“Get some shots,” she screamed.
The red light glowed as the camera hummed. When she was finished editing, viewers would be able to see the escaped convict and his accomplice, coming through the smoke. She would let the people draw their own conclusions.
She charged forward, the microphone gripped tightly in her sweating palm. She thrust it into Jeremy’s face. “Mr. Spencer, did you start this fire?”
Jeremy looked at her in horror, and then moved in close, glaring wildly into her eyes. He screamed, an unearthly sound like she’d never heard before. “I’ll kill you if you accuse me of this.” He screeched even louder, causing her to shrink back. “Do you hear me?”
She nodded, hoping Don had the camera on the raging little man and not on her face. She took a step back, still holding the mike in the air. She glanced at the big guy. He looked furious, mimicking Jeremy’s anger. He clenched his fists and looked back and forth between Don and Lisa, baring his teeth, and growling like a mad dog.
Don seemed unfazed, always dedicated to his job, as he stepped back out of harm’s way and continued to shoot.
This was good stuff. After Jeremy was back in prison, or perhaps dead, she already had plans for another special. And it wouldn’t cast him in a favorable light. This footage was perfect to add to that future project.
Sirens screamed in the distance. The fire department was on its way, but they would never save the barn.
The smoke increased as the flames grew, snapping and popping. The entire side of the barn was on fire, one end of the roof completely engulfed.
Jeremy was calmed down, no longer angry with her, but the look of pain on his face as he gazed at the fire, caused her to have second thoughts that he was the arsonist. She shuddered to think he may eventually suspect her, and if so, he would track her down. She would have to be careful, just in case.
Don stepped to one side, the camera now taking in Jeremy and his friend, as they stood transfixed with horror, watching the barn go up in smoke.
A single fire truck spun into the yard, up the lane, grinding to a stop near the barn. Its siren died, and Lisa heard another one in the distance. Or was it a police car?
Jeremy and the goon were heading away. She watched them out of sight as they rounded the house. The police would be here soon, and he was a wanted man.
She turned her attention back to the fire. Men had streamed from the truck, hoses now being unfurled, and soon a cascade of water was trained on the raging fire.
The front of the building was now aflame. Long tangles of grass and wild shrubs near the door burst into fire and disappeared in a flash of smoke. Somewhere inside, an overhead beam let loose, the resulting crash shooting streams of sparks high into the air, taking half of one wall with it.
She knew it was too late to save any part of the old barn. The dedicated firemen could only expect to keep it from spreading, causing a grass fire, and taking out the surrounding copses of trees. Soon, it would be nothing but an old stone foundation, burning embers, and a piece of forgotten history.
She turned as a pair of police cruisers spun up the driveway. She would have a lot of questions to answer, but her reputation was beyond reproach, and as long as Don had space to record, it all made for great footage. Today was a very good day.
Chapter 25
Wednesday, 3:45 PM
JAKE LOOKED at his son with a mixture of pride and apprehension. Matty was taking a great interest in his parents’ new vocation, and though every father wants his son to follow in his footsteps, Jake knew he would always be concerned if the boy eventually got into the often-dangerous profession he and his wife chose.
Annie, on the other hand, was determined Matty should learn whatever he took an interest in. She’d gone to Tech Mart earlier—a store that specializes in a wide range of security and surveillance equipment, along with Jake’s favorite area to browse—a great selection of spy stuff. She’d returned with a fingerprint kit, presented it to Matty when he got home from school, and he was now at the kitchen table, a magnifying glass close to his eye, discovering the ins and outs of the entire family’s prints.
Matty put the glass down and pushed the ink pad toward his father. “I want the rest of your fingers,” he said.
Jake grinned, inked his fingers, and pressed them onto a clean, white sheet of paper. “There you go.” He stood and went to the sink, washed off the black, and then strolled into the living room.
“He’s enjoying his kit,” Jake said to Annie, who was curled up in her favorite chair reading a book—some kind of manual. She was always learning about something or other. Matty must have gotten it from her.
She set her book in her lap. “Maybe he’ll be able to teach you a thing or two soon.”
“It’s ok,” he said. “I’ve got you for that.”
Jake’s iPhone rang. He pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. “It’s Hank,” he said. He sat on the couch, put it on speaker, and answered the phone.
“Jake here.”
“There’s been an interesting development,” Hank said.
“I’m all ears,” Jake said, as Annie moved over to the couch and sat beside him.
“The Spencer barn is burning, probably nothing but smoke and embers by now. I’m just heading out there.”
Jake and Annie looked at each other, neither one able to speak. Annie’s mouth was open, but no words came out.
“You there?” Hank asked.
“We’re here,” Annie said. “Just struck dumb, that’s all.”
Hank chuckled. “I was too, when I first heard about it.”
“I assume there’re no suspects?” Jake asked.
“Not unless you include Jeremy.”
“I don’t think so,” Annie said. “He’s nuts, but he wouldn’t burn down his own barn.”
“I wonder why the barn, and not the house,” Jake said. “There’s no evidence left there to hide. Everything was destroyed years ago.”
