Dying Embers

by B. E. Sanderson

  “Son of a—”

  “You already said that.”

  “How in the hell did they get that?”

  “You’d be surprised how much the media can get.”

  “But who…?”

  “Matt from the casino? His pal Kim? Any one of a half-dozen people involved in this case could’ve let the information loose.” She shrugged. The element of surprise had been lost in Vegas. By now Emma had moved on anyway. Now they needed to figure out her next move.

  “Aren’t you even pissed?” The normally sunny detective paced the floor. “After that, she knows we know.”

  “I have a feeling she doesn’t care. She’s kept her anonymity so far because it proved useful, but I don’t think it was necessary to her plan.” Jace couldn’t admit to Ben how much this leak angered her. She learned a long time ago shouting and arm-waving only released a stress valve for a little while, and it never lasted long. Besides, nothing could be done about the leak after the fact anyway. It was like trying to stuff a djinn back in the bottle. “Quit stalking around here like an angry bear and listen to me.”

  His pacing stopped, but she could almost feel the heat coming off him in waves. “What?” he said, his voice barely below a shout.

  “She was married for thirteen years.”

  “So?”

  She raised one eyebrow. The anger had him so ramped up he couldn’t think, and she needed him thinking. “So that means every man she hunted knew her before she met Will Sweet.”

  “She could’ve had affairs.”

  Jace tilted her head. “Listen. I know you’re pissed, but we don’t have time to deal with that right now. After we’re done, you can drive down to the network and scream at the reporters until you pop an aneurysm. Until then, leave it.” His posture relaxed, but only marginally. He still looked like he wanted to put a fist through the nearest wall, or the reporter’s face.

  “Fine. But I still think she could’ve been stepping out on her husband while he was stepping out on her. Stranger things have happened.”

  “I’ll admit it’s possible, but if you think about it, it’s not probable. Emma snapped when she caught her husband having an affair. If she was having one of her own, don’t you think she would’ve felt relief not rage? Besides, I don’t think an affair is her style. She wants to be everything to one man. It would only stand to reason she would expect him to be everything for her.”

  Ben’s shoulders slumped as the last of his anger filtered away through Jace’s words. “You’re right,” he admitted, “but I still don’t see where you’re going with this.”

  “You will when you stop letting this bullshit get in the way. Cut it out. It’s just not a pretty color on you.” She winked, and he rewarded her with one of his wide smiles. Jace could drown in one of those grins, but not now. “Are you ready to listen, or should we just call the locals and find out who our next contestant was?”

  “You talk. I listen. Then we go. Got it.”

  “Thank you. Like I was saying, Emma’s been married for thirteen years, and I think I’m safe in assuming she spent all those years playing the faithful and devoted wife. So these guys only knew Emma as a young, brunette who went under the name of Parkkonen.”

  “But now we know who she is.”

  He still didn’t get it, and she could slap him for letting his frustration make him dense. “She doesn’t give a rat’s tiny, white hiney whether we know. She only cares about whether she can get to her intended victims. So far, she either surprises them or she gains their trust. Her identity being out there wouldn’t affect her surprise factor and changing her looks means her old identity would be hard to match up to her new self. As far as she’s concerned, it’s a non-issue.”

  “So what you’re saying is, she’s been hunting camouflaged. Her prey wouldn’t notice her until she’s—”

  “Until she’s ready to make the kill.”

  Jace reached toward the phone, but before her hand was halfway there, it rang. “Frank?” she said into the receiver.

  “Agent Douglas? This is Lieutenant Genniver with the LVPD. I was told to call you about—”

  “The latest car fire. I saw it on the news.”

  “Your suspect?”

  “Ninety-nine percent sure. I just need to get the techs out there as soon as the fire dies down to confirm.”

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He cleared his throat. “You see, I think Nevada Highway Patrol caught your suspect on the road heading out of town. If you’d like to come on down to headquarters, we can take care of the details and get this whole thing behind us.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She won’t give us a name, but it’s your gal. I’d lay odds on that, and you can count on my odds. I’m Las Vegas, born and bred.”

  After arranging a time and getting directions to the city’s police headquarters, she explained the conversation to her partner.

  “He’s got to be kidding,” Ben said with a shake of his head. “So this guy’s a gambler, and that makes him believe he’s got the right woman?”

  “So you don’t think it’s her either?”

  “You said it yourself. She’s long gone. Whoever this suspect is, she can’t be Emma Sweet.”

  #

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the young woman shouted. “I don’t know any guys named Edgar Wilson or Owen Nyland. Why don’t you just ask me if I know Daffy Duck? At least I seen him before.”

  Ben and Jace watched from behind the one-way glass as a young man in a suit interrogated the suspect, and from the looks of it, both parties’ patience had worn thin.

  “You’re only making this harder on yourself.” The officer slapped a photo down on the table, and the blonde cringed.

  “That’s just gross, dude.”

  “That’s what happens when you light a man on fire. What’d you do? Douse him with that vodka you had in your backpack? What does a girl need with a gallon of vodka anyway?”

