Fatal Game

by Diane Capri

  A massive pressure wave blasted through the kitchen.

  The windows exploded outward.

  The back door flew open.

  Jess was blown flat on the floor.

  The fridge door whipped back, breaking the top hinge and smashing down beside her, inches from her head.

  The entire contents of the kitchen took flight.

  The pine table rolled over and smashed against the sink.

  The chairs tumbled after it.

  The mail exploded into envelope confetti.

  The coffee maker shot into the corner.

  As fast as it came, the pressure wave eased. Almost like a giant sigh. As if the effort had exhausted the explosion itself.

  Dust and debris hung in the air.

  Followed by something else.

  Fire.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Monday, May 22

  Bear Hill, Arizona

  Jess rolled onto her side. She panted hard and wiped her hand across her eyes. Her forehead stung, and her hand came away bloody.

  Flames were spilling from the walls and traveling across the work surfaces.

  She shook her head, trying to focus.

  With the door gone, the hallway was open. Smoke filled the passageway.

  Where were Jackson and the others?

  She darted through the opening where the back door had been. Beside the hose was a brass tap. She twisted it full on and pulled great loops of hose from the reel.

  The spray attachment was set to a fine mist. She twisted it to create a powerful stream and poured water ahead of her as she raced back into the house.

  The fire roared. Flames climbed the walls and licked across the ceiling. Smoke was filling the room from the ceiling down. She soaked a towel by the sink and slapped it across her mouth and nose.

  A scream sounded from upstairs.

  The hallway burned along one wall.

  She soaked the carpet with the hose and ran to the foot of the stairs.

  The scream came again.

  She dragged the hose up the stairs, flipping it over the banister to lessen the drag of its weight. The height reduced water flow.

  The reporter, MacKenzie, appeared at the top of the stairs. “You have to get out!”

  “Help!” wailed a voice from a bedroom.

  “Get more water!” Jess screamed, working her way along the landing toward the wailing.

  “No!” MacKenzie yelled.

  “Yes!” She yelled.

  The doors and walls were in flames. She waved the spray over the bedroom door, and lunged a hard kick at the handle. The door swept open.

  A storm of burning embers swirled out at her. She ducked her face into the crook of her arm, choking on the heat and smoke until the wave passed.

  She staggered into what had been a bedroom.

  Half of the exterior wall was missing. The furniture was upended in one corner, on fire. Fierce orange flames engulfed the walls and furniture and licked outside the house through the hole in the wall.

  “Help!” Jackson screamed.

  His voice came from under the furniture. She directed the hose over the mound of wood and bedclothes crammed against a wall. Smoke filled the air.

  She rolled the burning bed away from the wall. Jackson screamed.

  His bloody arm appeared through a gap. She pulled a chest of drawers from the pile. He continued to scream.

  She trained the hose on him and pulled broken wood and bedclothes from the bonfire until she saw his tortured face.

  She threw off the last debris. His legs were twisted at terrible angles. His clothes were torn and burned. Smoke wafted from his hair.

  She dropped the hose and fell to her knees to push one arm under his legs and the other around his back. He screamed long and hard.

  The heated air burned her throat with every breath. She gritted her teeth and struggled to her feet. Jackson clung to her neck, grunting and groaning to stifle his screams.

  The floor buckled. Smoke and glowing embers swirled in the air.

  She staggered to the door.

  MacKenzie was using a rug to beat back the flames on the landing. She stumbled past. He grabbed Jackson’s legs and shared the weight down the stairs.

  The front porch was ablaze. MacKenzie guided her to a clear space on the right. He vaulted the railing, and turned, holding up his arms. She handed Jackson over to him and leaped off the porch.

  Jess staggered down the slope. Behind her, wood creaked, and one side of the house collapsed inward.

  She grabbed one of the reporters. “Where’s Ernie? And Cook?”

  The reporter shook his head.

  She looked back at the house. Flames poured from the doors and windows and escaped through giant holes in the roof. The building was moments from destruction. Anyone who hadn’t made it out already, wouldn’t survive.

  The swing seat on the porch collapsed.

  A few yards away, Jackson moaned as he lay on the ground.

  Jess’s eyes stung and her lungs hurt with every painful breath. Her hands were raw. Her shoes had almost burned through their soles.

  Four people were in the house before the explosion. The locksmith, two police officers, and her. Two of them hadn’t made it out at all and Jackson seemed barely alive.

  She sank to the ground.

  It was all she could do not to retch.

  There was only one thought in her mind. It was grotesque and abhorrent, as unstoppable as it was unbidden.

  The words went around and around in her head.

  She was the lucky one.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Monday, May 22

  Santa Irene, Arizona

  Hades sat at Simon Lawson’s computer, shaking his head. It was remarkable how little people understood computers. Or how easy it was to break in and steal every last piece of information stored on them.

  Internet search histories and browser cookies were easy to decode. Security certificates that encrypted financial transactions from a computer to banks and brokerage houses couldn’t be decoded, but the names of the firms were available to anyone who cared to look.

  And Hades cared. With the names, he could find out anything else he wanted to know.

