by Debra Cowan
“A survivor? Someone got out this time?”
“She was out of the building when the blaze started,” Nate said.
“Hmm.” Robin followed his gaze to a woman several feet away being checked for injuries by a firefighter. “Do we know the victim’s name?”
“Hal Trahan,” Nate answered.
Robin scribbled the name in her notebook. “Survivor?”
“Pattie Roper,” Collier and Nate said quietly in unison.
Robin’s head came up, excitement shooting through her veins. She saw the same emotion on the faces of both fire cops.
She studied the woman, noting how her jeans and T-shirt hung on her bony frame. Pattie Roper was skeleton thin. Robin recalled Billy Myers saying the woman he saw coming from his brother’s apartment the night before the second fire-murder was “really skinny.” Could it have been Pattie Roper?
Robin looked at Nate and Collier. “What did she have to say?”
“Don’t know yet,” Collier said.
Nate dragged a forearm across his forehead. A camera was slung around his neck and he held a microcassette recorder. A tackle box containing his hand tools sat at his feet. “We wanted to get the lights set up, then photograph the body and take measurements so the M.E. could move the victim.”
Robin nodded, wishing she weren’t so aware of the way his T-shirt snugged his hard biceps and hinted at the hard, muscular chest beneath the red fabric. The chest she’d been plastered to less than two hours earlier.
Reminding herself Nate was in charge, her gaze shifted to their lone witness. “How do you want to handle this?”
“You do the interview while Collier and I start working the fire scene.”
“Okay.” Slogging through red mud and trails of ashy water, she stepped carefully around the wood and glass littering the ground as she made her way over to Pattie Roper. Very interesting that her name had come up in connection with another fire.
The auburn-haired woman was pretty, but her features were drawn, her eyes reddened from tears and smoke. She coughed, wincing as though it hurt her throat. Smoke inhalation, Robin guessed.
Noting the woman’s water bottle was empty, Robin took a full one offered by a firefighter and passed it to Pattie with a quiet introduction. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”
“Hal and I were in the mess hall talking and I left to go to the restroom. There’s one on the building’s outside wall. When I came out, I smelled smoke.” She paused, giving a sharp cough. “By the time I got to the back door, the fire was there. I ran around to a side window. Flames were already there and at the front door, too. It spread so fast.”
More than one point of origin, Robin concluded. “Were you and Mr. Trahan the only ones here?”
“Yes. We’re between camp sessions.”
Thank goodness there were no more people. The size of this place already gave Nate, Collier and Robin more than enough to cover. “So, why were you two here?”
“Someone close to me just died.” Tears streamed down Pattie’s face again. “Hal was…letting me cry on his shoulder.”
The woman’s hesitation made Robin think there was more to the story. “What was your relationship with Mr. Trahan?”
“We were friends. Tonight we decided to date,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Take your time,” Robin offered. “It’s no problem.”
After a moment, the woman wiped her face with a tissue and nodded for Robin to continue. “Before the fire, did you notice anything unusual? Anyone else here?”
“No.”
“Hear anything?”
“Like what?” she rasped.
“Some kind of transportation to or from here. Truck, car, a motorcycle.”
“No.”
So maybe the torch had come and gone on foot. Half turning to scan the wooded area around the camp, Robin asked, “Where would be the best vantage point for someone to watch the fire?”
“You think someone did this and watched?” The woman’s voice trembled as she pointed across the camp beyond the glare of the floodlights. “There are two big red rocks past the last cabin. They mark the edge of the woods.”
The spot was perfect, Robin noted. Close enough to watch the action and easy to disappear from if spotted. A natural-made sitting area. Yellow tape fluttered beyond the rocks, marking the space as within the crime scene. If there was anything to be found, Nate or Collier would find it.
During one of Pattie’s coughing fits, Nate returned and drew Robin aside, saying in a low voice, “There are three points of origin and we found remains of a charred envelope and a gel-like substance on part of an exposed beam.”
“Three points of origin matches what Pattie told me she saw. In the time she went to the restroom and returned, the fire started. The accelerant at the other fires ignited on its own. This one seems to have happened fast. If the accelerant had been there a long time, waiting for the petroleum jelly to seep through the envelope paper and reach the chlorine powder, wouldn’t there have been some smoke or a burst of flame as a warning?”
“Yes, which means the torch combined the chlorine powder and petroleum jelly on his own, without waiting for it to seep through the envelope.”
“Do you think it’s the Mailman?”
“Yes.” Nate’s voice was hard, and so were his eyes. “This victim wasn’t bound then burned in a bed, but that and the fast ignition are the only differences.”
“I think it’s the Mailman, too.” And she was no happier than Nate about the bastard killing another person.
He thumbed a bead of sweat from his temple. His shirt and jeans were already streaked with soot. Robin had to stop herself from rubbing away a dark spot on the strong column of his bronzed neck.
She and Nate rejoined Pattie. “Do you have any idea who might do something like this? Kids? Disgruntled parents?”
“No.”
“You and Trahan were here alone. Are either of you married?”
“We’re both divorced.”