  The girl crossed her arms in front of her. “It’s a long walk from Vegas to LA.”

  “You mean it’s a long string of unsuspecting drivers you like to get liquored up before you torch them alive?”

  Jace couldn’t believe her ears. According to Frank, the case files had already been shared with local law enforcement. Nothing the officer intimated even matched the Vegas crime scenes, let alone what her team already knew.

  “What do they think they’re doing?” Ben said between tightly gritted teeth.

  “Closing a case so the tourists don’t panic.” She continued to watch the charade behind the glass, but the particulars no longer mattered. Whatever they put this girl through, they didn’t have enough evidence to convict her—the evidence in both cases pointed to Emma Sweet.

  A door opened and closed, but she still continued to stare. The woman had to be at least fifteen years younger than Emma. Although she did have the same coloring and basic physical description, her naturally blonde hair and her bone structure were all wrong.

  “She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” said a voice Jace recognized as Lieutenant Genniver. “Backpacking across the country, or so she says. I guess you can say this case is closed.”

  Ben opened his mouth, but a firm hand on his arm shut it again.

  “I think we need to talk about that.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” Genniver grinned and looped his hands into his waistband. “Our guys caught her. And you’re very welcome, I might add.”

  “Have you seen the evidence they have on this girl?”

  “I don’t need to see it. According to the detective there, everything’s in order, and that’s sufficient for me.” He slapped Ben on the shoulder like they were old friends sharing a joke. “Don’t you worry. We’ll send her off to you after we’re through. Of course, we have the death penalty here, so there might not be much left for you to work with.”

  Jace ran her hands through her hair. “I think you need to see the evidence.” />
  “I trust my men. Why would I need to do a thing like that?”

  “Because there isn’t any?” Ben said, shrugging off Jace’s grip. “You’re holding some stupid hitchhiker and acting like you saved the day. What kind of incompetent are you?”

  The lieutenant turned a darker shade of red. “I don’t care if you are a Fed, you better watch how you talk to me in my jurisdiction.”

  “My partner gets a little testy when he sees the wrong person getting badgered.” She jerked a thumb toward the glass. On the other side, the young woman had dropped her streetwise façade and now cried openly while the officer continued to shout questions at her. “For one thing, do you really think a woman who killed and torched two men would break down like that? For another thing, we already have the identity of the killer and this girl doesn’t even meet the information on the suspect’s driver’s license.”

  “Don’t tell me you government yahoos don’t know about perps changing their looks?”

  The lieutenant directed all his comments toward Ben, even as he answered Jace. It was all she could do not to slap the smug right off the guy. “Don’t be an ass,” she growled. “I’d like to think you’re a better man than that. Otherwise, Clark County’s in trouble. Now, just stop with the big dog pissing contest and listen. The files we sent to your office the morning they discovered Edgar Wilson will go a long way toward getting that woman out of here so we can focus on the real killer. If those don’t help, my team should be sending you additional data any moment.”

  As the lieutenant glowered at her, she stood her ground. “Our killer’s name is Emma Sweet, and she’s—to use terms anyone can understand—a trophy wife gone postal. To date, she’s killed at least a dozen people in a half-dozen states—including the two here. I’ve been working this case for the past six months, and I can tell you without any trace of uncertainty, the woman you’re holding is not our killer.”

  Jace prepared for battle, or at least a minor skirmish. What Genniver gave her wasn’t either. His shoulders slumped and the pompous seemed to rush out of him like air from a leaky lifeboat.

  “You’re shitting me,” he said.

  “Somebody is shitting you,” Ben inserted, “but it’s not us.”

  Genniver walked to a button on the wall. “Claude? Can I have a word with you?”

  The man in the interrogation room didn’t appear pleased with the interruption, but after a few terse words to his suspect, he complied.

  “I almost had her, Lieutenant,” he said as he walked into the room. “What’s so important that you’re giving her time to change her story?”

  “When were you going to tell me about the case files you received?”

  The young man lifted one shoulder. “This is about that shit? Those don’t make a damn bit of difference to me. They’re talking out the other side of their asses.”

  Lieutenant Genniver shifted on his feet, and the officer finally noticed the other occupants of the room. “These are the agents assigned to that case. Do you want to explain to them exactly why a man who’s only glanced at a small picture thinks they’re talking out their asses?

  “This is my collar!”

  “And it may be your last. What the hell are you thinking?”

  Detective Claude wriggled so much he reminded Jace of a naughty puppy. “She’s good for the Nyland murder. She matches the description, she was on the same road, and she was carrying accelerant. If you give me enough time with her, I can get her to confess to Nyland and to Wilson.”

  “Too much more time with you, she’ll confess to kidnapping the Lindberg baby.” Ben’s growl reverberated in the small room.

  The detective shot him a dirty look. “You Feds think you’re so smart. You just want me off this so you can collar her yourself.”

  “Son,” Genniver said, “if you believe that, you’re dumber than you’re looking right now.” The lieutenant laid a gentle hand on his underling’s shoulder. “Before you make a total fool of yourself, walk in that room, apologize all over yourself to that young lady, and give her enough bus fare to get her wherever she wants to go.”

