Arsonist (19 page)

CHAPTER 36

There was knocking at the door. It seemed distant, almost like it was on another planet. Stanton roused himself awake and listened. He heard it again. He rolled over and put the pillow over his head.

The knocking turned to doorbell ringing. Reluctantly and with a loud sigh, he stood up, nearly stumbling over his nightstand, and walked out to the living room. He glanced at the clock on the oven as he went past the kitchen: 11:17 p
.m. Stanton opened the door and saw Emma Lyon standing there in UCLA sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey.”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure. How’d you get in by the way?”

“I just waited until someone walked out of the front doors. Your building isn’t very secure.”

Stanton sat on the leather chair as Emma took a spot on the couch. She looked out the balcony’s bay doors to the moon hanging in the sky outside.

“I love the view.”

“Thanks.”

“Would it be rude to ask how a cop affords a place like this?”

“Yes.”

She smiled and he smiled back.

“I saw the news, Jon. I saw the family. The faces of the young girls that died in that fire.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not easy to see.”

“I want you to know why I don’t help the police. I’m not some anti-government nut. I have reasons.”

“I’m sure you do. I’m not judging you, Emma. You have to do what you think is right.”

“My father was wrongly executed. I have a hunch you already looked that up.”

“Not me, but someone I know, yeah.”

“It’s something that doesn’t leave me. I can completely understand how murder victims feel but it’s even worse than that. I wish he had been murdered because then I could just blame one person. But how do you blame bureaucracy? Do I blame the prosecutor that convicted him or the public defender that didn’t lift a finger to help him? What about the judge that kept out good evidence or the morons in the jury?”

“I don’t know who you blame, Emma. I don’t have the answers.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “But I know you can help keep that from happening to other people. Benny doesn’t know what he’s doing. Lord knows how many innocent people are sitting behind bars right now because of him. If I can close these cases and prove what an incompetent he is, those cases can be reopened and looked at for errors. You could help with that. You could save people’s lives.”

She nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’m going to help you with these cases, and then I’m leaving San Diego. For good.”

“Why?”

“Because you and others like you will keep coming to me with cases like this afterward. I’ll never be left alone and I won’t have the heart or the excuse to say no. I’m going to accept a position at the University of Montana. No one will know my specialty or background. I’ll just be another professor in a small town.”

“Do you think you’ll be happy doing that?”

“I don’t know. But I know I can’t do this anymore.” She stood up and walked to him. She gave him a brief kiss on the lips and then said, “Send me everything tomorrow,” before she walked out the door, and was gone.

Stanton
sat quietly a while. He walked to the balcony and opened the doors and stepped outside. The air was warm and tasted salty against his tongue. He sat down in a patio chair and watched the moon reflect off the waves of the sea.

M
arine animals were out there right now that were in a desperate struggle for life; the stronger ones eating the weaker ones. People assumed animals were free and without stress, but Stanton knew that wasn’t true. On top of finding food and procreating, they also had to constantly look over their shoulder for the larger predator that was going to take them out. Few animals lived as long as humans for that reason; they simply had constant stress every moment of their lives. Stress, Stanton knew, was the great killer. He had no doubt that that was what would end his life and probably the lives of every cop in Robbery-Homicide.

He put his feet up on the balcony railing and relaxed on the chair. He was asleep again before he could think to get a pillow.

CHAPTER 37

It was six in the morning when Stanton woke on his balcony. He got up and went back to bed and didn’t wake again until nearly noon. Then he dressed in a wetsuit with shorts and had a light breakfast of cereal and a grapefruit before heading out the door and to the storage room that held his board.

The beach was packed with teenagers cutting school, mothers with their kids, tourists
, and the self-employed that didn’t feel like working today. He held his board vertical to minimize the space it took up and avoid hitting anyone with it. The sand was hot under his feet and he realized he’d forgotten to wear his sandals.

The water was cold, much colder than the heat of the day let on. He paddled out as far as he could before running into the three other surfers out on the water.

“Too fucking cold, bro,” one of the surfers said.

The three paddled back to shore together but Stanton lay on his board, letting the waves lift and drop him. He felt the rhythm of the ocean, its heartbeat, and he could’ve sworn that it matched his own. He felt that he could get lost here and no one could find him. For a brief moment, he envied those that were lost at sea for days or weeks. It was ridiculous, he knew, but for that moment he would’ve given anything to feel that silence and isolation.