“Anyone in either of your lives who might not like that?”
“Hal’s ex-wife lives in Washington state and they never talk. My ex lives in Presley.”
“Was your divorce amicable?”
“No,” she said hoarsely, mopping at her tears. “It was bad. It’s been bad ever since I filed. He’s taking me to court to try for full custody. He’s just doing it to upset me. He’s hardly ever home. He works out of the state half of every month.”
“What’s his job?”
“He works on an offshore oil rig in the Gulf of Louisiana.”
Before Robin could ask, Nate did. “What’s his schedule?”
“Two weeks on, two weeks off.”
Beside her, Robin felt Nate go as still as she did. Fourteen days on, fourteen days off. The twenty-seven-day pattern fell into that time frame. The Mailman could set up the accelerant on day twenty-six then head back to the rig the next day, getting him completely out of the state.
The look Nate gave Robin said he’d figured out the timing, too. Again, he anticipated her question to Pattie. “Does he spend his days off in Presley?”
“Yes. He wants to see the kids.”
“When was the last time he saw them?”
“Last night.”
Robin got a little buzz at the base of her spine.
“He’s due back at the rig tomorrow for a new shift.”
Roper’s job fit the Mailman’s schedule perfectly. This information had to mean something.
Trying to corral her excitement, Robin flipped to a previous page in her notebook and asked about the first victim. “We understand you knew Les Irwin.”
“Yes.” Pattie took a shuddering breath. “He was killed in a fire, too.”
Nate tensed, his shoulder brushing Robin’s. “Did you know a man named Brad Myers?”
The redhead shook her head.
“He owned a restaurant in Warren, Oklahoma,” Nate said.
&n
bsp; “Oh.” A mix of embarrassment and recognition crossed the other woman’s face. “I didn’t know his name, but I—we—”
“Spent the night together?”
“Yes.” Pattie coughed again, then took a long swallow of water.
So Pattie had known three of their victims. Trying not to get her hopes up, Robin continued where Nate left off. “Did you know Dennis or Sheila Bane?”
The other woman gasped. “Yes, Dennis and I were…friends. He’s the person I was talking about earlier when I said I’d lost someone.”
“Were you more than friends?”
After a slight hesitation, the woman nodded.
“Were the two of you having an affair?”
Pattie didn’t answer. As the moment stretched out, Robin realized she was holding her breath.
Then the other woman’s shoulders sagged. “Yes.”
Yes! Finally, a bona fide lead. Barely able to contain a shout of joy, Robin exchanged a look with Nate. “Mrs. Roper, we can connect you to the victims of four fire-murders.”
“What?” she asked in a thick voice. “What do you—” Horror flashed across her features. “Do you think I did this? I didn’t! I couldn’t!”
Maybe not. If Pattie was their arsonist-murderer, why had she stayed at the scene after the blaze started? Why call 911 then alert the camp’s assistant director? The Mailman hadn’t done any of that before.
“Maybe it’s someone who knows you,” Robin suggested.
For a second, Pattie looked blank. “I don’t think I know anyone who would so something like this.”
“You said your divorce was bitter. How bitter?”
“My ex and I don’t get along at all, even in front of the kids.”
“Does he know you have a pretty active dating life?”
The woman frowned. “I guess.”
“So maybe he doesn’t like you going out with other men,” Robin said.
“Jealousy or revenge could be the motive.” Nate’s tone was low, for Robin’s ears only.
Except for Sheila Bane, the victims had all been male, all sexually intimate with Pattie Roper. Maybe Sheila had died simply because she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Robin leveled a look at Pattie. “We’re going to need to talk to your ex-husband. How do you get ahold of him while he’s on the oil rig?”
Pattie sniffled. “He has a cell phone, but it doesn’t work most of the time. The rig has a satellite phone. You can call that number and if he can’t come to the phone, you can leave a message for him to call you.”
“Could you give us the number?”
As the woman jotted it down, Nate excused himself to return to the burned building. Robin watched his smooth, purposeful strides, excitement rippling through her. The investigation was finally getting somewhere. She was elated about that, but the flutter in her stomach? That was all about Nate Houston.
Chapter 9
The next day, that flutter in her stomach had settled into a simmering anticipation. It probably wouldn’t be going away anytime soon, especially since she and Nate were on their way to New Orleans without Collier.
He and Nate had stayed to work the fire scene through the night, while Robin had driven back to Presley and made airline reservations. The three of them had planned to interview Joel Roper today, but she had gotten a call from Collier before dawn, telling her he was at Presley’s E.R. with his wife, who was being prepped for an emergency appendectomy.
When Nate and Robin had begun working together, she had been hot and bothered about being alone with him. She still was, but after their makeout session at her party, it was for a whole different reason. She didn’t mind one bit that it would be only her and Nate for this trip.
Collier bowing out hadn’t been the only development. He had found some evidence at Spur Creek campground that hadn’t been at any of the other fire-murder scenes. On their way to the airport, Robin and Nate dropped it off for testing at the OSBI lab. The Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation had a full lab whereas the Presley P.D. didn’t.
