by Burton, Mary
Ignoring the we, Joan sipped her soda. “He sincerely seemed to not recognize Lana Long’s face.”
“She was in Denver when his place burned. But I thought it was worth a try.”
“Assuming the Beau-T-Shop and warehouse fires are connected. Are you saying we’re dealing with an arsonist for hire? Someone has a problem with a building and hires our boy?”
Their burgers arrived, and each said little as they ate. Finally, Joan said, “Elijah could not have set the Pollock fire.”
“Agreed.” He shoved out a breath and sat back.
“And it would have been a hell of a stretch for him to set the Beau-T-Shop fire.”
“Maybe he had a proxy,” Gideon said.
“Lana Long.”
“This guy turned on his charm, and according to her former boyfriend, Ryan, Lana fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”
“Sounds like Elijah.”
“You need to watch yourself around him.”
She arched a brow. “Do you think I’ve fallen for Elijah’s charm as well?”
“You did come halfway across the country twenty-four hours after his release.” He sat back, balling his paper napkin and then setting it on the plate.
She leaned forward, not knowing whether to slap him or laugh. Finally, she said, “You really think I’m that gullible?”
“When you spent time with Elijah at the diner, what did you talk about?”
“School. I was the teaching assistant in his class. Books. Gossip.”
“You didn’t date?”
“You mean, did I cheat on you? No. I did not. And since we’re being very honest, when did you start to date Helen? Was it really after I left, or had you two taken up before?”
His face hardened into a stiff mask. Her comment had hit its mark, and she was glad. Hit her and she hit back.
“I didn’t go out with her until after you broke up with me,” he said.
“You didn’t wait more than a day or two.”
“How long was I supposed to wait, Joan?”
What he had done after she left was his business, not hers. But it still stung that he had moved on from her so quickly. She could feel her own damn emotions welling up, and she feared if she stayed in this diner much longer, she would say something stupid that would make her look weak.
She fished a twenty-dollar bill out of her purse and tossed it on the table. “You’re right. None of my business. I’ll find my way back.”
As she rose, his hand came out, and he captured her wrist. “It’s been ten years. Why are you so upset?”
“I’m not upset.”
“You are.”
Her pulse beat fast and hard against his calloused fingertips. She had always made it a policy not to stir up the ghosts and demons from the shadows. But here they were, examining past mistakes and injuries. Maybe one day, she would discover this had been cathartic. But that day was not today. “I’m not Lana.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You implied I’ve fallen for Elijah like Lana did.”
“Have you?” He studied her closely.
She snatched her hand away and left the diner.
Confessions of an Arsonist
A cleansing fire hides so many sins.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Missoula, Montana
Tuesday, September 8, 2020
6:00 p.m.
Joan grabbed an Uber back to her car at the police station and then drove to the ranch. Her head was pounding by the time she pulled into Ann’s driveway. The sun still burned hot, but the light was softening. She was bone-tired, but not so much from the day itself.
What had drained her was the time with Gideon. The old wounds had been ripped wide open today. And for him to suggest she was like Lana pissed her off. If her partner or a stranger had lobbed such an accusation, she would have been pissed but not hurt. But Gideon striking such a low blow had all but drained her of her resolve.
She got out of her car, and gravel crunched under her feet as she crossed the circular drive and tried the front door. It was locked.
Joan rang the bell and waited as Ann’s patient, steady steps clicked through the house.
When the door opened, Ann was smiling. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s smart to lock your doors. I wouldn’t work so many cases if more people did.”
Ann stepped to the side, studying Joan. “Is everything all right?”
“I feel a little ragged.” She placed her purse by the door where Ann’s and Nate’s shoes were neatly lined up and then toed off her own.
“I just opened a bottle of wine.”
“I’ll take a large glass, please.”
“Coming up.”
Joan followed Ann toward the kitchen. “How did school go today?”
“Nate had a great day. After school, I picked him up and brought him to the university. He audited a class.”
“Did he like it?”
Ann reached for the open bottle of red on the counter, poured a glass, and handed it to Joan. “He couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“What was the class?”
“Advanced math. I’ll spare you the details.”
“Wow. Good for him.” She sipped. “And Elijah?”
“I see him Wednesday.”
“And how are you doing with that?”
“Not great. I’m not looking forward to it.”
“He is. He’s read the textbook at least twice.”
“Really?”
“When I was his TA, he always gave me a run for my money.”
Ann sipped. “Terrific. How did it go with Gideon today?”
“Interesting.”
A timer on the stove dinged, and Ann reached for oven mitts and removed a roasted chicken from the stove. “In a good or bad way?”
“Both.” Joan fished her phone from her back pocket and handed it to Ann. “He compiled a list of fires in the state during the last decade and marked them on a map.”
Ann studied the map, enlarging the image with a swipe of her fingers. “Does he really think they’re all related?”
“I doubt they all are, but there’re enough clusters to suggest a pattern. Check out the Helena area. It’s had quite the collection in the rural areas as well as a significant fire last year in town.”
