Dead Burn

by Jennifer Chase

  Myers took a breath and continued. “Let me cut through all the pleasantries here, you want to really look at these cases, and you want someone outside the walls of the police department to have your back. Am I getting warm?”

  “I guess whether I want to admit it or not, you’re beginning to grow on me.” Duncan picked at the coffee stir stick.

  “It sucks to have to ask for help.” Myers slurped his coffee. He eyed the detective with increasing interest.

  “This is going to be one of my last cases and I want to get this guy before there are ten more victims.”

  “Go on…”

  “You’re going to make me ask in those words, aren’t you?”

  “Yep.” Myers smiled.

  “Fine.” The detective broke the stirrer in half. He stared at it for a moment. “I need your help, and this has to be between us, not the departments.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  Myers grinned from ear to ear. “You got me at a cost. I’ll help with whatever I can.” He leaned in and said, “But, you have to write me a recommendation for the promotion I’m up for.”

  “Done.”

  Myers picked up his coffee mug and made the gesture of a toast. “You know that you’re never going to find the perp unless he finds you first.” With a big smile, he tapped the detective’s cup. “Here’s to crime fighting.”

  Duncan hoped, now more than ever, that his cell phone would alert him soon with a break in the case from the phantom detective.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Thursday 1345 Hours

  Emily unpacked one of the boxes in the living room. She ripped off the heavy packaging tape, and then unloaded the contents. Most household items were neatly emptied.

  The front door sat wide open.

  Rick joined her, carrying a double load of packed items. “I think this about the last of everything.”

  Emily nodded.

  She had taken to the company of silence for the past two days, trying to make sense of why Rick had kept a secret from her. It also troubled her mind when Bishop’s men might strike again.

  Everything made her edgy and anxious.

  She felt relieved about the move and was glad that Jordan had several contacts for house rentals. Maybe a new house would do the trick.

  Sarge walked into the tight living room, sniffing every inch of the area and discarded boxes. After the scent task was completed, he chuffed and snorted, exhibiting his annoyance of the new surroundings.

  “Take it easy Sarge, you can mark off your territory soon.” Emily patted the big dog’s head.

  Rick stopped her and made her look at him. “You can’t stay mad at me forever.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Yes you are. I think I know mad, and you’re definitely still mad.” He smiled, trying to pull her close in a playful manner.

  “There are too many things to digest right now. I’m taking my time with everything. What’s done is done.” She sighed. “And now, I have to get settled into a new house.”

  Rick took his authoritative tone by pushing his position. “I’m sorry that you’re mad, but I did what I thought was right at the time.”

  “How can you say that?” Emily’s tone reflected her resentment.

  “We were right in the middle of a case.” He persisted.

  “We’re always right in the middle of a case.” Her voice raised in volume. “I thought we had trust, and you should know that I’d want to know if the man that killed my parents was roaming free.”

  Rick gently guided Emily to the couch; he quickly made a space for them to sit down. “Look, I made a mistake. I didn’t want you to be upset needlessly.”

  Emily weakened. “How can I defend myself if I don’t know about him?”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Emily’s exhaustion overwhelmed her. She felt for the first time that she needed sleep desperately.

  Rick continued. “C’mon, let’s put all this stuff behind us… I know that your mind is on the arson cases, right?”

  She nodded.

  A twinge accompanied by a throbbing pain tightened in Emily’s back, reminding her of the ordeal with Red. The underlying danger would always be floating just underneath the surface. She had to be strong, focus, and continue with her investigations no matter what.

  “Right?” He pushed her hair from the side of her face.

  “Yes… I have some new thoughts about the case.”

  Rick kissed her, lingered, and kissed her again.

  “Did I hear my name?” Jordan entered. His face had healed up a bit. He still had a split lip, and some minor bruising from his jawline up to the cheekbone. “I knew you guys wouldn’t be finished unpacking yet.”

  “Almost.” Emily stood up, a little embarrassed because she didn’t know how long Jordan had been standing there watching them.

  Rick stood up. “Hey man, thanks so much for the lead on this house. It’s really appreciated.”

  Emily added. “It will be nice to be on the coast again. Thanks Jordan.”

  “Wait a minute… hold the phone… Did I hear a thank you from big Rick here?” He dramatically said with a Cheshire cat grin, followed by a chuckle.

  “Wise ass…” Rick picked up a box labeled kitchen and tossed it to Jordan. “Don’t just stand there, be useful and unpack something.”

  “Haven’t I taken enough beatings lately?” Jordan walked to the kitchen with Sarge keeping in step with him.

  Rick raised his eyebrows and said, “I think Sarge has found a new play buddy.”

  “Yeah, well it was that doggie spa that clinched the deal. Now Sarge only wants gourmet, all organic food.”

  Emily felt some relief with her talk with Rick, but she also still felt a sting of betrayal. She would get over it, but it would take some time.

  After settling in somewhat, she had some specific things that she wanted to check out – alone.