It was late afternoon when they arrived in New Orleans and drove to a dock where a crew boat waited. It would take them the two miles from shore, out to the drilling rig where Joel Roper worked.
The steel-gray water changed to stormy blue as they left the shore behind. A fine mist covered Robin’s hair by the time they approached the rig. The deck, a steel, open-frame design, sat atop four pylons. When they drew closer, Robin saw the structure was huge, a mass of cranes and machines. One of the crew members pointed out the individual modules on each level, which were for drilling and production equipment and living quarters.
The boat pulled up to the rig and a cylindrical basket with net sides and overhead protection dropped down. They stepped inside the “air tugger,” which would transport them to the deck.
Robin swallowed hard at the thought of being suspended above the water. Just keep your eyes shut, she told herself.
Placing their feet in premarked places, Robin grabbed a rope attached to a center brace. There was water as far as she could see in every direction. A humid, salt-tinged wind skimmed across the ocean, whipping up frothy caps on the sun-gilded waves. Gulls swooped and called around the platform.
The tugger operator brought them up using a crane. As they rose, the basket swayed in the wind. Nate remarked on a man dangling high above the water from a cable beneath the oil rig’s platform. He appeared to be checking something. Robin kept her eyes closed.
Roper’s boss, the drilling crew supervisor they’d spoken with earlier, met them on deck. The distance down to the water was greater than she had realized. He supplied the hard hat and safety goggles they were required to wear.
As they followed him through a maze of ladders and machines to an office module on the back side of the platform, he explained how the rig was fitted out almost like a cruise ship. All food, housing, laundry and travel were provided and paid for by the employer. In addition to the quarters and galley which served food twenty-four hours a day, there was a TV lounge, a weight room, even an area designated for smoking.
Smoking was allowed on an oil rig? She shared a frown with Nate.
The supervisor caught the look and explained, “We’re conscious of the presence of combustible gases and materials. Employees can only smoke in a specified room, and they must use the safety matches we provide.”
“Safety matches?”
“It means you can’t ignite them using just any surface,” Nate said. “You need the side of a matchbox or matchbook flap to start a flame.”
Robin nodded as they were shown into a small office crowded with a desk, one chair, a computer and a long credenza filled with a fax machine, copier and an electrical log folded out to about a two-foot length. A man waited inside across from the door.
“You’ll have some privacy in here,” the supervisor said as he left.
Robin turned her attention to Joel Roper. Dressed in orange coveralls and safety boots, the leanly muscled middle-aged man had closely trimmed hair and weather-beaten, flat features.
Mud-brown eyes flared with concern when he saw Robin and Nate. “The boss said you were cops from Presley. Are my kids okay?”
“They’re fine,” Robin said.
“Then what can I do for you?” A look of irritation crossed his face.
“I’m Detective Daly and this is Agent Houston from the Oklahoma State Fire Marshal’s office. We’re investigating a series of arson-murders.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Nothing, if your alibis check out.”
“Why do I need an alibi?” His eyes narrowed. “Does my ex-wife have something to do with this? Is this her new way of trying to make my life hell?”
“No, our investigation led us here,” Robin said. “But we have talked to her.”
Nate added, “Now we’re talking to you.”
“Okay.” A grudging look settled on his features.
Before Robin could star
t, Nate did. “Do you smoke?”
She knew he was asking because Collier had collected cigarette butts at the scene last night.
Roper’s face went blank. “Used to smoke. Not anymore.”
“What’s your job here?” Robin asked.
“I’m a motorman. I do routine preventative maintenance, minor repairs. Sometimes I operate a hydraulic pumping system.”
“How do you get down here for your shifts?”
“Drive or fly.”
“Did you know Les Irwin?” Robin asked.
“No. Who’s that?”
“Our first victim,” Nate answered. “What about a Brad Myers?”
Joel shook his head, giving the same answer about Dennis and Sheila Bane and Hal Trahan.
“Where do you usually spend your weeks off?” Nate asked.
“In Presley, so I can see my kids. I have an apartment there on the east side of town.”
Robin watched his face carefully. “Would you be willing to let us search your place?”
“Why? You think I killed those people? I didn’t even know them.”
“Your ex-wife did, and she’s the one person connected to all the victims.”
“Then she probably did it,” he spat out.
She gauged his reaction to her next words. “She’s dated all those men.”
“She’s a slut. I don’t care what she does.”
“The murder dates all fall in a time period when you would’ve been taking your two weeks off shift, which you said you spend in Presley.”
“If I was going to kill somebody, it would be Pattie,” he said viciously, his face florid. “Not those people.”
“Maybe you were jealous that your wife was seeing them,” Nate said. “Or maybe you just wanted to get back at her for leaving and taking your kids. You’re obviously bitter about it.”
“It won’t be long before I have my kids back,” he muttered.
Robin arched a brow. “How’s that? Are you planning to take your ex out of the picture?”
“I’m going to get full custody. My lawyer is petitioning the judge. All Pattie does is try to turn the kids against me. She’s the one who shouldn’t have them. She’s not fit to be a mother.”