She frowned. “We had a few small fires in the hills this summer.”
Joan glanced in her glass, swirling the wine gently. “Nobody has a better alibi than Elijah.”
“For only those fires,” Ann said.
“Gideon thinks Elijah might be working with an apprentice. Lana Long may have been one of them.”
Ann handed Joan back the phone. “That would make sense.”
“How well did you know Elijah?” Joan asked.
“I knew of him,” she said carefully. “Just like everyone else.”
“Do you remember him hanging out with any girls?”
“No.”
“Anyone who might have been a little too devoted to him?” Miss Weston had said he’d carried a picture of a pretty girl from money.
“I don’t understand where this is going,” Ann said.
“Maybe Elijah really wasn’t near our house the night of the College Fire. Maybe he sent someone to do his bidding.”
“I’m sure the cops would have asked around about Elijah’s associates.”
“I would assume so, too. But there’s always someone who slips between the cracks. We all think we know people, and in the end, we really don’t.”
“You sound like a psychologist.” Ann smiled, but it had a nervous edge to it.
Joan had been a cop too long not to notice. “That makes you nervous.”
“No.”
Joan shook her head. “It does. Why?”
“Maybe I don’t like the idea that someone else was working with Elijah. Bad enough there’s one crazy running around. Now we might have two? And this person, if he or she exists, didn’t get arrested.”
“
No, they did not. But that doesn’t mean they still can’t be.” Joan met Ann’s gaze. “A picture was found in Lana Long’s apartment. It was of you and me.”
“What?”
“It was taken our senior year.”
Ann’s face paled as she seemed to absorb the information. “How could she get ahold of that?”
“I have no idea. But you need to be careful.”
“We both do.”
Gideon sat in his study, listening as Kyle finished washing his hands and brushing his teeth. He sipped his beer, wishing it had enough punch to blot out his last conversation with Joan. Now that he’d had a couple of hours to cool off and replay the shocked look on her face, he knew he had overstepped in a major way.
“Dad?” Kyle asked.
He looked toward the doorway. Kyle was dressed in pajama pants and the T-shirt he had worn to school that day. His hair was wet and stood straight up on end. “Did you take a bath?”
“Yes. See, my hair is wet.”
He considered pointing out the day-old shirt but let it go. “Good job, pal. And homework is finished?”
“Yep.”
“Do I need to sign anything for school tomorrow?”
“Teacher said a bunch are coming this week.”
He had learned the hard way to have specific questions for the kid; otherwise his yes-no answers did not always tell the full story. “Great.”
Kyle crossed the room and hugged Gideon. He set down his beer and hugged the boy back. As much as he wanted to take back sleeping with Helen right after Joan had left, he would never do that because then Kyle would not have been in his life. “Love you, kid.”
“You too, Dad.” Kyle scratched his head.
When Kyle turned the light off in his room, Gideon glanced at his phone and noticed the missed call from the prison warden. He took another swig of beer and hit “Redial.” On the third ring, he heard a brusque “Detective Bailey.”
“Warden Martin,” he said. “Thanks for the return call. I know it’s getting late.”
“I’m still at the office. Got your voicemail and was intrigued. I pulled Elijah Weston’s file to refresh my memory.”
Gideon’s chair squeaked as he leaned back. “I’m guessing he was a model prisoner.”
“That he was. In fact, he’s one of the inmates we like to brag about. He started working in the kitchens, moved to the library, and finally was an assistant in my office. He’s already promised to come back and speak to the inmates about making life on the outside work. Please tell me he’s not already in trouble.”
Gideon rubbed his finger over his eyebrow. “No. From what I can see, he has been a model citizen.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“We had a fire in town over the weekend. It was the day he was released from prison. But Elijah does have a solid alibi.”
“I understand, given his history, why you have to look at him, but make sure you don’t get tunnel vision.”
“I understand.”
“So how can I be of assistance?”
“I had a woman die in the fire. Her name was Lana Long. Her boyfriend said she carried on a correspondence with one of your prisoners.”
Gideon could hear papers flipping in the background. “Yes, Lana Long did write to him. But he had several women who wrote to him.”
“Can you name them for me?”
“For starters, Scottie Winter, Sarah Rogers, and Jennifer Caldwell. There’re about a half dozen more. I can email you the full list.”
Joan Mason was also on that list. “Can you send me copies of the letters?” He knew the prison opened and searched inmate mail and, in some cases, kept copies on file.
“I’ll send you what I have first thing in the morning.”
“That would be great.”
“May I ask why the interest?”
“We’re fairly sure he did not set this recent fire, and we know he didn’t set a series of smaller fires across the state in the last decade. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t working with someone.”
“He wouldn’t be the first to get a woman on the outside to do his bidding. He’s charismatic as hell.”
“What else can you tell me about him?”