  Emily’s next place of investigation was at the old barn.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Thursday 1900 Hours

  The dark, uneven road with overgrown trees arched precariously across the single lane. It added to the overall spooky surroundings, which could double as a backdrop for a horror film. Deep divots from emergency vehicles marred the path.

  Emily flipped back and forth, between low and high beams, trying to determine if one was better than the other. They were both inadequate.

  She eased up on the speed.

  Small branches scraped across the windows and doors with a ghostly pitch. The wind picked up in velocity, weaved its way around, and in between the trees every few minutes.

  The thought crossed Emily’s mind that she should turn around and go home, but the intense curiosity about the specifically chosen location drove her onward.

  She focused intently on the road.

  Why the barn?

  What was the significance to the killer?

  Water from the fire trucks had flooded down the last steep incline, causing muddy tire impressions and deep groves on the outer areas of the driveway. It didn’t pose any problem for Emily’s vehicle as she easily maneuvered around the burn location, and parked in between a grove of trees just out of sight.

  Emily tried to prepare for anything that could hinder her investigation, like partying teens, curious lookers, or some overzealous wannabe ghost hunters returning to the scene for another look.

  She had told Rick that she was going out to do some shopping because she wanted to focus on the crime scene alone, without other emotions pulling her in the opposite direction. It all boiled down to solitude. She needed some alone time to get back into her normal routine, without assassins and secret government agencies interrupting her work. She pushed aside the lingering concerns about Bishop and Red to concentrate on the case. Lives were at stake.

  Each new day meant that anything was possible.

  Another crime scene welcomed Emily with open arms.

  She to
ok a deep breath, held it for a couple of seconds, and then slowly exhaled to steady the nerves. It cleared her mind. The pent up stress slowly seeped out of her body.

  Darkness remained deep around the point of origin of where the barn had once stood, revealing a profound and mysterious existence. Even though a partial moon shone with only a few clouds illuminating the outdoors, it still gave the impression of a haunted setting. The startling contrast of black, charcoal, and grey elevated the location, and deepened Emily’s drive to find answers.

  Piles of dirt mixed with burnt remains of the barn were haphazardly stacked in several positions around the original foundation area. Tiny pieces that lingered unscathed added another element to the scene, glistening like little snippets of information waiting for discovery.

  Emily’s navy backpack with her personalized mobile crime scene kit sat on the passenger’s seat. She had smuggled out her Beretta, just in case, and it rested in its ankle holster fully loaded. Learning from previous experiences, she now carried a six-inch hunting knife concealed inside her cargo pants.

  Emily grabbed her gear, exited the car, and closed the car door as silently as she could. The minor sound seemed to magnify in the rural setting.

  Twigs, pine needles, and burnt fragments crunched under her boots. The outdoor air amplified the sounds of the forest, and even Emily’s breathing sounded intrusive in the natural environment.

  She liked to search many crime scene areas at night, even though the daytime seemed the logical and easier time to locate important clues. The challenge with the lack of natural light made her work harder. It kept her observations skills on a heightened alert, leaving no piece of earth, or potential evidence unturned.

  Emily stood on the outskirts of the property for a moment. Closing her eyes, she tried to empty her mind of anything that would prove to impair her impartial judgment, including the search of the old hardware store.

  Every crime scene was unique.

  Traces of caustic smoke still permeated the air.

  As Emily opened her eyes and clicked on her flashlight, the darkened area adjusted to her vision. She could see the area where the fire had originated with the deep burn spoils with heavy blackened residues.

  Orienting herself to the north and south directions, she carefully stepped away from the burn site. She estimated her grid walk to be about three times wider than what the investigators would initiate.

  With each step, Emily scanned a path of about two feet wide in a systematic methodology. She made her way around the location. It angered her that cigarette butts and Styrofoam coffee cups littered around the crime scene. These items were new. They had not been drenched in water, or laid to waste by the outdoor environment.

  Ignorance was not an excuse for any law enforcement investigation.

  Focus.

  A thin curled piece of wood caught her attention. It wasn’t a part of the structural lumber. Emily picked it up and tuned it over in her palm. She realized it was a toothpick; the tiny stick had been broken four times to make a crude square. Snapped with a precision of patience and skill, it appeared new to the scene.

  Was it from one of the emergency workers or detectives?

  Or, did the arsonist stand at this location and watch the barn burn?

  Emily took a photo from her small digital camera of the surrounding area. She made an additional footnote in a small notebook about certain behavior probabilities.

  Before investigating the larger area where the barn had once stood, Emily photographed the entire crime scene space with the usual close, medium and overall documentation. The flash from the camera portrayed a detailed representation of the area similar in daylight, but actually highlighted anomalies that interested Emily most. It revealed different shades of soil, unusual divots, and small clues often missed by the naked eye.

  She moved ahead and gradually made her grid walk smaller; she closed in on the point of interest. Nothing proved out of the ordinary. It had the usual deficits with the trampling of heavy shoes, wheel marks of the gurney, and scattered trash.

