by Burton, Mary
She smoothed her hands down her thighs. “If that doesn’t tie the two fires together, I don’t know what does. Seems very convenient.”
A woman appeared as they were leaving Lana’s apartment. In her midthirties, she wore faded jeans and a leather jacket, and her dark hair was swept into a ponytail. “Why are the cops in Lana’s apartment?”
Gideon introduced himself, then asked, “And who are you?”
“I’m Penny Rae,” she said. “I live a couple doors down. Lana and I are friends.”
“How long have you known Lana?” Gideon asked.
“About a year. We met at a concert in Helena last year. She said she wanted to move to Montana, so I told her to try Missoula. She took me up on my offer to see the city and decided she liked it.”
“When exactly did you see her in Helena?” Joan asked.
“Early last summer. Why does that matter?” Penny asked.
“Was she with anyone at the time?” Gideon asked.
“No, she was all alone. Said she had just visited her boyfriend.” Penny tried to look around Gideon into the apartment. “What’s going on?”
“There was a fire at the salon where she worked,” Gideon said. “You think Lana had something to do with it?”
“Why would you say that?” Penny asked.
“Just asking,” Gideon said.
Penny pursed her lips. “Is Lana okay? I don’t want to get her in trouble.”
“Tell me what you know about Lana,” Gideon said.
Penny slid her hand into her pocket. “There was a guy. She didn’t see him much, but he wrote her letters, which I thought was a little old-fashioned.”
“Did you get a look at any of the letters?” Gideon asked.
“She read a few to me. He was pretty sexy.”
“Sexy how?” Joan asked.
“Not in an obvious kind of way. He just seemed totally focused on her.” She shrugged. “I started to pretend he was writing me.”
“It’s something to have someone feel that strongly about you,” Joan said.
“Yeah.”
“So Lana was hooked?” Joan asked.
“She would have done anything for him. And some of his requests were kind of weird.”
“Weird how?”
“He asked her to light a candle for him each night. Said the fire would remind her of him.”
“What else?”
“She burned her arm on the stove. She said it was an accident.”
“And you don’t think it was?” Joan asked.
“The first few times, but by the fifth time, I knew it was more than that.”
“Her boyfriend was asking her to burn herself?” Gideon asked.
“I hope you burn for me like I burn for you. She told me he said that in a letter,” Penny said.
“What was his name?” Gideon said.
“He only signed all his letters E.”
“E. Are you sure?”
“Yeah. You never said if Lana was okay?”
“When I can say, I’ll let you know.” Gideon thanked Penny. “Doug, we’re going to get out of your way. Call me with any updates.” He took Joan by the arm. “We need to get going.”
“I want to stay,” she said.
“No,” Gideon said. “We’ll get a recap later.”
Outside, Gideon settled his black Stetson on his head as he reached for his phone and searched his contacts for Warden Martin’s number. The number rang three times and went to voicemail.
“Warden, this is Detective Gideon Bailey in Missoula. I have a few questions for you about a former inmate, Elijah Weston. Can you call me back?” He hung up the phone.
“None of this makes sense, Gideon,” Joan said.
“No, but it will. Eventually.”
“We need to tell Ann. She needs to know about that picture.”
“Agreed.”
“What’s the next move? Helena?” she asked. “It’s less than two hours away.”
If he was annoyed that she had jumped into his investigation with both feet, he did not seem to mind. “Okay. Let’s go.”
In his car, he tossed his Stetson into the back seat and sat behind the wheel as she climbed into the passenger seat. As he slid on dark glasses, she unzipped her jacket and clicked her seat belt.
He easily maneuvered through town to I-90 North with the practiced ease of a man who had spent his entire life here. She missed that kind of familiarity. In Philadelphia, she knew almost every side street, shortcut, and back alley. Here it had all changed enough that she was constantly rechecking her bearings.
“A warehouse caught on fire in Helena?” she prompted.
“Leading with arson first. No small talk?”
“What?”
“Small talk would involve asking me about Kyle. What I had for breakfast. The status of the ranch.”
She considered her options. “Kyle is fine, or you would not be here. Unless you’ve changed, you still don’t eat breakfast, and I hear you have a very competent ranch manager.”
“Still not good with the small talk?”
“Worse, if you can believe it. Let’s stick to the fire in Helena.”
He wove around a slower family van and zoomed ahead in the left lane. “Owned by John Pollock,” he said. “Pollock was in Texas when his warehouse burned early in 2019.”
“Out of town like the Halperns,” she mused. “I bet he had a solid alibi.”
“He did.”
“What was the cause of the fire?”
“It was undetermined. The local fire chief finally ruled it an electrical fire despite the fact that there were two ignition points.”
“That alone should have raised a red flag.”
“It did. But in the end, the investigator was pressured to make a call. The destruction was quite extensive.”
“How certain are they that it was an accident?”
“Enough to authorize the insurance payout.”
“Does Pollock know we’re coming?”
