Arsonist (5 page)

She walked up the stairs to her bedroom and began to gather some clothes when she heard a sound. It was coming from downstairs.

As she stood up, listening quietly, out of the corner of her eye she saw the slightest movement inside her closet. Instinctively and without any thought, she ran.

L
aughter sounded behind her as arms wrapped around her throat and she slammed into the floor.

CHAPTER 8

Detective Stephen Gunn climbed the stone steps of the government housing project and stopped at some graffiti that was tagged on the wall. It was beautifully done; an Aztec or Mayan warrior cutting off the head of an enemy with a nude woman at his feet. It took up most of the wall and over that
were tagged some gang names. Graffiti had gotten vandalized.

Savages, he thought
, as he continued climbing the steps.

On the top floor
, apartment 4612 had a thick wooden door. He knocked and waited. Inside, he heard some shuffling, items quickly being hidden and music turned down that was playing on a stereo. He heard someone lean against the door as they stared out of the peephole and then the click of the lock and the rattle of the chain.

A woman stood there in a nightgown. She would be beautiful if not for the aging that had prematurely occurred. Wrinkles surrounded her eyes and lips and her once bright blond hair looked greasy and dull. But there was still vibrance in her sapphire eyes and Gunn looked at them a while before brushing past her and into the house.

He glanced momentarily at the porno playing on the television and went to the fridge. He got out a beer and popped the top before flopping onto the couch and picking up the remote.

“I’m watching that,” the woman said, sitting next to him.

“You really a nympho or is that just an act?”

“We all got our demons.”

“This and the heroin you was shootin’ up before I got here? Did the guy you were with jump off the balcony?”

“Don’t look at me like that, Stephen. I hate when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some whore that you can just come over and fuck whenever you want.”

He grabbed her by the back of the head and pulled her close. He put his lips over hers and ran his tongue inside her mouth and then said, “You are.” He pinned her arms down on the couch and spread apart her nightgown as he unzipped his pants and entered her. The sex was rough and she slapped him hard several times. By the end they were both drenched in sweat.

Gunn rolled off her and they lay on the couch as the porno kept playing. He reached over to the remote and changed it to a baseball game.

“You got anythin’ for me?” Gunn said.

“No. Everything’s really quiet. No one’s making any moves.”

“What about our friend Ricardo?”

“No, he’s laying low.” She sat up, pulling her nightgown over herself. “If I didn’t let you fuck me
, what would you do?”

“I’d arrest you for the dope you got in here and then call your parole officer and have you sent back to prison.”

“Would you really do that? I know you threaten it ‘cause you think you need to to get what you want, but would you really do that to me?”

He pushed her out of the way to watch the screen. “Yes.”

She stood up quietly and went to the bathroom. There was the sound of the shower and she came out some time later in jeans and a sweatshirt. She collapsed onto the La-Z-Boy next to the television and began to nod off. Gunn watched her a while and shook his head.

“That shit’s gonna kill you.”

“I know.”

“Do you wanna die?”

“Yes.”

“Jaime, drop the shit. Let’s get you cleaned up. Aren’t you sick of
livin’ like this?”

“You’re one to judge me,” she said, her eyes closing for a moment and then darting wide again.

He sat up and guzzled the rest of his beer. Gunn went back to the fridge and took out another before going back to the couch. He saw her head leaned back on the chair and her eyes closed. He’d dealt with her enough to know she wouldn’t actually be asleep for the next six or seven hours.

“If I asked you to marry me,” he said, “would
ya?”

“Yes.”

“Would you get clean for me?”

“I don’t wanna get clean.”

There was a moment of quiet and then he said, “Do you have other guys like me?”

“What’d
ya mean?”

“Do you have guys that come over and fuck you and sleep in your bed? Do you cook them breakfast?”

“Yes, I cook them breakfast.”

“How many other guys?”

“I don’t know.”

“Five?”

“Maybe.”

“Ten?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

He took a swig of beer. “You are a whore. And you’re dreamin’ if you think I’d marry a whore.”

“Why not?” she said, a slight smile on her lips. “Your mother was a whore.”

He jumped from the couch and walked over to her, grabbing her by the hair. “Don’t you ever talk about my mother.” She laughed. He kissed her and she wrapped her arms around him as he lifted her, and carried her into the bedroom.

CHAPTER 9

Jon Stanton sat in the waiting room of Dr. Jennifer Palmer and stared at the imitation classical Greek statue that was up near the receptionist’s desk. It was carved out of marble and looked fairly new. A nude male was shown standing on a ball and ants were carrying him somewhere. He was stuck in a pose of anguish with his arm above his head, flexing his perfectly carved abdominal muscles.

“Mr. Stanton?”

“Yes,” he said, his gaze still on the statue.

