by BJ Bourg
Melvin walked up and I could hear him breathing heavily. “I tromped through those trees, up and down the boulevard, and covered the area all around the mansion, but there’s no evidence of anyone having been there.”
“They could’ve come and gone by car.” I adjusted the zoom, snapped another picture. “What about surveillance cameras? Is this mansion equipped with those?”
“Nope. He said he didn’t think anyone had the balls to come back here and try anything, so he never installed any.” He raised his hands in defense toward Susan. “Sorry, those were his words, not mine.”
Susan waved him off. “You know nothing bothers me.”
I was about to snap another picture when Melvin stepped away from us and told someone to stop where they were. I looked up and saw a man approaching from the mansion.
“How much longer will this take?” the man asked. “There are a few guests who still haven’t left yet and they’d like to go home.”
Melvin glanced in my direction, raised an eyebrow.
“Can you find out if they saw anything?” I asked. “If they didn’t, show them out of here, but get their contact information. If they did see something, get a statement from them if you don’t mind, and I’ll follow up with them in the next day or so.”
Melvin, who was our Mr. Reliable, nodded and followed Chet to his house. I knew if anyone saw anything, Melvin would get it out of them. He was as solid as they came and fiercely loyal. I was glad to have him on my side.
As I continued photographing the interior of the vehicle, Susan remained in my shadow. After a few minutes, she said, “That’s a horrible way to go.”
“Yeah, it is, and I’m pretty sure he’s in Heaven because he’s already gone through hell.”
“The smell is horrendous.”
I knew she’d smelled dead bodies before, so I didn’t have to tell her it would stay with her for a few days—she already knew that much. I began walking toward the back of the car when headlights darted toward us from up North Boulevard. Ox and his assistant chief got up from where they were sitting on the bumper of the nearest fire truck and approached the vehicle. Ox shielded his eyes and peered into the light. As the vehicle got closer, Ox waved and then turned to call over his shoulder, “Clint, it’s the fire marshal, Justin Singleton. Good man and a damn good fire investigator.”
CHAPTER 5
Justin Singleton stepped out of a gray older model Crown Victoria and moved to his trunk to retrieve a large box before walking toward the floodlights of the fire trucks. I’d never met him, but if Ox said he was a good man, then that was enough for me.
After shaking Ox’s hand and speaking briefly with him and his lieutenant, Justin moved to where Susan and I were standing near the car. He held out his hand and smiled. Although his short cropped hair was frosted, his dark face lit up when he smiled. It made him look ten years younger. “I’m Justin Singleton, and you must be Police Chief Susan Wilson…and Clint Wolf, Chief of Detectives.”
“It’s just Clint for me.”
“And I’m just Susan Wolf.” I detected a twinkle in her eye when she said it, and it appeared she’d been waiting for an opportunity to use her new name.
Justin apologized, but Susan waved him off. Placing the large box on the ground beside us, Justin turned to the scene and took it all in for a moment before moving closer. He surveyed the evidence markers, using his flashlight and squatting low to get a closer look at each pile of glass, then moved toward the truck and examined the damage to the front of it. He then strode toward where the car had come to rest and slowly moved his light over every inch of its surface, starting with the hood and working his way along the sides and toward the trunk.
“Did y’all document the scene already?”
“Yeah, we’ve got photographs, sketches, and measurements. I’ll make copies of everything for you.” I pointed toward the piles of glass. “We didn’t touch any of the evidence, though, because we were waiting for you to get here.”
He rubbed his face and shook his head. “This was a brutal attack, but a clumsy one. Whoever did this probably learned how to make Molotov cocktails watching some online video. They’re lucky they didn’t set themselves on fire.” He shook his head. “The Internet is a dangerous thing, that’s for sure.”
“What do you think they used?” I asked. “Melvin thought he smelled gasoline.”
“They definitely used gasoline—and motor oil—and they corked the bottles with rags.” He bent and pointed to the remnants of some fabric near the broken neck of one of the bottles that had bounced off of the car when it had been thrown. He straightened. “They deployed at least five fire bombs—could’ve been six if one of the bottles went completely into the car—and they did it in a hurry. It looks very rushed and unorganized, almost angry.”
“Have you worked this kind of case before?” I asked. “Personally, I’ve worked arson murders, but nothing like this.”
“Like you, I’ve worked arson murders, but they mostly consisted of a husband or wife dousing their spouse with gasoline and then tossing them a lighter.” Justin walked to his box and removed some metal paint cans and strung a camera over his neck. “I’ll recover some samples and send them to the lab to confirm the mixture, but I can already smell what it is.” He grinned and his face lit up again. “My nose can actually detect what brand of oil was used in the mixture, and if the gasoline was ten percent ethanol or ethanol free.”
“Really?” Melvin asked, walking up from behind us carrying some type of ledger.
“No,” Justin said. “I was only kidding.”
We laughed and I walked over to Melvin while Justin began collecting the shards of glass and packaging them in separate cans. “What do you have there?” I asked, pointing toward his hands.
Melvin hefted the ledger. “This is a sign-in sheet for the guests who attended the political event Lance had out here tonight. The name of every person who attended is listed here, along with their addresses, phone numbers, and email addresses.”