“No. I’ve spoken to my buddy with highway patrol, Sergeant Bryce McCabe. He’s fully apprised of what I’m looking for.”
“What’s his judgment on the Helena warehouse fire?”
“He’s given me free rein to ask as many questions as I want.”
“Which means he has suspicions.”
“Maybe.”
“Speaking of the Halperns, do you have their financials yet?”
“They’ve been slow to respond. I should have my court order later today so Detective Sullivan can start pulling them.”
She looked out the window at the rolling landscape, watching the distant mountains trail past. The air was thick with the promise of snow.
“Speaking of Kyle . . . ,” she said.
“Yes?”
“He’s a good kid.”
His expression softened. “I know. Thanks.”
“Sorry to hear about his mother. I knew Helen in school.”
Gideon remained silent. “You two didn’t get along.”
“I didn’t get along with a lot of people. Doesn’t mean I wished her harm. It’s not like she stole my man.” Though it had sure felt like it when Ann had told Joan they’d married.
He shot a glance her way, and, though dark glasses concealed his eyes, his deepening frown suggested her comment had hit its mark.
“Sorry,” she said. “That was petty.”
“I begged you not to leave, Joan. I called you a dozen times. You shut me out completely.”
“I was running scared,” she said.
“I wanted to help you.”
“I know. But I didn’t have a solid foundation like you and Ann. You two could weather storms. I couldn’t. Maybe still can’t.”
“We all wanted to be there for you.”
“Believe it or not, I came to my senses within two months of leaving. I called Ann, and she told me you had gotten married.”
“She never told me.”
“Because I asked her not to. I couldn�
�t face knowing I’d screwed up the best thing in my life.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “We always had shitty timing.”
“Tell me about it.”
She switched on the radio and found a station with clear-enough reception so that the silence would not be so awkward.
When they arrived in Helena half an hour later, she was anxious to be out of the SUV and back in her own head.
Gideon parked in front of the highway patrol headquarters, and the two made their way inside. They were met by Sergeant Bryce McCabe, a tall, lean man with a thick shock of black hair. In his late thirties, he wore the dark suit, white shirt, and blue tie that seemed to come with all state and federal jobs. Gideon made the introductions, and they all shook hands.
McCabe led them to a conference room and closed the door. Once they were all sitting at the round table, he threaded his fingers together. “I couldn’t sleep after we talked last night. I’ve been thinking about the fires. We never connected the urban and rural events.”
“I’m not sure I would have, either,” Gideon said. “But we had a similar cluster of fires in the spring near Missoula. The patterns tell me there’s nothing random about the buildup to the fires. But I can’t speak to the motive yet. That will likely take financial records.”
“I’ll warn you now,” McCabe said. “Pollock is connected in the area. He’s donated heavily to the local fire department’s fund and is a real personable guy, with a solid alibi.”
“You have described the couple in Missoula who just lost their business to arson,” Gideon said.
Joan’s temper rose. Whether it was Philadelphia or the Wild West, connections always mattered. “Did you ever get a look at Pollock’s finances?”
“According to his insurance filing, he’s heavily invested in all types of properties around the state. Land rich, cash poor.”
“There’s no law against that,” Gideon said.
“Half the state would be in jail if it were,” McCabe replied.
“Did Pollock have any kind of an arrest record?” Gideon asked.
“No. Neither did his wife or his oldest son,” McCabe said.
“What would be the motive for the arson?” Joan asked.
“Other than the million-dollar payout?” McCabe asked. “I can’t think of one.”
“Land rich and cash poor,” Joan said. “Now he’s flush.”
“Detective Mason and I are headed out to talk to Pollock,” Gideon said.
“Keep me posted.”
After the trio shook hands, Joan and Gideon exited the building to his car. They drove to the site that had been Pollock’s former warehouse. It had been cleared, construction crews were on-site, and a new foundation had been laid. There was a large flatbed carrying steel structural beams.
“Mr. Pollock is wasting no time rebuilding.”
“There’s money to be made.”
Joan and Gideon crossed the street to one of the crewmen. He asked about Pollock and was instructed to visit the construction trailer.
Gideon banged his fist on the trailer door, and a man shouted for him to come inside. Joan went first and found herself facing down a trio of men gathered around blueprints spread out on a long, wide table.
“I’m looking for Mr. Pollock,” she said.
The men looked at each other and then back at her, grinning.
“Who wants to know, doll?” the oldest of the three asked.
“Detective Joan Mason.”
“And Detective Bailey.” Gideon’s voice reverberated directly behind her.
She had seen Pollock’s kind before on the streets of Philadelphia. They were quick to underestimate a female, especially one with a small frame. Almost all had shit-eating grins on their faces right up until the moment she clicked handcuffs on their wrists.
“We’re here to talk to you about the fire,” Gideon said.
The older of the men stepped away from the trio and came around the table. He moved past Joan toward Gideon. “The fire was more than a year and a half ago.”
“We understand. But walk me through what happened again.”
