by Debra Erfert
The fire hadn’t damaged the stucco on this side of the house. The large rectangular electrical box held all the circuit breakers. It was where the city’s power supply came into the house and then split into a dozen different smaller lines, each with their own switch. She leaned closer to the closed box and studied the dirty metal. It had a light coating of soot sticking to the surface. So did the stucco, but at least the fire hadn’t breached the wall.
“What are you looking for?” Alex asked. He had his face next to hers, his familiar leather scent drifting up, looking for whatever she was.
“I’m not sure.” Candice took a small flashlight from her backpack’s side pocket. They were in the shade, and the extra light might help her see something she might otherwise miss. “The missing keys would be nice. Maybe they were dumped around here someplace.”
She set her backpack next to the wall and crouched closer to the ground, using her flashlight to carefully search through the blades of winter rye green grass and pieces of burned roofing and ash that had floated down during the fire. So did Alex. He had his own mini-flashlight. Seeing him searching so intently, doing the same thing as Candice, without her asking, melted her heart into a warm puddle of goo. Old feelings she’d successfully repressed quickly resurfaced. She took in a deep breath, tamping down her feelings, and continued to search. They covered the whole side yard up to the block wall dividing the front yard from the back. Finding nothing useful, Candice dusted off her hands.
“Did you find anything?” Candice asked.
Alex shook his head. “Pieces of burnt shingles, dirty grass, but no keys.”
Candice let out a sigh. That would’ve been too easy. She was sure there would’ve been a nice clear fingerprint on the key belonging to the arsonist. “Let’s get a look at the power box.” Using her knuckles, she undid the clasp and carefully lifted the front cover of the box, and then she discovered exactly what she suspected. “Look, Alex—” she pointed to the bottom switch— “the main circuit breaker is thrown.”
“How do you know the fire didn’t trip it?” a new voice asked from directly behind her. It didn’t surprise her. The guard called someone, and this was most likely that someone.
Candice turned to find a dark-haired man who looked a good ten years older than she was, about her height, and seemed a little ticked off at her messing with his fire scene. “That’s easy,” she said. “Normally, if the fire would’ve tripped anything, then it would have been only the circuits in the fire’s path and not the main, unless the fire was caused by faulty wiring to begin with.” She reached for her ID. “I’m—”
“Yes, I know who you are, Ms. Shane, and I’d like to know why you are in my fire scene.”
“And your name is?” Candice asked while she got her little notebook out of her jacket pocket. She clicked her pen with a little more force, trying to sound official, or tough, or ticked off.
“Fire Department Arson Investigator Antonio Barbarize. Are you working for the Leavitts?”
What could she say? Candice didn’t want to outright lie to the guy. Okay, she did want to lie just to be able to walk through the house, because she knew the instant she told him ‘no’ he was going to tell her—
“Then, I’m going to have to ask you to leave my crime scene,” Barbarize said in a demanding attitude.
“Crime scene?” Candice quickly asked. “Why are you calling it that?” Of course, she knew it was. She just wanted to hear why he thought it was one, too.
Barbarize chewed his bottom lip while it seemed he was making up his mind about answering her question. When he took a deep breath, it seemed he’d decided. “With the way the house was locked up tight, it’s clear somebody wanted Mrs. Leavitt and her children dead. If our security guard is correct, Ms. Shane, you know who the prime suspect is in a case like this.”
“Yes, the husband, or ex-husband, if there is one,” Candice said, straightening her shoulders. “Or significant other, whichever the case.”
“Yeah, he came in early this morning from Payson where he claims he’d been installing computer software at some hotel chain,” Barbarize said.
“But you don’t believe him?” Candice asked.
“I believe he was in Payson, but I think he had time to come home and set the fire and then return to his hotel before morning.”
“Okay, maybe you got him on timeline, but how about motive?” she asked. She wasn’t going to move from her spot until he answered that one.