  “But…”

  “But nothing. You don’t have a damn thing to charge her with.”

  Claude swallowed hard. His eyes darted as he tried to find a way to hold on to his perpetrator. “We can keep her on suspicion of—”

  “Release her—before I lose my temper. And before the press gets wind of this and some shyster talks her into filing a damn lawsuit.”

  The young detective opened his mouth, but the expression on his superior’s face made him close it with an audible snap. Within seconds, he re-entered the interrogation room, offering apologies and taking whatever flak the girl could give. Which from the sounds of it was a lot.

  “I’m very sorry about all this.” Genniver rubbed one hand over his bald head. “I guess I’m to blame as much as the kid is. If I hadn’t been so damn excited to get this case put away, I would’ve paid better attention.”

  “It happens to the best of us,” Ben offered. “I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if I was in your position.”

  Despite her partner’s words, Jace knew damn well Ben wouldn’t do the same, but as long as the lieutenant remained open to reason, she didn’t see any harm in assuaging his guilt.

  “If you don’t mind, Lieutenant, we’d like to wrap up here and get back to work. By now, she’s already halfway to California, and I’d like to stop her before she gets to the next name on her list.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “And now in local news, the police have identified a suspect in the recent incidents that touched off wildfires in the mountains west of Las Vegas. An unnamed source told us that the authorities are looking for a woman by the name of Emma Sweet in connection with the grisly murders of two local men. Sweet is identified as…”

  Emma turned off the radio. “Well, I guess it couldn’t last forever.”

  Nothing lasts forever, Emma. Will’s voice in her ear made her jump. He’d been so quiet while she was with Studly, and then with Owen, she almost forgot he was there.

  “You certainly didn’t,” she replied with more bravado than she felt.

  They’re going to catch you soon, you know. You can’t keep flirting with Douglas and think you’re going to get away.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get away. She’s too busy with her new man to focus on anything else, and that’s where her mistake is.”

  You were too busy with your precious Studly, or they never would’ve gotten this close. Now they know your name; they know where you live… You know what that means, don’t you? They know what your car looks like, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if you get pulled over and arrested by some hick traffic cop in the next mile or two.

  Her hands tightened on the wheel. She had let herself get so wrapped up in her mission, she didn’t think about what it would mean for her identity to get into Douglas’ hands. “I’ll just have to find a new car.” As she said the words, though, she knew any car she took would eventually be found, too. Like a flash of lightning, her next move came to her.

  They’re going to catch you, Emma. And then they’re going to kill you, just like you killed your men.

  She laughed at Will’s absurd suggestion. No one would catch her, at least not any time soon. So what if they had her house and her car? By now, they probably even had most of her money. She didn’t care; she had enough cash left to kill Peter. No matter how much they discovered about Emma Sweet, they’d ever know about her final target, and even if they found out, they would never find him in time.

  If she got caught afterwards, she would die happy knowing she died serving justice.

  Serving justice, or serving yourself?

  She longed to toss the urn out the window just to shut him up, but for a brief instant, she had the clarity of mind to know his voice didn’t come from the metal canister. He lived inside her head, and she could never have silence until she finished her mission and put Will to rest.

>   #

  The semi churned down the highway, leaving tiny swirls of dust—like mini-tornados—in its wake. As it neared the dormant convertible, its wheels began to slow—either out of pity for a stranded driver or out of lust for the scantily-clad woman leaning against the trunk. Whatever the reason, Emma didn’t care; she just wanted to move on before the cops found her.

  A semi wasn’t the idea she had in mind, but after an hour baking in the Eastern California desert, she really couldn’t afford to be picky. She would’ve preferred a sports car or a luxury SUV, with a handsome driver she could give her special ministrations to before she relieved him of his vehicle. Instead, she would have to settle for a ride to the next town.

  She would find some willing male there, surely.

  “Car trouble?” the driver said as he walked up to her.

  As if some other reason could keep her drying like an apricot under the midday sun. “I don’t know what happened. It just died. I can’t imagine what the problem could be.” She kept her smile hidden. She knew exactly what the car’s problem was, but she wasn’t about to share it with the beer bellied scag-muffin staring down at her.

  “Maybe you ran out of gas.”

  Fat, ugly, and stupid—just her luck. “It’s still on a half-tank, but stranger things have happened,” she said using what Will always called her ‘honey come to bed’ voice.

  The trucker licked his lips. “They sure have. Tell ya what. Why don’t you lock this thing up and let me take you into Barstow. It might cost you a fortune to get it towed in, but it’s better than sitting out here all by your little lonesome.”

  If this guy thought she was worried about money, he needed his IQ checked. As she leaned against the side of her Mercedes, she wondered if she shouldn’t wait for someone at least a hair smarter to come along. Deciding a stupid host might be the best way to avoid being caught, she nodded.

  “Give me a minute to grab my things, and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Can I carry anything for you?”

  Not on your life. “Thank you, but there’s not much. I can manage.”