“Really?” I stared blankly at the ledger. “Why on earth would they collect all of that information? And how lucky is that for us?”
“Well, turns out, it’s not luck at all—it’s actually common practice.” He flipped open the ledger and turned it so I could see the list of names and accompanying information. “Whenever they have one of these political functions, they gather up all of this information so they can harass these people later and make sure they go out and vote on election day. They also contact them for more money or to put signs in their yards or to try and get them to volunteer for different things.”
“Huh.” I grunted. “That’s smart.”
Melvin nodded and pushed out his chest. “Thanks, I thought so myself.”
I took the ledger from him and thanked him for his help. It was already way past midnight, so he said he’d better go check on the rest of the town. He started to walk away, but stopped and turned toward Susan and me. “It’s damn good to have y’all back.”
I thought about the cold waterfall in Jamaica, the bumpy Jeep ride to the town of Hell, Grand Caymans, and the beach buggy ride to the private pristine beach in Cozumel, and frowned. “It’s not good to be back.”
His face dropped and his shoulders drooped, looking genuinely offended, but then I smiled and told him I was only joking. He seemed to cheer up a little. As we watched him walk to his truck and drive away, Susan nudged me with her shoulder and whispered, “You weren’t joking at all—not one bit.”
“I love this town and I love my job,” I said, “but damn, that was a great honeymoon.”
“Yeah, I could sure get used to lazing around with you all day and then going to dinner at night.”
“Maybe when we get old and gray…”
She shined her flashlight up at my dark brown hair, pointed to what I was sure was a white hair. “You mean, like, tomorrow?”
I was about to argue when I heard the distant roar of an engine, and it sounded like it was com
ing from the front of the street.
“Heads up,” Ox called from the fire truck, “someone’s coming in hot.”
I hurried to Susan’s Tahoe and tossed the ledger inside, then stood in the middle of the street shining a light toward the approaching vehicle. The headlights were on bright and the yellow flashers were blinking. Whoever was driving was swerving from side to side, as though trying to keep the car under control. I felt a presence beside me and heard Susan’s voice tell me to get out of the road.
I continued shining my light in the area of the windshield as the car drew nearer. “They’d better stop, or I’m going to draw down on them.”
“You’re going to have to…” I heard Susan’s gun clear her holster and I did the same as the car smashed through the yellow crime scene tape that we had strung up earlier. Susan and I both sidestepped toward the edge of the boulevard. I held my breath as the car rapidly approached, waiting for it to crash into the back of Susan’s cruiser. To my surprise, the driver smashed the brakes and jerked the wheel to the right. The car skidded to a lurching stop at a sharp angle several feet from Susan’s vehicle.
I could see a shadowy figure in the front seat and knew it represented the driver, but I couldn’t tell much more than that, because the window was tinted. The driver seemed to be alone and was moving around a bit. Finally, the driver door flung open, but then everything went still for a long moment. The only sound we heard was the humming of the car’s engine and the only smell we detected was that of Lance’s burnt carcass.
“Driver, I need you to step out of the car and keep your hands where I can see them.” Keeping my pistol at my side, I aimed the flashlight above the door frame and took a step forward, waiting for the driver to reveal himself. “You’ve driven through a crime scene barrier and I need you to identify yourself and demonstrate that you’re unarmed.”
In my peripheral vision, I could see Susan’s shadow fanning out to my right. She was circling around to the back of the vehicle so she and I could triangulate our gunfire on the driver if it came to that.
“Driver,” I said, moving in Susan’s direction and trying to get my light around the edge of the door, “I need you to show me your hands!”
Still no movement from the car.
“Susan, can you see anything?” I whispered out the corner of my mouth, trying to force my voice to carry only in her direction. She was still about twenty feet away from the car, but she’d made her way to the back corner area and should be able to have a visual on the interior of the cab.
“I’m lighting it up,” Susan said, and I heard her flashlight slide from its holder. In the next instant, the bright beam from her flashlight reached out through the darkness and lit up the cab. I still couldn’t see anything, but I heard Susan gasp. “Clint, it’s a woman…and she’s crying!”
CHAPTER 6
“Covering,” Susan said in a soft but firm voice, letting me know she would keep her pistol trained on the woman until I made contact and ensured she wasn’t a threat.
After scanning our surroundings and turning my ear to the wind to make sure her actions hadn’t been meant to distract us from something else, I turned my light off and moved quietly forward through the shadows. When I was about ten feet from the open door I could hear soft sobs coming from the driver’s seat. I turned toward the wreckage and realized the woman had a perfect view of Lance’s car between the fire trucks.
I didn’t recognize the woman, but I immediately realized she must’ve recognized Lance’s car. I holstered my pistol and reached out to open the door. The woman didn’t even look up as I did so. Her face was buried in her hands and she was bawling. I could see tiny twinkles of light as her tears fell through the beam of Susan’s flashlight and to the ground.