“Dr. Palmer is ready to see you now.”

“Thank you.”

He rose and walked to the
brushed wood double doors and opened them. Sitting at a large glass desk was a woman in her mid-thirties. Her hair was pulled back and she wore a skirt and a suit top with heels. She glanced up and then smiled.

“Jennifer Palmer, Detective. Nice to meet you.” She rose and shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Please, have
a seat over here if you don’t mind.”

She led him to two brown leather chairs and he sat down across from her.
A coffee table was between them and she moved it out of the way. One wall of her office was made entirely of glass and looked down over the city. Stanton glanced out to the clouds that were overhead and then back to Dr. Palmer, who was quietly waiting for him to turn to her.

“I understand from your family physician that you’ve had an episode.”

“I suppose so. I don’t know if I would call it that. All the neurological tests came back negative so he thinks it might be psychological.”

“Do you think that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see why they would hit me now.”

“What would hit you now?”

“Panic attacks.”

She nodded. “Dr.
Patel told me you had a doctorate in psychology and that your father was a psychiatrist. But that you chose to abandon the field for police work.”

“Yeah.”

“What does your father think about that?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him since my mother’s death almost
…almost twenty years ago.”

“Why haven’t you spoken to him?”

“We were never that close. He approached everything from an intellectual perspective and I didn’t.”

“How did you approach it?”

“I always thought feeling and imagination were more important than knowledge. Or at least as important. He didn’t see it that way.”

“Did he treat you differently because of that?”

“I think so. I was an only child and it was painful for him to cut me out, but in the end we both realized we disliked the kind of people we were.”

“How was your relationship with your mother, Jon? You don’t mind if I call you Jon
, do you?”

“Not at all. It was good. Once the relationship with my father became strained I started spending less time with her too. I always regretted that. By the time I realized it, it was too late. She was already diagnosed with
stage-four breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. No matter how old you are the death of a parent is always traumatic.”

“Yeah, it was. She was really the only family I had. I don’t know any of my cousins or aunts and uncles; I didn’t know my grandparents…when she was gone, that was it.”

“Have you tried contacting your father?”

“Once, on the phone. He was really stand-offish and then said he had to go and hung up. I don’t think he’s forgiven me for converting to Mormonism.”

“Really? What faith is he?”

“He’s as hardened an atheist as you could be. He finds the entire idea of religion, not just the practical application, but the idea itself, ludicrous. To him, anyone that’s gullible enough to get suckered into religion doesn’t deserve any sympathy. He told me once religious people shouldn’t be allowed to vote.”

“Are you a devout Mormon?”

“Yes.”

“So I can see why there’s tension between you and your father. Have you talked to him about your conversion?”

“Just when I invited him to my baptism when I was eighteen. He refused to come. The only person there for me was my mother. She was really sick by then but she still came.”

She was silent a moment and just nodding.
“I’d like to talk about this episode that occurred. Were you thinking about your father at the time?”

“No.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, I think. We had raided a house and an innocent girl had gotten shot. The perp was in the bed. He was sitting up with a gunshot wound to the head and all his blood was emptying onto the bed.”

“That’s pretty graphic. Were you disturbed by that?”

“No.”

“Most people would be. Why were you not, do you think?”

“I don’t know. You get used to it. Or at least you convince yourself you do. But when I saw it, I started feeling lightheaded and then my chest started tightening. Before I knew what was happening, I had passed out.”

“What did you feel, Jon, the second you saw that body? What was the thought in your head?”

“I thought, how hard it was going to be for someone to get that blood stain out of those sheets.”

She laughed, and covered her mouth. “I am so sorry. That just wasn’t the answer I was expecting.” She scribbled down a few notes on a legal pad and cleared her throat. “Is that the first time you’ve ever had something like that occur? The attack I mean.”

“Yes.”

“Are you on any medications, Jon?”

“No.”

She stood up and took a prescription pad off her desk. “With your permission, I would like to write you a prescription for Xanax.”

“I don’t have anxiety.”

She glanced over to him and her eyes went down his arm to his fingers. He was rubbing his index finger and thumb together and hadn’t even noticed he was doing it until her gaze fixed on it. He stopped and put his hand on the armrest.

“There’s nothing wrong with medication, Jon. From what
Dr. Patel told me about your work, it sounds like these attacks aren’t just an annoyance but that your life is at stake because of the situations you’re put in through your work. I think the Xanax will calm them, make them more manageable.” She handed him the scrip and sat back down across from him. “I’d like to talk a little bit more about your father if you don’t mind.”

Stanton glanced out the window. The clouds had accumulated and he could tell that rain would soon follow. He folded the slip of paper and put it in his jacket pocket and leaned back in the chair. “What do you want to know?”