by Maggie James
‘Usually,’ Damon replies. ‘Begins during the teenage years, escalates in adulthood.’ He clears his throat, clearly embarrassed. ‘I don’t mean to upset you, but adolescent pyromania’s often linked with rape or murder committed later in life.’
‘Spencer was kicked out of school for arson.’ The words come before she can rein them in. She’s conscious of Aiden’s head jerking back.
‘You never mentioned that,’ he says. ‘That changes things, don’t you think?’
Lori stares at him, aware he’s now judging Spencer from a new angle. Not a favourable one, either.
Later, in bed, her fingers stroking Oreo’s head, Lori’s thoughts circle around Damon Quinn. To the warning bell that sounded earlier in her head. Only met her a couple of times. So he ran into Jessie on at least one other occasion apart from Cabot Circus. Strange her sister never mentioned it. Her suspicions that Damon was Jessie’s mystery boyfriend are multiplying. The more she considers the idea, the more she decides it has validity. Lori’s mind darts back to the night of her sister’s death, when she visited Aiden. Damon’s arrival home at a time that fits with having raped and strangled Jessie. The blaze at the house where she died. Damon’s a firefighter; infernos are his trade. Maybe his obsession too. What was it he said about firebugs? Many of them alert the emergency services. They get off on watching the blaze being doused.
Lori pulls out her mobile to text Aiden. Time to arrange a get-together.
One o’clock the next day sees Lori with Aiden in Carluccio’s, both of them tucking into lasagne. ‘How well do you know your housemate?’ she enquires.
He shrugs. ‘Not that well, I guess. Why do you ask?’
Lori takes a deep breath. Here goes.
Aiden’s normally a placid guy, but his expression darkens on hearing her suspicions. His fingers grip his wine glass so hard Lori’s afraid it’ll shatter.
‘No way. OK, so I’ve only rented Damon’s spare room for a few months. I can’t claim to be an expert on the guy. But he’s no killer. You said yourself he didn’t seem bothered about Jessie when the two of you bumped into him.’
‘She was a teenage girl, Aiden. Probably fancied herself in love. It wouldn’t have been hard for her to contact him, once she knew he was a firefighter, discovered the station he worked at. You’re telling me he’d have turned down a hot sixteen-year-old throwing herself at him?’
‘That’s exactly what he did.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Damon mentioned he caught her hanging around the station one day. All star-struck about him being a firefighter. Said he made it plain he wasn’t interested.’
Lori’s incensed. What the hell had Jessie been thinking? She’s mad at Aiden too. When she speaks, her tone is curt. ‘And you didn’t think to tell me this?’
Aiden reddens. ‘Sorry. It just sounded like a teenage crush. From what Damon said, he dealt with it as tactfully as possible.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I don’t. I think they were in a relationship.’
‘For God’s sake, Lori!’ Aiden slams his fist on the table, causing her to jump. Other diners stare at them in alarm. ‘Don’t you get it? Damon fancies you. He was never interested in Jessie.’
‘But he acts so weird around me. He hardly says two words at a time. Unless he’s talking about arson.’
He huffs out an exasperated breath. ‘Are you really that dense? Damon’s shy around women. He gets tongue-tied, clams up. Especially ones he’s attracted to.’
‘What about the fact he’s a firefighter?’
‘What?’ Aiden’s clearly thrown off track by Lori’s non sequitur.
‘The night Jessie died. He was out somewhere, but not with work, he said. He could have killed her, then set the blaze afterwards. Don’t they say arsonists often join the fire service? To get closer to their obsession?’
‘That’s crap.’ The tightness in Aiden’s voice signals his continuing irritation. ‘An urban myth, nothing more. I’ve met the guys Damon works with. They’re the real deal. They put their lives on the line every day to keep us safe.’
‘Any one of them might be a closet arsonist. Including Damon.’
‘Don’t you realise they weed out people like that? Through psychological testing?’
‘You said yourself you’ve not lived with him long. How much do you know about him?’
‘Enough to be sure he’s no rapist or murderer. Yeah, sure, he’s had a troubled past. His father died in a house fire, hence his decision to become a firefighter. But you’re wrong about him.’