“I don’t know why yet. I’ll have to wait until I can dig into their financial history before I can pin it on him.”
Candice cringed at his answer. He had his mind closed to any other possibilities, and that wasn’t good for any investigator. “Would you consider letting me go through the house with you?” she asked. It was worth a shot.
“Sorry, Ms. Shane. No can do,” he said with a frown.
“Can you at least tell me if the front door was unlocked?”
“What?”
“When I first saw the fire, the front window curtains were in flames. They’re right next to the front door, and I’m very curious to know if the front door was found locked or unlocked.” When he stared at the wall, like he could see directly into the living room, she asked, “Did the firefighters knock the front door open?”
“Yeah, they gained entry through the front door.” His eyes narrowed. “Come on. Let’s go find out.”
“Awesome!” Candice grabbed her backpack and followed Barbarize around the house to the open front door. Alex stayed a step behind her. The entrance was blocked with a street barricade, which Barbarize moved before going inside. The horrific smell hit her first. It assaulted her nose, clinging to everything. Light streamed through holes in the vaulted ceiling, and its burned drywall lay in piles on the floor that crackled with every step.
The living room carpet had melted and burned into sickening lumps of black remnants which she tried to avoid stepping in while moving deeper inside the house. It was light enough to see the destruction the flames caused as they had traveled upward. It had to have been moments after they had come down the stairs that the fire consumed the stairs’ carpet like the fuse of a bomb. Candice carefully walked to the dining room, shining her flashlight along the walls. “Look, Alex,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You can see the demarcation line where the hottest smoke cut across the walls.”
She stopped and shone her light on a single picture still hanging. “Only the top part was burned where the smoke was the hottest.” She watched Alex study the framed photo with morbid curiosity.
“The fire didn’t do this?” he asked.
“No,” Candice said. “Smoke kills more people in house fires than the flames do.”
“She’s right,” Barbarize said, coming to stand beside them. “Over the years firefighting experts have developed better apparatus to protect their breathing and skin against the scorching hot smoke the fire produces.” He looked right into Candice’s eyes and momentarily swayed in front of her. He then said, “Five minutes later and the Leavitts would have died in their sleep from the smoke. If you hadn’t intervened and called the fire department then the house would’ve been consumed by the fire within thirty minutes, Ms. Shane, and we would’ve had a hard time identifying their bodies.”
Barbarize motioned toward the front of the house. “I examined the front door and found the deadbolt wasn’t thrown.”
“No?” Candice asked. “Was the doorknob’s lock engaged?”
“I tried to turn the knob and it wouldn’t turn. Yes, it is locked,” Barbarize added.
“That’s odd,” Alex said.
“I wonder how he got in?” Candice muttered, feeling her stomach tighten. The smell of burnt plastic and wood was making her sick. “Alex, I need to get out of here.”
Chapter 5
ALEX PULLED INTO Holiday Inn Express and parked at the first space his big truck could fit into. After a stop at the front desk, where a very enthusiastic clerk bent over backward t
o help Candice and Alex reach Mr. and Mrs. Leavitt without breaching their privacy, Mr. Leavitt escorted them to their suite. Candice’s heart broke at the sight of five people living in two small rooms, making for a tight fit. The edges of the floor were covered with department store bags. Obviously the clothes Mrs. Leavitt and her children had on weren’t the ones they ran out of the house with. Candice made a quick mental list of things she used that morning. Things that she took for granted. She looked around and saw a small fraction of the necessities for a family with small children.
And then Candice looked at the boy’s face. It wasn’t the angered appearance she remembered, but now was more, what? Remorseful? Guilty maybe? He didn’t seem to remember who she was, but then it was very dark and smoky, and more than a little traumatic for him. She’d also had her turtleneck collar pulled up over most of her face. She was little more than a bandit stealing them away from their lives—or deaths.
“Please, sit down,” Mr. Leavitt said. He motioned toward the small couch.