He didn’t notice he was shivering until his teeth began to chatter and he headed back.

Stanton walked into the precinct around one in the afternoon and headed to his office. There were dozens of messages and he went through them and returned some calls before having Holly make copies of the arsonist
copies he had made and email them to Emma. The first home, the Brichards, had been cleared and declared an accident. It was no longer a crime scene and Emma could visit it as much as she needed to. The second scene was still under investigation and Stanton would have to be there with her for that one.

When he had finished returning his calls, he went down to the scene of the second fire and parked two blocks away and left his car on. He could see the
burnt-out shell of the Humbolts’ home but he ignored it and turned on NPR. It was a segment about the meaning of having a dog and he turned it off and put in a Yanni CD instead.

Every car that passed, he eyed the driver and the passengers. He was looking for someone specific. The cars were mostly full of young teenagers returning home from school and they were speeding through the stop sign at the intersection so Stanton had to keep his eyes on the road to catch a good glimpse of them.

A red Camaro pulled to a rolling stop and turned the corner toward the house. In the driver seat was a young man with red hair and a tight gray T-shirt. The passenger was Tabitha Richardson. Stanton pulled away and followed the car until it stopped in front of the Richardsons’ home. He got out and walked to the passenger side window.

The window was rolled up as Tabitha was making out with the boy. Stanton knocked on the glass and she jumped. He suppressed a smile; she probably thought it was her mother.

“What do you want?” she said.

“I take it you remember me?”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’d like to speak to you for a minute.”

“I’m busy.”

“It won’t take more than a minute. Please, step out.”

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“Then I may have
to investigate why a boy that is clearly over eighteen is dating a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old girl.”

“Who is this fag?” the boy said.

“A cop,” she said.

The boy’s eyes went wide. “Um, maybe you better go with him.”

She sighed and opened the door, shutting it behind her. “So, what do you want?”

“I’d like to know who it was you saw at the
Humbolts’ home the night of the fire.”

“I told you, I didn’t see anything.”

“Tabitha, most of my job is trying to tell if someone is telling me the truth or lying and you’re lying to me. I don’t want to ruin your life or get you in trouble or any of that. I just want the truth. Don’t you care about the Humbolts? I hear they were very good to their neighbors.”

She looked down to her shoes. “I used to babysit for them.”

“I just want your help in finding who did this to them.”

“My mom said that some of the cops
were sayin’ this was just an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident. They were killed. And the person who did it is still out there, free to do it again. Tell me what you saw that night and help me catch him. Please.”

She glanced back at the car to see what the boy was doing before folding her arms and leaning against the door.

“You can’t tell my mom.”

“You have my word.”

“I was out with some friends. Some friends my mom don’t want me to hang out with. I snuck out with them and we
came back at like five in the morning. I went in the house and then remembered I forgot my phone at a house we were at so I got back in the car with them and left.”

“And what’d you see when you came back?”

“Some guy. He was standing in front of their house. He started walking away and I didn’t think it was weird or anything. But then after…”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I told you, I snuck out. My mom would kill me. I already failed math and was grounded forever. I didn’t want to do that again.”

“Do you remember what this man looked like?”

“Kind of.”

“I need you to come down to the police station with me.”

“Why?”

“I want you to spend some time with a sketch artist and give him a description of the man you saw. It usually takes just a little over an hour. You’ll be back before dinner.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I thought it was gonna be all this extra work.”

“It won’t take long, I promise. You can ride with your boyfriend and just follow behind me.”

“Fine,” she said, opening the door and climbing back inside.

Stanton leaned down and looked at the boy. “You’re going to be following me to the police station. If you lose me, I’ll assume Tabitha has decided not to help me and I’m going to need to know how old you are since you’re dating a minor. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded.

On the way back to the precinct, Stanton considered turning the boy in for what was clearly a sexual relationship with an underage girl. But he appeared no older than eighteen or nineteen; the difference in their ages was minimal. He decided that if Tabitha gave him a working sketch, he would let this slide.

