Festus came out of the file room, eyeing the empty space suspiciously.
“Cheer up, wonder dog. You’re still safe.”
Festus trudged over to his water bowl and started lapping. Sarah returned to her desk.
She checked over her list.
Five reasons someone might have poured gasoline, lit a match and killed two people before putting the gas can and lighter by Lanford.
Unless Lanford had done it himself.
The most innocuous reason, a desire to acquire the family property, was one she could research. She’d dig into the ownership of that corporation, how they acquired the land from the cousin, and how much was paid.
She hoped Lanford wouldn’t be as evasive about anything she found from that as he had been with consequence number four. Because she was not his personal information department. She was going to investigate this, and she’d find out the truth if at all possible. She would do it with or without Lanford Davies’s cooperation.
If he didn’t help, then she wasn’t going to share her information with him.
She checked her phone messages, making sure there were no other demands on her time currently. She made note of two calls that had come in, neither of them urgent.
Then she scrolled through her contacts to find Chad, her former coworker, who had loved to talk about his days playing football at Penn State.
She left a message on his phone, not surprised that he was too busy to answer right away. Then she started to research U-Stor.
It was owned by a numbered corporation. That wasn’t necessarily sketchy. People often left a corporation name as a number, since coming up with a creative, appropriate name that wasn’t already claimed could be a problem. And sometimes people were just lazy.
And then, other times, they were hiding.
Her cell phone rang.
“Hey, Chad, thanks for returning my call.”
“You’re still alive!”
Sarah snorted. “Living outside of a city isn’t a death sentence, Chad. At least, not yet.”
“Maybe so, but I’m not taking that chance. Do they even have a Starbucks?”
“No, but they have a diner. Coffee is good there.”
“Coffee, sure, but what about a macchiato?”
Sarah shook her head. “No, they don’t have that. Guess you’re not going to transfer here anytime soon.”
“No can do, Sarah. How are things going out there?”
He made it sound as if she’d crossed half the country in a wagon train.
“Quiet. Really quiet.”
“Ah, sorry about that, Sarah. You can return here, you know. You left on your own.”
Sarah was quiet for a moment. She’d left for a reason. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to go back, or if she wanted to. If she was wanted and trusted. Dealing with Lanford Davies would distract her for a while, maybe give her space to decide if she was ready to return.
“Thanks, Chad, but I did come up with a little problem here, something to keep me busy.”
“That’s good. But don’t forget you belong here.”
She cocked her head. “Let me guess, the new guy isn’t a good bowler.”
A pause, then Chad responded. “It’s not just that. I promise.”
Sarah laughed. “At least I have a secret weapon if I want to work my way back onto the squad.”
“You don’t need a secret weapon, Sarah. You’re a good cop.”
She was a good cop. There had just been a little confusion as to the definition of the term good in respect to being a cop. Her grandfather had been a dirty cop, and her father had struggled all his life to fight to prove he wasn’t the same. Sarah had made some of her fellow officers wonder if she was more like her grandfather than her dad.
At the time, she’d believed her actions justified, but until she sorted out where her definitions fit, she was probably better off staying here. She had half a year left on her leave.
“Can you give me a bit of help on that problem I mentioned?”
“Sure.” She could hear the surprise in Chad’s voice. “Something you can’t do through regular channels?”
“This requires some insider knowledge of the athletic department at Penn State.”
There was a pregnant pause. Sarah belatedly remembered there’d been a scandal in the football department.
“Not what you’re thinking, Chad. This is about a kid running track from eighteen years ago. He died in a fire, arson.”
“Okay, Sarah. Why do you care about something from those days?”
“A dad and this kid, a college runner at Penn, died in a fire. The brother was found guilty of setting the fire, third-degree murder. He’s served his time, just got out and is on the search for the person he says really did it.”
“Another innocent one?” Sarah heard the skepticism in his voice.
“That was my first response, too. But they don’t usually try to prove it after they get out.”
“Unless they’re hoping for a settlement. This got a DNA angle?”
“Nothing in the file referencing that. The case was circumstantial, but no other suspects. Still, the guy is here in town, going to dig around, and I want to keep on top of it. I hoped you might have some contacts that could tell me if this young man who died had a reason someone might want to kill him.”
“I could probably find someone, yeah, but are you sure this is a good idea?”
She understood he was asking from a place of caring, but it still bothered her.
“I’ve got time on my hands, and in case something ugly gets dug up, I’d rather be ahead of the game, not reacting.”
She heard Chad chewing—he used gum to keep himself from smoking.
“Yeah, I have a couple of guys I could call. What’s this kid’s name?”
“Riordan Davies. His nickname was Dan. He ran the 400, had a full ride, so I assume he was good. Maybe he was good enough that someone wanted to get rid of him?”