The woman wore a long dress that was multi-colored and had a smattering of shapes printed all over it. She was in her mid-fifties, from what I could tell of her hair color, and stout. A ring that looked two sizes too small was stretched over her left ring finger, and there was a giant diamond attached to it. For a split second I wondered if the diamond on the ring I’d bought for Susan was large enough, but then I quickly dismissed the thought and turned my attention to the woman.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I gave myself a mental kick in the ass. Of course she’s not okay, Clint! I reached out and gently touched her shoulder. I identified myself but the woman didn’t even move her hands from her face. As far as she was concerned, she was alone there in the car, grief-stricken and utterly helpless.
Over my shoulder, I heard Susan calling in the license plate. I spoke to the woman again, but she still didn’t respond. It didn’t take long for Beth to radio Susan and tell her the car belonged to Nicole Beaman. My heart sank. How in the hell did she find out about this?
“Mrs. Beaman,” I said, “can you look at me?”
The woman didn’t budge.
I glanced over at Susan and she indicated with her head for me to back away. When I did, she moved in and dropped beside the woman. She leaned close and began speaking softly into the woman’s ear. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but it didn’t take long for Mrs. Beaman to slowly remove her hands from her face and turn to look at Susan. Although she was staring directly at Susan, it appeared from my vantage point that she was looking straight through my wife, unseeing.
“Ma’am, what are you doing here?” Susan asked in a coaxing voice. “How did you know to come over?”
Her chin trembling uncontrollably, Mrs. Beaman said, “I…it was Peggy…my friend, Peggy. Peggy Robichaux called me to say there had been an accident. She said…she told me there had been a fire and…and she told me Lance had…that Lance was…oh, God! It’s true, isn’t it?” She pointed past Susan to the shell of a car. “Is Lance inside of his car? I wanted to go see for myself, but…oh, dear, I just can’t bring myself to walk over there. Please, you’ve got to tell me…is that Lance?”
Susan frowned and lowered her head. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but it’s true…someone did this to your husband.”
Mrs. Beaman let out a shrill cry that must have disturbed half the people in the town’s cemetery. She fell out of the car and collapsed into Susan’s chest. Susan planted her right knee on the ground and caught her before she could face-plant into the hard concrete. I rushed forward and helped Susan roll Mrs. Beaman onto her back. We placed her gently onto the ground, extended her legs, and placed her arms directly at her sides. I turned when a dark shadow fell over us. It was Ox.
“I’ve already called for an ambulance,” he said, his face showing concern.
I nodded and Susan and I backed away so Ox and his lieutenant could assess Mrs. Beaman’s condition. A few minutes later, Justin joined us and told me he had everything he needed.
“The evidence for arson is insurmountable; I found five discernible points of origin, the use of an accelerant is obvious and will be confirmed through lab results, and the fire burned hotter than hell in summer. I know we’ve never worked together before, but I’m guessing it’s like everywhere—I’ll handle the arson aspect and you’ll handle the murder?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
Justin pursed his lips as he stared down at Lance’s wife. “It’s a good thing she stopped back here. Had she seen her husband in that condition…” He paused and shook his head. “They’d be burying her right along side of him.”
Ox and his lieutenant had revived Mrs. Beaman and they were speaking softly with her, letting her know everything was going to be okay and that an ambulance was en route. I was hoping the ambulance would arrive soon and take her away before the coroner’s investigator showed up for Lance’s body.
“Clint, look over there.”
I turned to see where Susan was pointing. At the beginning of the wide driveway, up near the house, a man was standing and watching the scene. He was staring toward Lance’s car and I didn’t think he knew we were back by Susan’s Tahoe.
/> “Is that the homeowner?” I asked, squinting against the floodlights that stood between us and the house.
“I think so. He’s been there for a few minutes. I saw a splash of light when the front door opened. He walked to the edge of the driveway and just stopped and stared.”
“I’m going talk to him.” I walked off and Justin stepped in behind me while Susan waited with Ox and the others. When I walked past Lance’s car and approached the man, he gave a solemn nod of his head.
“Clint, nice to see you again.”
I knew the man from around town, but we’d never been formally introduced. I shook his hand and introduced him to Justin.
“Mr. Robichaux, can I ask you a few questions?” I began. “I know it’s late, but since you’re already out here…”
“Sure, that’s why I walked over. I’ve got some information.”
“What is it?” I was curious, but didn’t show it.
“Well, Officer Saltzman confiscated the ledger, but there was one man whose name isn’t on it, and I think he might know something.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Who is this man and why isn’t his name on the ledger?”
“No one knows who he is. Lance noticed him first and asked me about him, but I didn’t know who he was talking about at first. He said the man didn’t look like a supporter.”
“Go on,” I said.
“Well, most of the people at the meet-and-greet were familiar to someone in our group, but none of us knew this man. When he arrived, he acted like he was supporting Lance—he even let my wife put a sticker on his shirt—but now I think he might be involved.”
“How do you know he didn’t sign the ledger?” I asked.
“My wife and daughter were taking names at the door and getting everyone to sign the ledger. When he walked in, he said he didn’t feel comfortable giving out his personal information. He said he’d had his identity stolen before, so my wife didn’t press the issue and she didn’t think anything of it. That is, until a minute ago when I told her Officer Saltzman had taken the ledger.”