‘Someone set a fire to cover up Jessie’s death. Why can’t it be Damon?’
‘Because he’d have made a better job of it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘From what he tells me, the fire didn’t spread far, was easily extinguished. Don’t you think someone with his knowledge would have sent the whole place up in flames pretty damn quick?’
‘Not if he was disturbed in the act. And what about all the other fires? You heard him last night. How firebugs love being part of extinguishing as well as lighting blazes. Didn’t he say his crew got called to a couple of Mum’s houses? You think that’s a coincidence?’
‘That’s his job, for fuck’s sake. You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think Damon’s Bristol’s arsonist. I’m telling you, Lori’ – Aiden sounds close to fury – ‘you need to look elsewhere for your sister’s killer. Like Spencer Hamilton. We know for sure he’s a firebug.’
Lori’s doubts remain. No smoke without fire, as the saying goes.
After their lunch, Lori drives home, keen to ensure Dana’s OK. What she sees when she turns into the road where the Goldens live stills the breath in her throat. A police vehicle is parked outside her house. She forces herself to calm down; the police must be here about the investigation into Jessie’s death. Even so, it takes all her courage to park behind the van, switch off the engine and step out of her car. Please, God, let it not be another arson attack, she thinks.
DC Timpson is by the garden gate, talking into her receiver, breaking off when she spots Lori.
‘What’s happened? Is Mum all right?’ Fear leeches the saliva from Lori’s mouth.
‘We’ve not been able to contact Mrs Golden. Do you know where she is?’
‘She mentioned she might go grocery shopping. What’s happened?’
‘We received a report of a suspected attempted arson attack on another of your mother’s rental properties. Just before midnight yesterday evening, at number six Oak Drive. A neighbour spotted a man creeping around the side of the property. She went outside, intending to ask him what he was doing, but by then the man had fled.’
‘And you think he was attempting to start a fire? Why?’
‘He left behind a plastic can of petrol.’
Lori drags in a breath. Shit. This is serious stuff. While she struggles to process what Timpson’s said, a car turns into the road. As it draws near, Lori sees it’s her mother’s Astra.
Dana gets out, eyeing the police officers. ‘What’s going on?’
Timpson fills her in. ‘Oh, my God.’ Dana’s face pales with shock. ‘How bad is the damage?’
Lori takes her arm, fixes her gaze on Timpson. ‘Let’s go inside.’ From her bag, she extracts her key and turns it in the lock, guiding her mother into the hallway, before allowing Timpson to follow. Once in the living room, she sits Dana down, before addressing the police officer. ‘It sounds like the fire service weren’t involved. So whoever did this didn’t actually commit arson? Just attempted it?’
‘No. To answer your question, Mrs Golden, there’s no damage to your property.’
‘Could the neighbour describe this man?’ Lori asks.
‘She said it was dark, so she didn’t see much. Mrs Golden, are you sure you can’t think of anyone who might bear a grudge against you?’
‘No. Nobody at all.’ Dana’s face has that drawn appearance a
gain, her anxiety betrayed by the high pitch of her voice. ‘Although—’ She pauses.
‘Is there something you’ve not told us?’ Timpson prompts.
‘I’ve been getting hate mail. Horrible cards, saying vile things.’ Dana recounts the details, before admitting all the evidence has been destroyed.
Timpson’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘Like my colleague said before, it appears you’re being targeted. What we have to establish is why.’
Lori considers Timpson’s words as she drives to Aiden’s house later that evening. She’s already texted him, asked if she can stop by on her way to Ryan’s. To her relief, he agrees, no hint of resentment over their argument earlier in his tone. That’s good, she decides. She smiles, fast-forwarding to afterwards, anticipating Ryan’s arms around her. He called earlier, saying with a laugh how searching for suitable business premises had worn him out. During their conversation she filled him in on the latest attempted fire, and as always, his voice calmed her, sanded the rough edges off her worry.
‘The police will catch this bastard before long,’ he told her. ‘He’ll get cocky, slip up somehow. Listen, I can’t wait to see you again. I’ve missed you, sweetheart.’ A sentiment echoed by Lori. She won’t stay long at Aiden’s. He’s already assured her Damon won’t be there.