  He gathered everything he needed and made a single phone call. He’d always been a good mimic. He affected the educated, privileged tone of a man who expected his instructions to be carried out immediately and without question.

  The banker was comfortable with such men. He had efficiently recorded the details Hades relayed as if he was Dr. Simon Lawson.

  The banker completed the tasks efficiently, too, and twenty minutes later an email notification appeared on Simon Lawson’s computer.

  Dr. Simon Lawson now owned a new company, incorporated in Panama. The principal business was consumer goods. A token deposit had been made from Simon Lawson’s bank into a new account in Panama. The whole transaction was performed by the South American country, with the clear direction that further funds would arrive soon.

  Hades picked up a writing pad and a pen and slipped on his Babe Ruth mask. “It’s time.”

  Donning their own masks, Cora and Shorty followed him down the narrow stairs into the dank basement. He flipped on the fluorescent light. The Lawsons were still prone on the concrete floor, arms stretched above their heads, their feet and hands secured to the tie-downs.

  Hades pulled up a chair beside Simon Lawson. He nodded, and Shorty unclipped their hands from the tie-down and removed the thick felt blindfolds.

  The Lawsons sat up as one. They moved their arms slowly because their muscles had locked into the stretched positions.

  Natalie rolled over, easing her rigid back into a new posture, flexing vertebrae and stretching ligaments. She kept her eyes closed against the painfully bright fluorescents.

  Simon’s hooded gaze darted from his wife to Hades and back. He, too, shuffled his hips and shoulders, using his weight to massage his muscles.

  Hades waited while the Lawsons fi
nished physical therapy. He was patient. Despite the circumstances, he needed a modicum of cooperation a while longer.

  Until he extracted what they knew.

  Simon Lawson’s gaze gradually came to rest on Hades. “What do you want?”

  Hades smiled. “I’ve already told you. We will take your money and leave.”

  Simon looked down. Natalie watched him from the corner of her eye.

  Hades continued the pretext. “You will be poorer, but you’re clever. You have a good job, doctor. You’ll manage.”

  He leaned closer. “Most importantly, if you are cooperative, you will be safe. You will survive.” He touched his face mask and lowered his voice. “You understand?”

  Natalie inched closer to Simon, shoulders touching. Simon lowered his gaze and nodded.

  “But only if you cooperate.”

  Simon nodded.

  “Completely.”

  Simon swallowed and nodded.

  Hades stared at him. Seconds passed. Simon kept his gaze down.

  Hades took a deep breath and lightened his tone. “Good.”

  He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs to rest the pad on his knee. “Very good. We could be out of here in a couple of days. Not long at all. If you cooperate.”

  He wrote the name of two financial institutions on the pad, one name per line, several lines between each name. He handed it to Simon. “You recognize those names?”

  Simon nodded. “My retirement accounts.”

  Hades held out a pen. “I need the passwords.”

  Simon hesitated.

  Hades kept his hand still, the pen in front of Simon.

  Simon studied the pen.

  “We will be finished here soon,” Hades said, “if you cooperate.”

  Simon took a deep breath.

  Hades waved the pen. Simon took it. He juggled the pad into a stable position. He twisted his cuffed wrists to free his fingers well enough to print.

  He wrote small characters. Letters and numbers. Hash marks and semicolons. The full range of symbols that security professionals encouraged him to use. Complex passwords. Difficult to remember, but difficult to break. Supposedly.

  Hades smiled to himself.

  Simon finished the last password. He held out the pad and pen, his face impassive.

  Hades read back the password gibberish, one symbol at a time.

  Simon nodded throughout.

  Hades stood. “You understand that I will not be happy if these passwords are not correct?”

  Simon gave a long slow nod. He wiped his forehead with his forearm.

  Hades pushed the chair back under the table. The legs scraped on the bare concrete floor. “Then you both will survive.” He paused. “That’s all that is important in the end. Isn’t it?”

  Hades left the basement with Cora. Shorty stayed behind to reattach both Lawsons to the tie-downs.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Monday, May 22

  Bear Hill, Arizona

  Jess collapsed on the front lawn, breathing deeply. The house burned as she watched. Thick black smoke plumed into the sky.

  Jackson’s moans drifted across the lawn. Two reporters tried to reassure him as they waited for help, but their words didn’t stop his pain.

  A siren’s wail approached in the distance, and finally, an ambulance arrived. The medics ferried bags of fluid and a stretcher over to Jackson. They cut away his clothes and threaded an intravenous tube into the back of his hand. A few moments later, Jackson’s moans subsided.

  They hoisted Jackson onto the gurney and rolled him into the ambulance.

  One of the medics approached Jess after that. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Was anyone else hurt?”

  Jess pointed to the house. “There were two more inside.”

  The medic’s eyes narrowed. He gazed at the burning home. “Who were they?”

  “Another officer and a locksmith.”

  “Ernie?”

  She nodded. “And Lester Cook.”

  He swore under his breath. “How did all this happen so quickly?”

  Before she could answer, a fire engine sped up the driveway. It steered onto the lawn and around the house.