“If it’s to hide evidence of any kind,” Hank said. “Then it’s related to the death of Mrs. Spencer, and nothing to do with Jeremy’s crimes before he went to prison. There’s more evidence of that in the house, than in the barn.”
“And he would have no need to cover that anyway,” Annie said. “It’s a matter of public record.” She paused, her brow wrinkled in thought. “I’m sure it wasn’t Jeremy, but who, and how?”
“That’s what we need to find out,” Hank said. “It’ll take the fire investigators awhile to determine the cause.”
“Assuming it wasn’t Jeremy, do you suspect arson?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know what else it could be.” Hank paused a moment, then, “There’s no electricity running to either of the buildings, so an electrical fire is out of the question.”
“Could be a homeless person taken up residence there,” Annie said. “Maybe careless smoking?”
“There’re a lot of possibilities,” Hank said. “But it’s been vacated a long time, and it seems like too much of a coincidence for it to happen now.”
“And we know how you feel about coincidence,” Jake said.
“I’m pulling in the laneway now,” Hank said. “The barn’s almost completely gone, but it looks like they have it under control.” He paused. “And you’ll never guess who beat me here. Your old friend, Lisa Krunk. She must’ve been monitoring the police band.”
“She has a habit of showing up,” Annie said. “But as much of a narcissist as she is, she’s always interesting to watch.”
Hank laughed. “Not when you’re the subject of her attack, as the police department often is.”
“Be sure to let us know if you find out anything interesting,” Jake said.
“I will.”
“Hank,” Annie said. “Did you get the forensic report yet on the murder of Jackson Badger?”
“I checked in with them. They still have some evidence to go over, but so far, nothing. There were no fingerprints in the house other than Badger and his mother.”
“And the officers who canvassed the neighborhood?” Jake asked.
“Nothing that sounds promising. They’re checking out some vehicles seen in the area during the time of the shooting, but the information is pretty vague. No license plate numbers. The only ones we could identify were neighbors’ vehicles. I don’t expect that’ll lead us anywhere.”
“What about the cause and manner of death?” Annie asked.
“Just as I figured. Nancy determined he was shot once in the chest, fell forward, then was shot in the back of the head. Gunshot residue helped her come to that conclusion, as well as the trajectory of the bullet, etcetera. One bullet was found inside the body, the other in the floor under his head. The cause of death was the shot to the head.”
“What caliber of firearm?” Annie asked.
“He used a 38. Ballistics ran the recovered bullets through our ballistic identification system to ascertain whether or not they came from a firearm that was previously used in a crime. No luck. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t used before, we just have no record of it.”
“So a dead end all the way around.”
“Not totally,” Hank said. “I’ve been holding back one interesting tidbit of information. Nancy determined by the trajectory of the bullet in the chest, the firearm was discharged from a height of thirty-nine inches. Assuming the weapon was held at a comfortable height, our killer was around five foot two, maybe three.”
Jake whistled.
“Jeremy is five foot three,” Annie said. “That’s a lot shorter than the average male, so unless it was a young boy who did the shooting, it seems to point to him.”
“Exactly,” Hank said. “And for anyone taller to have fired it, they would either have to be crouching somewhat, or holding it at an unnaturally low height. Not a normal thing to do.”
“So we have something at least,” Jake said. “Not real proof, but a good piece of evidence.”
“It’s more than we had before,” Hank said. “Unless there’s anything else you need to know, I gotta go. Looks like I’m needed here. I’ll talk to you if I find out anything else.”
Jake hung up, tucked his phone away, sat back, and looked at Annie. “I’ll never doubt you again.”
Annie laughed. “Where have I heard that before?”
“I have no idea,” Jake said.
Annie laid her head back and closed her eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, we have lots of evidence Jeremy is the killer, but no leads on where he might be hiding out.”
“I’d sure love to get him on the run,” Jake said. “Otherwise, he’s going to think he’s safe, and someone else is going to die.”
Chapter 26
Wednesday, 4:57 PM
JEREMY SPENCER was steaming mad and feeling helpless. Whoever burned down his barn had to pay big-time, but he had no way of finding out who the culprit was.
The police were out of the question. Perhaps they would do some preliminary research into the fire, but he doubted very much if they would follow up, or even care who started it. After all, they had him in their sights, and it seemed like the police in this city were determined to make his life miserable.
To make matters worse, there was no insurance on the building or on the main dwelling. He now feared his beloved house would be next, and there was nothing he could do about it. He drew a deep breath, hyperventilating at the dreadful thought. That house was all he had left in the world.
He and Moe had barely made it back to the apartment in time for Uriah to go to work. Their roommate was angry, and Jeremy felt like shooting him there on the spot. He decided against it. It probably wasn’t a sensible thing to do, and besides, they needed Uriah.
He paced around the small apartment, Moe’s head moving back and forth as he watched Jeremy from his spot on the couch.
“It’s going to be all right, Little Buddy. You still have the house.”
Jeremy stopped pacing and turned to Moe. “Sure, but I can’t stay there.”