She heard Chad sigh through his gum. “I’d like to say that doesn’t sound feasible, but we both know it’s a strange world. I’ll get the scoop on the track situation from, when again?”
“Eighteen years ago. Riordan had just completed his sophomore year. I thought that put him near your days at Penn.”
“I graduated nineteen years ago, so not much of an overlap, but I’ll ask around.”
“Thanks, Chad. If there’s anything I can do for you...”
Sarah expected a quick rebuttal. She couldn’t imagine Chad needing information she had on this small town.
“Sarah—you’re sure you’re not getting too involved?”
Sarah hissed in a breath. Anger sparked. She wanted to tell Chad what to do with that question.
She couldn’t, though. She’d gotten too involved before, and that was why she was here, bored with a job that didn’t challenge her.
She did get involved. She cared. That wasn’t a bad thing. But there was a line where the job, the long-term good, had to take priority over the immediate. Where helping a person might depend on who that person was.
She had set that line in a different place than the rest of her team, and that had messed up an operation. Before she went back to the city, she had to be sure she could rearrange her line to match the others’.
Otherwise, they’d never trust her. There’d be no point in returning.
So instead of yelling, she assured Chad she wasn’t too involved.
“I’m good, Chad. But now that we’re asking questions that someone might not want asked, we could stir up trouble.”
Chad’s voice was more relaxed now that he had his question settled.
“You’re right. We don’t often have time to prepare for things we see coming. You take care.”
Festus rolled over on Sarah’s foot.
&nbs
p; She was more likely to fall over the dog than need to take any other precautions.
“Don’t worry—my biggest hazard is the police dog. You take care, too, and thanks for doing this for me.”
“No problem. But let me know how it works out. I’m a little curious now myself.”
“You get me that information, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Chad caught her up on the gossip going around the station. Some of the names were new. Sarah would only get more out of touch the longer she stayed away from Pittsburgh.
When she hung up, she turned her attention back to the computer. After some digging, she found the people behind U-Stor. The names didn’t mean anything to her: one was a local businessman, one was dead—according to the obituary she found online—and one had retired to Florida, like former sheriff Harding. She could do more research, but she wanted to ask Lanford if any of these people meant something to him.
She checked online to find out what had happened to the cousin. He’d died, leaving a good-sized estate, so he shouldn’t have needed the Davies property here in Pennsylvania. His death was not unexpected at his age, and she noted the names of those who survived him. The possibilities that they’d have any pertinent information were slim, but...
If nothing panned out, she could let this line of investigation go for now.
Well, unless she got bored.
She nudged Festus with her foot.
“Come on, Superdog. It’s lunchtime.”
His head lifted, and his tail wagged up and down.
Another busy day.
* * *
Lanford walked back to the parsonage, enjoying the sun on his face and the freedom to walk as he pleased. He was free.
He had made the decision not to dwell on the past eighteen years. Bitterness had lived in him long enough, and he refused to give it more space in his life. He had this day, a place to live and work, freedom and, apparently, an unlikely ally.
After he’d cleared his name, he’d be able to make plans for the rest of his future. If he could find who’d really set the fire, it would change what his options were going forward.
He made a sandwich from the food that had been left in the apartment for him, offering a prayer of gratitude. He was sure this would all become normal, forgettable with time, but for now, every moment like this was a gift.
After cleaning up, he headed to the church to talk to the pastor. Harold. Another person God had provided in his new life.
The church was open, so he entered, looking around. The only time he could remember being in this building was for his mother’s funeral, and he didn’t remember much of that. On the wall was a sign pointing to the basement with Pastor’s Office written on it, so he took the stairs down.
Only one door was open. Lanford stood in the doorway and knocked.
Pastor Harold glanced up from his computer, and a smile broke over his face.
“Lanford, come in, come in. Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” He sat in the shabby chair across the desk from the pastor.
“Do you have everything you need?”
Lanford blinked at the concern in the man’s voice. Over the past eighteen years he’d learned to hide his feelings, and to present a stoic front at all times. He’d been cut off from almost all care and affection.
It was hard to accept without becoming emotional, so he called on the habits he’d learned to stay strong. To show no weakness.
“Everything is great. Thank you very much.”
The man across from him beamed, as if this was the best news he’d heard all day.
“Excellent. Excellent. We finished those apartments recently, so you’re the first to stay there. Please tell me if there’s anything we should do to make them nicer. It will help those who come after you as well as yourself.”
Lanford had no intention of being ungrateful, but he nodded. If he found something that needed doing, he could do it himself, if he found some tools.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” Harold obviously wanted to help, but he’d already done so much.
Oh, there was one thing.
“Could I make a telephone call?”