“Always insisted he was innocent, but that’s standard with a lot of these guys. Has one hell of a memory. The last couple of years, he worked in the main office and was always professional.”
“Did he have visitors?”
More papers rustled. “Lana Long saw him six times this year. Approved visitors are allowed once a month.”
“Was Elijah allowed conjugal visits?”
“He was not.”
“He was never alone with Lana Long? Perhaps a blind spot on the cameras?”
“We’re very careful.”
“Did he get any work release jobs because of his good behavior?” Gideon asked.
“No, all his jobs were on the prison property.”
“You said he worked for you in your office.”
“He did. He was a great help.” Warden Martin cleared his throat and lowered his tone. “Why are you pressing this?”
“I’d rather not say now. But as soon as I know more on this end, I’ll give you a full brief.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
He stood in the darkness, staring at the Bailey ranch house, waiting for all the lights to go out. The boy’s room had been the first to go dark, at about 9:00, and after that, the mother’s room at 10:15. But the guest, she was a stubborn one. Her light stayed on till almost 11:00.
Picking up the plastic milk jug full of gasoline, he crossed the large lawn toward the house. Out here, there were no neighbors to see him, and under a moonless sky, he was nearly invisible to the naked eye. Thankfully, there was no dog to contend with, although he had managed quite easily with them in the past.
In a low crawl, he moved toward a shed located near the woods. He was tempted to set fire to the house, but this was meant as a warning, and he always stuck to the plan.
As he approached the shed, he realized the door was ajar. Not smart to leave a shed unlocked. Even this far out, thieves turned up. He reached inside the door, set the lock, and then gently closed the door. He tested the handle and made sure it was locked.
He removed a sock from his pocket and twisted it into a spiral before shoving it in the gallon-size plastic milk jug filled with gas. He then fished out a lighter from his pocket.
He flicked the lighter, and when the flame caught, he paused for a moment and admired the dancing flame. “So pure,” he whispered.
He held the flame to the cloth, which had already wicked up the gasoline. It immediately embraced the cloth and enveloped it in a blue-and-orange flame. Its heat warmed his face and chased away the evening chill. In these few seconds, he understood completely the danger. It was the one last intimate moment he shared with his creation before releasing it.
After setting the jug down in the mulch, he quickly backed away as the flame snaked down the sock. He held his breath.
He counted. One. Two . . .
The flame ignited the gasoline, and the plastic jug exploded in a fireball that was nothing short of perfection. How could he not love something like this?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Missoula, Montana
Tuesday, September 8, 2020
11:50 p.m.
The explosion jerked Joan out of a restless sleep. She sat up in her bed, her heart pounding and the glow of flames dancing on the walls of her room. She thought for a moment that she was dreaming. Despite the decade that had passed, the College Fire had never been far away. It lurked in her subconscious and sometimes invaded her dreams. She blinked, but even as her head cleared, the flames did not die down. She realized this was no dream.
She quickly reached for her phone and swung her legs over the side of the bed, grabbing her jeans, boots, and shirt. Her clothes were always within reach since the College Fire, and then later, when she became a detective, she was always re
ady to respond to a call and primed and ready to run for her life.
She bolted into the living room and shouted to Ann as she pulled her shirt over her head and shrugged on her pants. “Fire! Ann, wake up. Fire!”
The lights upstairs flicked on as Joan shoved her feet into her boots.
“Joan!” Ann appeared at her bedroom door, still wearing her pajamas. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a fire outside my window. I think it’s the shed. Is there a hose outside?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded heavy with sleep. “I’m getting Nate.”
Joan ran out the front door, bracing as the cold wind slapped her face. Adrenaline pumping through her body, she ran along the side of the house until she saw the hose and the spigot. Another couple of weeks and the hose would have been winterized and the exterior faucet turned off.
She wrapped her fingers around the cold metal and turned. The knob was stuck, forcing her to tug her sleeve down over her palm for traction. Gritting her teeth, she put her weight and energy into the handle. The heat of the flames warmed her back, and when she looked over her shoulder, it was licking up the side of the shed. “Turn on, you son of a bitch.”
The handle budged slightly, and she renewed her efforts. She twisted again, and this time it gave way. Water spurted out, and she dragged the stubborn coil of hose with her. She opened the nozzle and hit the fire with water. The fire hissed and spit but resisted any attempts to quell its fury.
Joan’s heart hammered in her chest as she took a step closer, the heat so hot now that her cheeks felt blistered.
“I can’t find Nate!” Ann shouted behind her. “He’s not in his room.”
Joan stretched the hose as far as it would reach and then squeezed the nozzle harder. “Have you checked the entire house?”
“Yes!”
She peered into the blaze, praying the boy had not slipped outside to build one of his bonfires and ended up trapped in the burning shed. “Would he have come outside?”
“No! Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know! What about the closets and under the beds?”
When a fire broke out, children, in an effort to save themselves, often hid from the flames, not realizing that the insidious smoke would coil around them and take their lives long before the fire did.