  The ambulance driver called to the medic. “Be right there,” the medic called back. He patted Jess’s shoulder. “Sure you don’t want to come along to the hospital? Get checked out?”

  She shook her head. The medic jogged back to the ambulance and climbed aboard. Jess watched the ambulance speed away, siren blazing.

  The firemen spread out around the house. They ran a thick hose on the far side of the fire engine.

  The upper floor of the house collapsed. Flames gushed from the dying building. The firefighters began dousing the ground and vegetation outside. The house was a lost cause now, but the earth was dry. They didn’t want the fire to spread.

  MacKenzie sat down on the ground beside Jess. “Were you in the building when it happened?”

  Jess nodded. “In the kitchen.”

  “Jackson told us to keep out.”

  Jess shrugged.

  “Maybe he suspected something?”

  Jess shook her head. “He called for Ernie. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d known the house was dangerous.”

  MacKenzie nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Water began running down the slope from the house. Jess pushed herself up and walked to higher ground where she had parked her car.

  MacKenzie followed. “Something certainly exploded in that house.”

  Jess didn’t reply.

  “I heard a bang all the way out here.” MacKenzie took a couple of long strides and walked beside her. “All the windows blew out.”

  “Whatever exploded, it must have been upstairs.”

  Mackenzie frowned. “Maybe. But there were flames all over the place. Even the ground floor.”

  Jess watched as the last standing wall collapsed. It seemed impossible to believe, but in little more than fifteen minutes, the entire building had been reduced to rubble.

  MacKenzie said, “Old, dry wood burns quick.”

  Jess nodded. She found a tissue in her pocket and rubbed her eyes. The sting of smoke still lingered.

  Everything had happened so fast. The explosion. The fire. The complete destruction of Melissa Green’s home. So fast.

  Jess took a deep breath. The fresh air made her eyes feel better, but she remembered how irritated they’d become when she first walked into the kitchen.

  She pulled her camera from her pocket and flipped through the pictures she’d shot. The range was electric. Maybe there was a gas furnace in the attic? Which didn’t make much sense. Gas space heaters in the bedrooms, maybe? Arizona winters could get chilly. Maybe small gas heaters would have helped.

  And gas might explain why the fire spread so quickly. Gas could have irritated her eyes, too. But gas producers added sulfur containing methyl mercaptan. The odor was intentionally distinctive and pervasive. She would have noticed. So would Captain Jackson and Officer Cook.

  A white Toyota raced up the lane, screeching to a stop on the edge of the lawn. A woman in jeans leaped out and ran screaming toward the smoldering pile of rubble that had been Melissa Green’s house.

  Jess swallowed. “One of the wives.”

  MacKenzie remained silent.

  The fire chief caught hold of the woman. She wrestled herself free. He grabbed her again. Her struggle slowed, but her grief-stricken wailing continued to pierce the air.

  Jess’s stomach churned. The woman’s grief was heartbreaking. Jess wanted to comfort her, but she had nothing to say that would help.

  A small girl climbed out of the Toyota’s back seat holding a tiny doll. She looked around and moved closer to her mom, who was still sobbing in the fire chief’s embrace.

  Jess took a deep breath and crossed over to kneel beside the girl. She began to speak softly to her. “Hi, I’m Jess. What’s your name?”

  Gradually she lea
rned the girl’s name. And the dolly. And her daddy, the police officer who wouldn’t be coming home.

  After a while, the fire chief led Mrs. Cook toward Jess and little Emma. He released her with a pained expression. She sank to the ground and Emma dropped into her lap. The fire’s smoldering echo was overwhelmed by the sound of a grieving wife’s wails.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Monday, May 22

  Bear Hill, Arizona

  Jess circled the remains of the house, keeping well outside the ring of firemen and the ground they had doused. MacKenzie was right. The house had been old and stick built. Its entire frame consisted of highly flammable wood. The contents were probably just as old and dry. Given the size of the explosion, maybe it wasn’t sinister that the fire spread and consumed the house as quickly as it did.

  A tent-like structure rose up around where the kitchen had been as if the upstairs floor had been prevented from falling to the ground by the metalwork of the appliances.

  Elsewhere, the roof, the walls, and the floors had burned to almost nothing, leaving only small chunks of wood in the ash. Wires and pipes poked through the mess. Most were twisted and bent from the weight of the collapsing structure, but a couple rose ten feet into the air.

  Jess took photographs. She zoomed in as close as her lens would allow. The details would have been clearer if she’d moved in closer, but she didn’t want to trample any relevant evidence that might have survived.

  Near the rear of the property, an oblong shape was covered in ash. The fridge that Jess had been standing near when the explosion happened. It was remarkably intact. Its strength had certainly helped her survive. She photographed it from both sides.

  Across what would have been the hallway was another mound buried in the ash. It looked like a five-foot tall wine bottle. She worked her way around the building for a better angle.

  It was a gas cylinder. The type used in hospitals. The surface was rough and blackened with soot. The end with the valve was a jumble of wires and pipes covered in a charred mass.