “No worries, here. I’m an excellent shopper.” She grinned up at him. “Two rings, two necklaces, two bracelets. A quarter million. You?”

  “All watches. A hundred thousand, give or take.” He smiled. “Enough to keep us going a while, even though we only get sixty percent.” He’d argued about the terms with his reseller. Everything he planned to dump was new. Never even removed from the package. The sellers had been paid, and Simon Lawson would never complain. This stuff was as free and clear as stolen merchandise could ever be. So he’d negotiated a better than normal deal. But still, he was taking all the risk. Joey had said he was the one with the customers. Sixty percent was the best he could do, and it was a damn shame. Pissed Hades off, but Joey was the best, and Hades needed the cash.

  “I found something else.” Cora’s troubled tone caught his attention. He walked around to the sofa and looked at her screen.

  He frowned. “A security certificate. Every website uses them these days.”

  “It doesn’t link to a website.” Cora flipped her long hair behind her shoulder and pointed a well-manicured index finger at the link on the screen. “It’s not one of the usual financial security certificates we’ve been seeing on these websites.”

  Hades leaned over the back of the couch for a closer look. He took a moment to nuzzle her neck first and nibble a little. “How old is it?”

  “Eleven years.” Cora brought up another screen and pointed to another line of text. “But it was accessed a week ago.”

  He lifted his head from her neck and peered at the screen. “Movie studios did lots of weird things with encryption. To fight pirates.” Hades knew his objections sounded like a Pollyanna, even as he uttered them. He couldn’t believe Simon would hold out on him. Not after the rough treatment.

  Cora looked up and met his troubled gaze. “This would be weird, even for them.”

  “Anything in the browser history?” She had his full attention now.

  She shook her head. “I checked.” But she pushed a couple of keys and brought the history up again to prove her point.

  Hades took the laptop from her and carried it back to his seat at the table. He checked the computer’s trash, typing furiously to reach the back-end code. Not the graphic icons displayed to ordinary users, but the raw dates and times automatically recorded in obscure log files that controlled the computer. Stuff stored in places people like Simon Lawson didn’t know existed.

  After a few moments hunched over the keyboard, he laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Well, well. Looks like Lawson emptied the trash on his computer seven seconds after he accessed that security certificate last week.”

  “Which means what, exactly?” Cora snapped, but he figured she was nervous. This was the first time she’d come across something like this.

  “Only good things, Goddess,” Hades smiled. “The Lawsons have been holding out on us. Old Simon has been squirreling away his money for quite a while, I’d say. That certificate is eleven years old. He could have built up quite a pile in all this time. This will be an even bigger payday than we’d hoped.”

  Cora�
��s worried frown turned into a gleeful laugh. “Excellent!”

  “Nya ah ah!” Hades laughed, too, and rubbed his hands together, mocking an enthusiastic cartoon villain. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

  But first, he was going to enjoy her. Lawson would still be there when Hades was ready. No one turned him on like Cora. He lifted her off the sofa and carried her into the bedroom. She giggled all the way.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Monday, May 22

  Santa Irene, Arizona

  Mandy’s work was, as always, top notch. Not only had she managed to schedule the interview with Donald Warner at the prison, but she’d also sent a message and a few documents. “Warner said he would welcome the chance to meet a diligent reporter. Like all the others got it wrong. Like a convicted killer deserves better or something.”

  Jess grimaced when she read the message. Warner had been proclaiming his innocence to anyone and everyone since his arrest. Because of its sensational aspects, reporters made sure the Warner case had unfolded in the media, in tedious detail, minute by minute. But Warner had been convicted by a jury and sentenced to life in the Arizona State Prison at Santa Irene by a judge and nothing Jess had seen or heard before today suggested that he didn’t deserve to be right where he was.

  Mandy had included the prison’s address for Jess’s GPS. It sat on the west side of Santa Irene, about twelve miles outside the city limits. As she drove, Jess pulled it up on her phone and expanded the map to see the surrounding areas.

  The map looked like the place had been plopped down in the middle of nowhere by the hand of God. The high-security prison was accessible by only one road that ran past the entrance, Arizona Highway 297. Given how remote the place was, Jess wondered where prison employees lived. Santa Irene, probably.

  The prison buildings were a good half of a mile from the road. She guessed that empty land in the western half of Arizona must have been cheap back when the prison was constructed. An arrow-straight drive ran from the highway, through several rings of barbed wire that surrounded a cluster of broad, two-story buildings the way a moat surrounds a castle.