“What’s bringing all this up now?” Pollock challenged.
“I have a similar case in Missoula. Perhaps there’s a common thread,” Gideon said.
“I don’t see how one has to do with the other. Besides, my fire was ruled an accident.”
“Then you won’t mind answering a few questions. Otherwise I can take it up with your insurance carrier, if you’re too busy for me,” Gideon said.
Pollock motioned the other two men to leave the trailer, and once they’d closed the door behind them, Pollock said, “There’s not much more I can tell you. I was out of town. San Francisco. On business.”
Joan could picture him standing in front of a mirror saying the words. I am innocent. I was out of town.
“Sergeant McCabe told me exactly that,” Gideon said. “Did you receive any threats or have any trouble before the fire?”
“No,” Pollock said. “One minute I’m staring at the Golden Gate Bridge and the next I’m getting a call from the police.”
Joan shifted her stance, already knowing this guy was going to feed them a story vetted by his attorney. “What would have happened if the insurance company didn’t pay out?”
Pollock’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?”
“How much of a financial hit would it have been if they clawed back the payout?” Joan pressed.
“Something tells me you know the answer,” Pollock said.
“A million dollars is a fortune for some and pocket change for others. Which one are you?” she said, studying the blueprints.
Pollock’s grin looked feral. “I don’t like your tone. And unless you have proof to back up whatever it is that you’re suggesting, then I suggest you back off. In fact, who do you work for? I want to file a complaint.”
That prompted a smirk from Joan. She was already in hot water, likely would not get her job back, and knew her boss would welcome a complaint out of another jurisdiction that would be the final nail in her coffin. He had her name, and he could dig for the captain’s name if he wanted it.
“What was the cause of the fire?” Gideon asked, redirecting him.
“Electrical,” Pollock said, his gaze still on Joan.
Gideon looked out the window toward the fresh slab of concrete. “There were two ignition sites.”
“It was a surge in power that overloaded the old wiring,” Pollock said. “Read the fire report.”
“Was it as large as this new project?”
“No. The new building is twice the size. The area is booming, and I have the land to expand. Now’s as good a time as any to go bigger.”
“The old warehouse would have cost a fortune to renovate or tear down,” Joan said. “The fire was a stroke of luck.”
“Time for you both to leave,” Pollock said. “If you have any more questions, you can talk to my attorney.”
“You think you need an attorney?” Joan asked.
“I don’t cross the street without one,” Pollock replied. “Now leave.”
Both stood their ground, ignoring the bluff.
Gideon searched his phone and then held up a picture of Lana Long. “Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Take a long look,” Gideon said.
“I don’t know her.”
“If we need to come back, we will,” Gideon said as he handed his card to Pollock. “Might want to give your attorney a heads-up.”
Outside, neither spoke until they’d crossed to his SUV. “Not sure if it’s my winning personality, but I torqued him up,” Joan said.
“You always had a knack for irritating people. Direct as an ax,” he said.
“Pissed-off people usually open their mouths and incriminate themselves.”
Gideon drove them back to Missoula, and both sat in silence, each lost in their thoughts. When he pulled into town, he asked, “Are you hungry?”
“S
tarving.”
“I know a place.” He pulled up in front of Tucker’s Diner.
“Ah Jesus, Gideon. Is there no other place to eat?”
“Old times’ sake,” he said with a grin.
“The good old days weren’t that great. I worked my ass off here.”
“My treat. Indulge me.”
Joan stared at the door she had pushed through so many times. “I’m afraid I’ll end up in that pink uniform again and behind the counter.”
Gideon opened it for her. “You won’t.”
The diner was quiet, but she knew it was the lull before the usual lunch crowd. They each grabbed menus from a star-shaped holder and gave their order to a waitress dressed in the restaurant’s traditional pink uniform. The pretty young woman returned quickly with their drinks and a smile.
“This your first time back here?” Gideon asked.
She sipped her soda. “Yes. I’ve avoided it since my return.”
He shook his head as he stirred the ice in his soda with the straw. “You put in some long hours. Holidays, too.”
“I had no choice.”
He looked toward the counter. “Did Elijah eat here often?”
“At least four or five times a week. He always ordered the same thing. Pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Never varied once.”
He studied her over his cup. “I’m surprised you would remember that.”
“I liked him. He was a nice guy. I know he didn’t fit in well with most, but that’s probably why I liked him.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Everyday stuff. Classes and books mostly. We never talked about life beyond graduation. I just assumed we would find a way and it would work out.”
“It did. In its own way.”
His silence felt troubled until finally he shifted back to the case. “What do you think of Pollock?”
“Giving him the benefit of the doubt, he’s been through the wringer the last year. Fire generates a lot of paperwork and is a pain in the ass. He could just be tired of the questions.”
“Now tell me what you really think.”
She grinned. “Arson is an accepted business practice in some communities. It can be the most cost-effective strategy in the long run, assuming you don’t get caught.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and see similarities between the Halpern and Pollock books.”