What had DC Timpson said? Like my colleague said before, it appears you’re being targeted. What we have to establish is why. Impossible, thinks Lori, for anyone to harbour a grudge against her mother. Difficult, though, for Lori to ignore the facts. Four properties with a link to Dana have suffered arson attacks so far. Could this be Bristol’s resident pyromaniac at work, like Ryan suggested? What about the other fires, though? From what Lori can remember, they’ve been concentrated on industrial units. No connection with her mother there. It’s only recently that the danger has edged closer to the Goldens.
The idea that Damon Quinn’s the arsonist won’t let go of Lori. Perhaps, in his sick, twisted way, he’s trying to impress her. If he’s warped enough to be setting Bristol’s warehouses ablaze, he’s capable of anything.
She parks up, rings the bell. When Aiden opens the door, an enticing smell wafts into her nostrils; Lori’s stomach growls in response. Aiden laughs, moving towards the kitchen. Lori follows, the delicious aroma enveloping her once she’s inside the cramped space. He dons oven gloves to release a tsunami of garlic fumes. On top of the cooker, saucepans bubble; pasta in one, bolognaise sauce in the other.
‘You’ve caught me doing my Jamie Oliver impersonation,’ he says, with a grin. ‘Seems lunch at Carluccio’s wasn’t enough Italian food in one day. Take a seat. Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’
Lori shakes her head; Ryan said he’d order in Chinese. She pours herself a glass of Merlot, reminding herself she has to drive later. Aiden spoons pasta into a bowl, ladling on the meaty sauce, before sitting opposite her, tearing off a chunk of garlic bread. They chat about Lori’s search for permanent employment, Aiden’s concerns over possible redundancies. He doesn’t mention Damon, and Lori has no wish to, at least not yet. Little by little the tension she’s carrying eases.
‘Out with it.’ Aiden’s just finished eating, and he’s regarding her with a penetrating look.
‘With what?’
‘Don’t jerk me around. There’s something you want to discuss. I can tell.’
‘Am I that obvious?’
He laughs. ‘Yes. And then some. What’s on your mind?’
Now the moment’s come, she’s nervous. ‘Promise me you won’t get angry.’
‘Why would I?’ His brows contract. ‘Wait. Is this about Damon again?’
‘Please, Aiden. Just hear me out. There’s stuff you don’t know.’ Before he can say more, she tells him about the aborted arson attack at Oak Drive.
‘I’m not hopeful the police will catch the person responsible,’ she says. ‘Whoever it was didn’t leave any fingerprints on the can of petrol, from what DC Timpson told us.’
Aiden pours himself more wine. ‘What have the police said?’
‘They suspect – and I agree – that someone is targeting us. I’m terrified, Aiden. None of it makes sense. The houses are all connected to Mum, but who would want to harm her? Nobody. That got me wondering: is it me this maniac is targeting?’
Aiden’s visibly taken aback. ‘Why would anyone try to hurt you?’
‘I’m thinking of Damon.’ As his expression darkens, she speaks rapidly. ‘Wait, just listen. He fancies me, you said. What if, along with the warehouse fires, he’s now targeting houses with a connection to my family?’
‘Why the hell would he do that?’
‘To impress me. Some warped hero complex.’
‘No.’ Aiden’s jaw is tight. ‘We’ve discussed this, for God’s sake. He puts out fires. He doesn’t set them.’
‘You said yourself he’s got a troubled past. Are you sure it doesn’t include arson?’
Aiden shakes his head, his expression grim. ‘I’ve told you before. You’ve got this all wrong, Lori. Face facts. As for Damon, yes, he likes you. But he’s not setting these fires.’
‘You really don’t think he’s responsible?’
‘No.’ His voice is terse. ‘Someone else is behind these blazes, and it’s not Damon.’
Chapter 11
FUNERAL
Two days later, Lori stares at the piece of paper bearing her name and details. She’s shocked; no way did she expect this, meaning she has to think fast. She can’t, she daren’t, tell Dana what she’s received in the post this morning. Lori chews her lip, a question hammering in her head. Should she go or not?