Moe was out of ideas and stared back.
Jeremy’s anger was building. He had to do something. “I have to go out, Moe,” he said suddenly. Without waiting for an answer, Jeremy put his cap on and rushed out the door.
He kept his head turned away when he passed anyone on the street. Once, he stopped and turned around when a group of women, who took up most of the sidewalk, eased by. There was no sense in being recognized, especially this close to where he was staying.
He walked three or four blocks, took a turn down a side street, and before long, stopped in front of a two-story, run-down building. Once a prosperous neighborhood—likely many decades ago, most of the structures in this area were in a poor, neglected state.
He looked around. No one was in sight so he opened the front door, went through the small lobby, and continued on. He found what he was looking for—the door to the basement. It was unlocked, the lock probably long ago disabled through neglect and carelessness. Just what he expected.
He pulled the door open, found a light switch, and took the shaky flight of stairs down to a dingy basement. Along the far wall, there was a puddle of water, caused by a constant drip, drip from faulty plumbing no one cared to fix. The room was otherwise dry, with a stale smell, and the tang of something old and rotting filled his nostrils.
The inner wall contained a row of shelves, fastened precariously to the wall. All kinds of junk filled the shelves—clothes, rags, tools, and even a few children’s toys. A washing machine stood at one end of the rickety shelves. It was old, but it looked like it still worked.
He gathered up the clothes and threw them in a heap against the wall. A pile of forgotten newspapers, books, and magazines, were tossed on top of the pile. He found a can of something foul smelling that bit his nostrils when he took the top off. It was turpentine, paint thinner, or something similar. He poured it onto the heap he’d made, along with a can of oil and another armload of clothes.
That would have to do.
He reached into his pocket and removed a cigarette lighter. He held it up, lit it, and stared into the brightness of the flame. He was struck by the power contained inside the tiny glowing light. It had the ability to turn itself from almost nothing, an insignificant spark, into a raging inferno.
Much like himself, when put to its proper use, it could change the world.
He crouched down, still holding the lighter, and touched it to the pile of clothes, chemicals, and cast-offs. It ignited, the fire struggling to stay alive, then growing into something quite beautiful. He gazed at the red, orange, and blue light as it flourished, blooming up and up, casting its dancing glow across the floor, and lighting up the dingy walls surrounding him.
He stood back as the heat grew more intense. The shelves had caught fire, and the junk they still contained would soon be in flames.
He choked on the smoke and coughed it out, then turned and went to the foot of the stairs. He took one last look at his handiwork, satisfied it would thrive, and went slowly up the steps.
He was thankful there was a fire alarm inside the lobby. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt. There was no reason for it; the people who lived here were innocent. He pulled the alarm and stood still a moment, listing to the shrill squeal and the jangling of bells as they sounded out the cry of danger.
He stepped into the street, kept his head low, and avoided the curious as he walked casually to the corner and crossed the street. Once on the other side, he moved back until he stood directly across from the building.
He watched as people streamed out the front door. Many would also be climbing down fire escapes at the side and back of the building. Unfortunately, personal possessions may be lost, but it was for the better. They could be replaced—lives couldn’t. As well as the contented feeling this occasion gave him, he’d done a service to the neighborhood.
He stood among the gathered crowd and watched as fire trucks, police cars, and emergency vehicles arrived, their sirens wailing, lights flashing. Men rushed from the machines, now a
bout to earn their pay as they went about their task.
Through a pair of windows on the first floor, he saw the inside of the building, now glowing red as the fire climbed higher and higher, eating everything in its path. Soon, the second floor was ablaze. Firemen broke through the windows, streams of water blasting the building from every direction.
Policemen held back traffic, cutting off the area, directing drivers to a safer thoroughfare. More cops pushed back the curious onlookers, hustling them away, some officers aiding those who’d left the building, and others milling about, probably uncertain what to do.
They would never save the building and he didn’t care. Though the people around him only had eyes for the hypnotic sight across the street, and would never recognize him, he turned and left the scene, wandering toward the place he called home. It wouldn’t do for him to be recognized, especially since he’d come so far.
He felt so much better now. The burning building he’d left behind would never completely pay for the pain he felt as he watched his barn be consumed, but at least it gave him some measure of comfort.
He still needed to find out who the culprit was. It irked him that an unfeeling person destroyed his precious possessions. Someone changed his life in immeasurable ways to satisfy their own longing to be hurtful.
He finally reached Uriah’s apartment and went slowly up the stairs. He had relieved his heavy heart and was feeling much better—for now.
Chapter 27
Wednesday, 5:58 PM
IT WAS TIME for the Channel 7 Action News at Six. Lisa Krunk waited in the wings in nervous anticipation. She had rushed to get the editing done on time and was satisfied the short story about to air would be sufficient to whet the public’s appetite.
She was going to milk this for all she could get.
She kept her eye on the monitor as the last few commercials ran, and then her heart pounded as teasers for upcoming stories rolled.
Justice Returns: A Private Investigator Mystery Series (A Jake & Annie Lincoln Thriller Book 6) Page 10