“Oh, yes, yes. Certainly. You don’t have a phone, right? I can help you with that, I’m sure. There are a couple of places in town, but maybe you don’t want a cell phone? We didn’t even think of putting in a landline up in those apartments—”
“Pastor Harold.” Lanford broke in before the man arranged for landlines and cell phones and who knew what else.
The man stopped.
“I will get a cell phone. For the moment, there’s only one call I want to make, but there’s no rush.”
He wanted to call the company his father worked for and ask if he could come and talk to the owner. He’d have to figure out how to get there, since the office was on the outskirts of Pittsburgh. There was no reason to be in a panic until he solved that question.
Harold pushed the phone on his desk toward him. “The phone is here for you, anytime. Well, anytime the office is open. We have to lock up at night—there were some petty thefts, and some of the members were quite upset.”
Pastor Harold pushed his chair back.
“Would you like me to step out now, so you can talk?”
Lanford shook his head. “No, it’s not a rush. I appreciate the offer. Just let me know when it’s convenient.”
Harold appeared to restrain himself from leaping out of his chair immediately.
“Okay then. Now, do you want to talk about work?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“We lost our custodian recently, and we’ve been scrambling to fill in, but we didn’t grasp what all he did. It wasn’t just cleaning the building, but the yard work and the repairs... Is that something you could do?”
As an ex-con, there was very little Lanford would refuse to do. Certainly not honest work.
“I can do that. Tell me what has to be done and where the tools are to do it.”
Again, that beaming smile from Pastor Harold.
Lanford would think it was fake, that no one could be that good. But he’d found the same spirit in the prison, and he knew it could be real. He was sure it was for Harold, like it had been for Anton.
He followed Pastor Harold as he led Lanford to where he could find the cleaning supplies and tools.
God had provided this for him, which made him believe that clearing his name and finding out the truth about the fire was the right thing. He prayed that he could manage his mission without opening the door to bitterness or revenge.
It was going to take a lot of prayer.
Chapter Five
Sarah spent the rest of her day dealing with calls that came in. An elderly driver had hit the gas pedal instead of the brakes and run into a wall. She played referee for a dispute where two neighbors in a long-standing property disagreement were complaining about lawn decorations.
A typical day.
She returned to the station and reviewed the file for the Davies arson case again, checking for any relevant information she’d missed, any questions unanswered.
If someone had framed Lanford, they’d probably driven to his place to set the fire, but by the time the fire department, police and ambulance had all been there, it was impossible to check for tire tracks. The house had been completely destroyed. Investigators found an accelerant had been used—which fit with the gas can found near Lanford.
The can, it was later revealed, came from the Davieses’ garage. All of the family’s fingerprints had been identified on the can. Someone could have pressed Lanford’s hands to the canister, or he could have carried it that day or even weeks before.
The lighter in Lanford’s pocket was generic, a drugstore item. The sheriff had grabbed it from his pocket without gloves on, so fingerprint evidence was
subsequently unusable.
Sarah rolled her eyes when she read that.
If someone had framed Lanford, Roy Harding didn’t appear to be on the ball enough to have taken proper steps to prove the case. Based on the skill set Festus demonstrated, Sarah didn’t think he was on the ball enough to be part of setting up Lanford, either.
She wondered if she should try to call him again. He hadn’t responded to calls or emails about Festus, and she didn’t know how he’d react to the news that she was reopening one of his cases, even if it was unofficially. If Lanford had been set up, maybe Harding had been involved.
At the end of the day, there was still the problem of who else would want to do such a thing. Motive wasn’t very strong against Lanford, but there was less reason for anyone else.
Sarah was startled to discover that it was past five on a Friday. She was “officially” done for the week but would be on call if something happened. She locked the Davies file in a cabinet, closed up the office and got out the door with Festus after tripping over him only once.
She drove to her home, a small bungalow she’d rented for the year. Her contract with the town was for twelve months, and when she’d signed it, she hadn’t been sure she’d stay longer.
She still wasn’t sure.
She waved at her neighbor, who was busy in his garden.
Sarah had a condo in the city and had sublet it for the same year. She’d had a small balcony, but she’d never had to deal with lawns and gardens.
Moving here in the winter meant that she hadn’t had to deal with maintenance beyond shoveling and throwing down salt. Now, with summer approaching, there was not only grass to mow, but flower beds and a garden to look after.
Arthur, her neighbor, was a retired teacher. He was also a gossip. Last weekend he’d shown her how to dig up the garden bed while telling her stories about the other people who lived on this street. He’d promised to help her prepare the soil this weekend and advise her on what seeds to get for her vegetable garden. She hadn’t had the heart to confess that she had a black thumb. She was pretty sure he’d be adopting her garden, as well, so it might not matter.
Out of the Ashes Page 4