by Janet Dawson
I returned Sid’s call. “Just wanted to let you know,” he said. “Slade’s parents showed up at headquarters this morning, along with Marsh Spencer’s mother. The mother was weepy, not surprising. The stepfather’s all for letting Slade rot in jail. As for Marsh’s mother, she blames Slade. Her boy could do no wrong, according to her. She and Millicent Patchett got into a screaming fight.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry for Millicent. I really liked her. Look, if you need to talk with Laurette Mason, she’s checked out of the motel where she and Slade were staying. I was over there a while ago, with Davina. She’s staying with Davina for the time being. We packed up Slade’s stuff, too, if you want it. I doubt there will be anything in his belongings that ties him to the fires, though. He did a pretty good job of concealing that side of himself from Laurette.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass that information along.”
When I ended the call, I made another, to Antoine in New Orleans. I gave him a detailed update. “Congratulations,” he said. “You cleared the case. Did he cop to Ray Brixton’s death?”
“Sort of. Not that it would stand up in court. Sid’s going to follow up with the NOLA PD.”
“Maybe that will help Cindy Brixton. I’ll pass the info to her. Keep safe, Jeri. And let me know the next time you’re coming to the Big Easy. There’s a bunch of restaurants we gotta try.”
“I will. Thanks for everything, Antoine.” I hung up.
Then I saw that I’d had another voice mail while I was talking. This one was from Dan. I pressed the buttons and listened.
“Hey, I’m done with research for a while. I’m on a nonstop heading home, leaving in a few minutes.” He told me what time the flight was due to land in Oakland, adding, “If you’re available to pick me up, fine. If not, I’ll take a cab home.”
Now I looked at my watch. Dan’s plane would be landing in about an hour. I called him back and left a message saying I’d be at the airport, waiting for his call. Then I got into my car and headed for my office. It was fairly quiet this Saturday morning. I saw a few cars in the parking lot at the back of the building, and a few people at desks in the law firm.
At my desk, I leaned back in my chair and thought about the case. Slade and Marsh and the fires. Was Marsh, alone or with Slade, the arsonist who’d been burning construction sites in the East Bay? Some, perhaps, but not all. I remembered what Sid had told me a few days earlier, at the developers’ meeting. The fires didn’t fit a single pattern. That made me think there was more than one arsonist.
Running, I thought. Slade had been running, from job to job, from town to town. He was trying to outrun his past, that was my theory. But because of his behavior patterns, the past kept catching up with him. I thought about Millicent, who loved her son, no matter how bad he was. I felt sorry for her. But there was little I could do. Her son was in jail and likely to be there a long, long time.
I turned to my computer and wrote a report of the case, one I’d share with Gary, my client. As I read through it, a wave of fatigue swept over me. My own late night and early morning were catching up with me. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was time to leave for the airport.
Some twenty minutes later, I pulled into the Park-and-Call lot at Oakland Airport, waiting there with several other cars. When my phone rang, I answered, saying, “Welcome home!”
“Glad to be here,” Dan said. “We were a bit late getting in and I’m headed down to baggage claim.”
“I’m at the Park-and-Call. I’ll circle around and pick you up at the end of the sidewalk.”
I started my car and navigated my way out of the lot and onto the main road that circled through the airport. Baggage claim was at the far end of Terminal Two and the sidewalk extended past the cab stand. The curb was busy with other cars, jockeying for space to pick up arriving passengers, some getting evicted by sheriff’s deputies if they lingered too long.
Dan waited at the very end of the sidewalk, easy to spot with his burnt-orange rolling duffel bag. He was tall and rangy, with dark hair curling around his face. Today he was dressed in his usual casual attire, a pair of khaki slacks and a blue T-shirt, both looking good on his lean frame. He had a jacket tucked under his arm and a small blue nylon case that carried his laptop computer.
I pulled into a recently vacated spot at the curb, popped the trunk and got out as he hoisted the duffel and the laptop case into the cargo space. We managed a quick hug and a kiss, his arms enveloping me and pulling me close. I kept my eye on the deputy, who had an implacable look on her face as she told a guy in an SUV to get moving.
“We’d better go.” I headed around to the driver’s side as Dan got into the passenger seat. “I’ve missed you,” I said as I glanced over my shoulder and pulled into the flow of traffic. “I’ll have you home soon.” Dan had an apartment in Berkeley, I had a house in Oakland, and we hadn’t yet reached the stage of moving in together.
He stretched, adjusting the strap of his shoulder harness. “Do you want to get some lunch?”
“I’ve had quite a night, and morning,” I said. “What I’d really like is a nap.”
He grinned. “I’ll join you.”
Author’s Note
As of late fall 2018, there have been at least nine arson fires at construction sites in Oakland and Emeryville, California. In all cases, the fires destroyed sites where multi-unit housing was being built. There has been a number of theories regarding who is responsible for the fires and the motivations behind them, but there is little evidence to prove any of these theories. In late November 2018, one person was arrested and charged with causing one fire, though the case has yet to move forward. The other fires and their causes and perpetrators remain mysteries.
About the Author
In fall 2016, Janet Dawson joined a thousand or so mystery writers and fans in New Orleans to attend Bouchercon, the World Mystery Convention. While enjoying a week in NOLA and its environs, sampling the city’s food and music, Dawson began thinking of a way to send her fictional Oakland private eye, Jeri Howard, to the Big Easy. The Devil Close Behind is the result.
The novel is the 13th in the series, which began with Kindred Crimes, winner of the St. Martin’s Press/Private Eye Writers of America contest for Best Private Eye Novel, and a nominee for several best first awards. Her Jeri Howard book Bit Player was nominated for a Golden Nugget award for best California mystery. Her most recent Jeri Howard novel, Water Signs, was published in April 2017.
Dawson also writes historical mysteries. The California Zephyr series features protagonist Jill McLeod, who is a Zephyrette aboard the sleek streamliner train. The books are set in the early 1950s and the titles are Death Rides the Zephyr, Death Deals a Hand and The Ghost in Roomette Four.
In addition, Dawson has written a suspense novel, What You Wish For, and a novella, But Not Forgotten, as well as numerous short stories, including “Voice Mail,” which won a Macavity award. She welcomes visitors and email at www.janetdawson.com and on Facebook.
mystery fiction by janet dawson
jeri howard series
Kindred Crimes
Till the Old Men Die
Take a Number
Don’t Turn Your Back on the Ocean
Nobody’s Child
A Credible Threat
Witness to Evil
Where the Bodies Are Buried
A Killing at the Track
Bit Player
Cold Trail
Water Signs
The Devil Close Behind
short stories
Scam and Eggs
suspense fiction
What You Wish For
california zephyr series
Death Rides the Zephyr
Death Deals a Hand
The Ghost in Roomette Four
From.Net