Candice sat, but Alex stayed standing by the front door like he believed there was a potential criminal in the room. Ever the diligent cop. She didn’t have those same feelings. Mrs. Leavitt came quietly out of the bedroom. When the door was opened, Candice saw the two smaller children asleep on one of the beds. Their whole rhythm had to have been disrupted, and for who knew how long.
“Meagan,” Mr. Leavitt said, “this is Candice Shane and Officer Alex Delaney.” He didn’t get any further before the woman dropped onto the couch next to her, hugging her tightly.
“Thank you,” Meagan whispered. “Thank you for risking your life to save my family.” She released her and then pushed Candice’s hair away from her face. “I’m very sorry you got hurt.”
“It’s not that bad.” Candice had used concealer to try to make the bruise not as noticeable, but the dark color had come through, anyway.
“Detective Adams told me about your condition this morning. It hardly seems fair.”
Candice glanced at Alex before returning her gaze to the distraught mother. “Sometimes life just isn’t fair.”
“Tell me about it,” Mr. Leavitt said. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. A pointed scowl creased his forehead.
“They think my husband started the fire,” Meagan said with a lowered voice. “They believe he tried to kill us. I . . . I just don’t understand why they would think that.”
“Is that what you were told?” Candice asked the husband.
“Well, not outright,” Mr. Leavitt said. “But with the questions that man asked me, there wasn’t really any other way of looking at it.”
“Was it the arson investigator or a detective who spoke to you?”
“He said he was a detective with the Phoenix Police Department,” Meagan told her.
Candice glanced at Alex, and then Mr. Leavitt, before giving the mother her attention. “Mrs. Leavitt, the detective was just doing his job. I’m sure he doesn’t have anything personal against your husband. He’s just following the leads he was given.”
“Why are you and Officer Delaney here, Miss Shane?” Mr. Leavitt asked, his eyes narrowing.
Candice couldn’t blame him for being irritated. She would be, too, especially if she hadn’t done anything wrong. “I wanted to know how you are and if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“Yeah, you don’t happen to know of a nice home we could rent today, do you?” Mr. Leavitt asked briskly.
His wife tried to deflect the irritation her husband showed. “Miss Shane, how did you know our house was on fire? It was so late at night.”
“I was on a stakeout on the next block over from your house, and I was in Officer Delaney’s cruiser when I noticed smoke drifting across a street light. When we drove down your street, I saw flames inside your front window. It had to have started just a couple of minutes before.”
“So whoever started the fire was still close by,” Alex said softly. “I don’t remember seeing anyone on the street or another car. Did you?”
That was a good question. Candice closed her eyes and remembered what the street looked like. It had bright street lamps near the sidewalks at every other house. “No. If there had been anybody walking or running, they would’ve been well lit, and I know there hadn’t been any taillights in front of me, or headlights coming at me.”
“Are you a police detective, Miss Shane?” the mother asked.
“No. I’m a private investigator.” Candice took a quick look at Alex. He wasn’t smiling.
“Miss Shane, would you find out who tried to kill me and my children?” Mrs. Leavitt got up and strode the short distance to her husband. After she pulled something out of his back pocket, she returned to the couch. “You’re a private investigator and I want to hire you to clear my husband and find out who started the fire that destroyed our home.” She took a pen from the coffee table and scratched out a check before holding it out to Candice. “Is this enough?”
It didn’t really matter what the amount was. Candice had no need of their money. “Mrs. Leavitt, what if I uncover information that—” she let out a shallow breath, steeling her nerves against the pointed question she needed to ask—“that you don’t like?”
“You believe that Kyle tried to kill us, don’t you?” Mrs. Leavitt whined. “Our baby son was just born five months ago.”
Candice reached over and rested her hand on the distraught woman’s knee. “No, I don’t.” The relief was evident on the mother’s face, as well as her husband’s. “But I’m going to ask some hard questions, personal questions that I’ll need you to answer honestly.” Candice stared into the husband’s eyes. “And from you, too, Mr. Leavitt. Are you prepared?”