  She studied a pair of shoeprints closely. She bent down, gauged the stride distances, and retraced the route they took. It didn’t indicate to Emily that it was the arsonist, it would most likely be the homicide detective.

  Carefully retracing her steps, Emily entered the burn zone. She repeated her search pattern. Her experience with arson sites remained minimal, but she strongly believed that no matter the type of crime scene searched, the approach of objectivity and thoroughness was always the same.

  The wind intensified in momentum, attacking the back of her neck. Emily’s body felt warm as if the sun shone brightly, not feeling the relief of the breeze.

  Carefully kneeling down, she inspected the point of origin. She ran her fingers through the ash and soil, taking careful notice of any strange impression.

  A specialized incendiary device wasn’t the culprit, but rather something much simpler, like an accelerant to enhance the potential flammables. The area was the deepest, darkest spot at the barn location.

  Snapping more photographs in a panoramic sequence, Emily supposed that this particular burn was a typical arson aftermath when something caught fire like hay or paper.

  She exchanged her digital camera to her cell phone, took a couple of repeat photographs, and instantly sent them to Jordan for his opinion and analysis.

  A high-pitch engine cut through the quiet evening. It continued to approach at a steady pace.

  Emily grabbed her gear, stuffed it back into the backpack, and ran toward her car. The back end of the SUV stuck out too far, which posed an unwanted view from the visitors.

  Crap.

  Luckily, her vehicle headed in a slight downward position. Emily opened the door, released the parking brake, dropped the car into neutral, and tried to push the car forward. Inch by inch, the loose gravel and twigs crunched under the wheels until the branches hid the high-profile car.

  Headlights grew brighter and lit up the surrounding trees.

  Emily pushed the SUV’s door quietly shut. She quickly camouflaged herself into the landscape. She knelt down, pushing her back against the trunk of a huge Pine tree. Her senses captured the strong aroma of pine and wet foliage, intoxicating and calming.

  She readied her gun.

  The car lights bounced around the area and then seemed to settle on regular beams heading northward. The unknown visitor cut the engine, but kept the illumination shining directly at where the barn once stood.

  Two men’s voices speaking in normal conversational tones exited the sedan.

  Emily strained her eyes.

  She dared to move forward to see who interrupted her covert search. Two figures, one heavyset and the other tall, moved in front of the vehicle. Both men were backlit. It made identification almost impossible to discern.

  After a few moments, Emily realized that they were law enforcement personnel, but she found it odd that they visited the site at such a late hour. Their trained stance, typical voice inflection, and use of certain adjectives gave away their identities.

  Listening to the older, heavyset man, Emily closed her eyes and searched her mind.

  She knew that voice.

  It suddenly occurred to her that it was Detective Bobby Duncan. She had an unusual run in with him and the high-tech serial killer case a couple of years earlier. Her life changed that day with meeting the detective and her identity became an issue. As far as Emily could tell, he had kept his promise of secrecy.

  Emily found a comfortable spot to sit and wait out the investigating detectives.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Thursday 2120 Hours

  The laptop screen flashed one criminal rap sheet after another, while Jordan scrolled through hundreds of pages. Every kind of face and body type, tall, short, different nationalities, personal characteristics, and various criminal charges numbed the mind.

  After several hours, Jordan’s vision blurred. His eyeballs felt gritty as every arson suspe
ct looked exactly like the previous one. Each face brooding, with cruel eyes as deep as a volcano pit, lacking in humanity, and with the propensity for violence rounded out the characteristics.

  What began as a solid list of two hundred probable offenders with rap sheets a mile long, turned into a working list of twenty-three possible arsonists.

  “It’s a good place to start.” He clicked a few keys and sent the file to Emily. “I bet our guy is in there somewhere.” He was alone in his apartment, but it felt better for him to talk aloud.

  Jordan let out a long sigh.

  He leaned back in his office chair, rubbing his eyes. The dryness of his eye sockets felt crusty and irritated, which caused him roll his knuckles in a circular motion.

  Even though Jordan did not work as an official F.B.I. agent anymore, he still had connections. There were debts owed to him, and now was a perfect time to call in some of his markers.

  The computer’s flat screen had grown dark. He tapped the mouse and the large viewing monitor sprang to life with the desktop’s background photograph of Jordan and Sarge. Goofing around with the sizeable black Labrador, his newfound four-legged friend, Jordan exhibited a huge smile with his arm around the dog’s neck.

  With a few clicks of the mouse, the background photo changed to Emily. During one of their previous investigations, he had taken a candid shot of her surveying a crime scene area. Her dark eyes, full lips, and the way the mild wind blew through her hair, made Jordan’s heart skip a beat.

  Jordan loved her deeply.

  His entire life had stalled because of her.

  A funny tune interrupted his reminiscing thoughts. An email came in from Emily, which had some photos from a crime scene.

  Where was she?

  Jordan studied the photos of what looked like a broken toothpick.

  Interesting.

  Another photographed exhibited a darkened area where the point of origin had initiated the fire.