In the end, her curiosity wins out. That afternoon she calls the booking line number on the visiting order, arranges to be at the prison at two o’clock the day after next, which is Thursday.
‘I’m not sure why you’re going,’ Ryan tells her after she arrives at his flat that night and informs him what she’s planning. ‘I can’t see what this will accomplish, other than upsetting you. Spencer Hamilton’s been charged with killing your sister. What good will visiting him do? As for you inside a prison – I don’t like to think of it.’ He takes her hands. ‘Why don’t you cancel? Spend time with me instead. I’ll take the afternoon off work.’
Lori shakes her head. ‘I’d love that. But I’m still struggling to believe he’s guilty, no matter how strong the evidence is against him.’ She laughs, a little shakily. ‘Call me stubborn, if you like. But my gut’s telling me he’s innocent. And now he’s asked to see me – I have to go, Ryan. I need to look him in the eye, ask him if he killed Jessie. Only then can I be certain.’
Thursday afternoon comes, and Lori arrives early, unsure what to expect. She presents her driving licence, endures a pat-down search from an unsmiling prison official, passes through a metal detector, observes the drug dog on duty. Then signs a declaration to state she’s not carrying alcohol, tobacco or narcotics, and that she won’t help anyone escape. Her jacket and handbag get stowed in a locker. Around her the atmosphere is suffocating, laden with security, rules, oppression, forcing sweat to dampen her armpits. God, she’d not want to spend one night here, let alone the life sentence Spencer’s facing. Not for the first time she curses her propensity to champion the underdog. She’s so far out of her comfort zone she’d need a plane ticket back.
Once all the checks are done, she walks upstairs to the Visits Hall. And spots Spencer, his hands squashed beneath his thighs as he waits, clearly ill at ease. Dark shadows sit under his eyes, in contrast to the pallor of his cheeks. A cluster of spots stud his chin; grease darkens his hair. On seeing Lori, something close to relief flickers across his expression, before it vanishes.
Lori takes the seat opposite him across the table. She comes straight to the point. ‘Tell me why I’m here.’
Spencer fidgets nervously. When he doesn’t answer, she continues, ‘Why me? Why not your dad?’
‘He’s already been in this week.’
‘How many visits a
re you allowed?’
‘Two a month. And Dad . . .’ Spencer’s voice is tight, shuttered. ‘We’ve never been that great at communicating. He’s found it hard, seeing me remanded in jail.’
Silence for a moment, while Lori tries to line up the words inside her head so they’ll come out right. Before she can, Spencer starts talking.
‘I didn’t kill Jessie,’ he says. ‘Dad believes me, at least I think he does, but I need you to as well. It’s the truth. I could never have hurt her.’
‘Then who did?’ Lori observes him closely, ready to spot any sign he’s lying.
‘I have a theory. Meaning I need to be completely honest with you.’ His gaze falls away, unease clouding his expression. ‘The night Jessie died, I was at your mother’s house, the one where they found her.’
Lori pales. ‘What are you saying?’ Her words emerge as a whisper, no more.
‘I took a key. Thought I’d use the place if I managed to score at Murray’s. The gay bar I visited,’ he continues, on seeing Lori’s blank look. ‘After that it’s all a blur. I remember someone, a man, with me.’ He flushes. ‘Seems I did manage to pick up a guy. I’m guessing he’s the one who killed her. It’s all hazy in my head, though; I remember virtually nothing. The next thing I recall is smelling smoke, then finding Jessie’s body before I legged it out of there. I swear I didn’t do anything to hurt her, Lori. She was like a sister to me.’
Lori’s stunned. What he’s said has shaken her to the core. She almost slaps him, so fierce is her anger. ‘You bastard. My family was going through hell, wondering why Jessie hadn’t come home. Yet all that time you knew she was dead. Why the hell didn’t you call the police?’
Shame fills his expression. ‘Put yourself in my shoes. I panicked. Wouldn’t anyone? I’ve no credible alibi or explanation. I was trying to protect myself the only way I could. You know me, Lori. You must realise I’m no killer.’