He looked lovingly at his wife, his lips parting in a very tentative smile. “Yes.”
“Okay.” Candice got up and paced to Alex and back to the coffee table as she thought. “Mrs. Leavitt, when did you call your husband after the fire?” The woman looked startled at the mundane question.
“I, uh, I called him from the, uh, from the rescue truck. I had to borrow a cell phone from a medic.”
“How long after we got out was that?”
“It was just a few minutes, maybe ten minutes after the firefighters carried you from the van.”
“Okay, okay,” Candice muttered. “At what number did you call him?”
“His cell phone.”
Candice looked at Mr. Leavitt. “Did you answer?”
“Yes.” His brows were pinched.
“Where were you?”
“In Payson at the Best Western. I was asleep in bed.”
“Were you alone?” He stiffened his back slightly at the intimate question, but he answered it.
“Yes, I was.”
Candice walked up to the husband. She wanted to be eye to eye with him. “Mr. Leavitt, the fire couldn’t have been going on for more that seventeen to twenty minutes before you answered your cell phone. I believe the fire was started by someone simply lighting the curtains on fire and then leaving out the front door. If you are the arsonist, then the phone company will triangulate your service about fifteen miles north of here, or clear you by placing you in Payson.” Candice saw him let out a breath. He was clearly relieved when his lips parted in a full-blown smile at his wife. “I thought so, but I’ll get the proof you need to get the detective off your back.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Leavitt said.
“Now, to find out who and how someone got inside your home while you slept, and why he tried to murder your family,” Candice said quietly as she watched the boy sitting on the floor playing a video game. He looked about twelve years old, and like he was trying very hard to ignore them. “Mrs. Leavitt, do you or your husband smoke?”
“No, not anymore,” Mrs. Leavitt said.
Candice studied her for a moment, and then she asked, “What do you mean?”
She shrugged her shoulders while gazing at her husband. “I was a smoker but gave it up a fe
w months after our daughter was born.”
That seemed like an odd time to quit. Why wouldn’t she quit after she found out she was pregnant, if she quit for her child? “Why then?”
The mother’s eyes jumped to her son on the floor before she looked at her hands. “We had a—a small fire in her bedroom. It was an accident,” she said softly.
Candice moved back to the couch and sat beside Mrs. Leavitt. She wanted the mother to tell her what she clearly didn’t want to reveal. “Tell me what happened.” When she hesitated, Candice put her arm around her shoulders. “It’s important, Meagan. I need to know, if you don’t want me to give you your check back.”
Meagan looked up at Candice with tears in her eyes. “He didn’t mean to do it. I was told little boys are curious about fire. I always had lighters lying around, and Joshua learned how to work them from watching me light my cigarettes. It was really my fault for not keeping a closer eye on him.” Her skin suddenly blanched. “You don’t believe that . . .” she looked down at her son, who was now still as a corpse. Not that the thought hadn’t crossed her mind, but she had already ruled him out as the arsonist.
“No, Meagan, I don’t think Joshua set the house on fire, either.”
“Do you have any ideas, Ms. Shane?” Mr. Leavitt asked.
“Please call me Candice, and yes, I have a theory. I also have a place for you to stay until your home is repaired. After all, I can’t have my clients stay just anywhere, especially if they’re still in danger.” From their startled expressions, that thought hadn’t occurred to anyone in the room, not even Alex. Candice wasn’t surprised when the boy’s face showed no emotion at all. “All I ask is that Joshua gives up his cell phone and he’s restricted from using any phone.”
“Oh, no. You think he did have something to do with it,” Meagan said with a warbled voice.
“Indirectly.”
“Oh, no . . .” Meagan whispered.
Candice stepped over and sat down, cross-legged, next to the boy. She needed to be on the same level, see into his eyes, which were now defensive and full of anger.