CHAPTER 38

The Beaufort Street Army/Navy store was buzzing with activity as Jerry Stedwell clocked in and took off his jacket. He had been drinking that morning and knew he reeked of beer, but half the guys that worked here knocked back a few before coming into work. A car wash was next door and a lot of the guys worked part-time at both places. Jerry had gone there and a few of them went out back and downed a twelve pack before going back in.

“That was a long break,” his manager, and father, Dick Stedwell said as he came into the break
room.

“Just went and got somethin’ to eat.”

“Well get your ass out there. Doug’s the only one on the registers.”

Jerry nodded and walked past him, holding his breath. He made it as far as the floor before his dad grabbed him and whispered in his ear, “And if I catch you drinkin’ on the job again you’re out on your ass. Son or no son. Got me?”

“Yeah.”

Jerry went out behind the counter near the firearms display and asked a few people if they needed help finding anything. He showed them some pieces, nothing fancy as most people nowadays were on a budget, and then went and sat on a stool.

It was mistake working here. He had realized that the day he started. But his dad paid him sixteen bucks an hour and he took all holidays off. There were no other jobs he could get as a high school dropout that would pay him that much without him having to risk his life.

He burped, the stale taste of flat beer coming up, and saw a man walk into the store. He was slim but somewhat muscular and wore a silk scarf wrapped around his neck. His
bald head looked like someone had taken a blow torch to it and his face was bright red. The man walked over, a big smile on his face.

“Can I help you find somethin’?” Jerry asked.

“Yes. I’m looking for some equipment and my research told me you may have what I’m looking for.”

“What’d you need?”

“I work with flammable materials in high-level temperature environments.”

“Yeah, I can see the burns, man. You gotta be more careful.”

“That’s why I’m here. I need flame resistant clothing.”

“What kinda temperatures we
talkin’ about?”

“Over a thousand degrees.”

Jerry whistled. “Man, only people that come in here for that are military guys. You in the military?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh, I get it. Can’t talk about it. Yeah, a lotta special forces guys come in here and buy stuff and can’t really say nothin’. It’s cool. Well, lemme show you what we’ve got.” Jerry walked around the counter and nearly to the back of the store, the man following quietly behind him. They turned a corner and went past oxygen tanks and climbing gear before getting to the fire resistant suits. “How long you looking to spend in the suit at a time?”

“No more than an hour, probably a lot less.”

“Well then what you need are flat lock drop shoulder seams. They’ll get rid of your skin rubbing against the suit and you won’t chafe as easy. And if you’re gonna spend that long in ‘em, you’ll want something anti-microbial too. The inside of the suits can get nasty quick and you can’t wash ‘em. Do you care about high visibility?”

“What do you mean?”

“A lotta workplaces require high-visibility suits so companies make ‘em silver or yellow. But the black is cheaper ‘cause not too many people get ‘em.”

“Black, please.”

“With temperatures that high, you’ll definitely want somethin’ arc-rated. I think I know what you need.”

They walked a little farther down the aisle and hanging up was a long black suit that covered the body from head to toe. It had extra padding over the palms and soles of the feet.

“This here,” Jerry said, “this is top a the line stuff. Like I said before, military stuff. It’s got this cool mesh layering so you got four layers but it don’t feel like you’re wearing four layers. It’s self-extinguishin’ so it’ll never melt or burn. It’s really good stuff too ‘cause it’s had three treatments before it even leaves the factory. This bad boy here, you could walk on the sun with it.”

“I’ll take that.”

“It’s two grand, though.”

“That’s fine.”

“So what do you do for your oxygen?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“You can’t go into high temps without oxygen, man. You’re crazy. We got some good masks and tanks right over here. They’ll protect your face up to the temps you’re lookin’ at.”

“I’ll take those too.”

“Cool. Anythin’ else?”

“No, that’ll be fine.”

Jerry gathered all the equipment and headed out to the front. He rang everything up: $2,723.17. The man paid on a credit card and when Jerry asked him for ID he showed an out-of-state driver’s license. Jerry packed everything and handed it to the man.

“Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, you got any problems you can call here any time and talk to my dad. He was a fireman. That’s why we got all this shit.”

“Thank you, I probably will do that.”

Jerry watched the man leave the store and turned to another customer. What a nice guy, he thought. He wished all his customers were like that.