Arsonist (6 page)

CHAPTER 10

Emma Lyon answered her phone on the third ring and heard her receptionist’s voice say that her two thirty appointment was here.

“Send him in,” she said.

She glanced around her office as she waited and decided that she really needed to straighten up. It was typical for a professor’s office: shelves upon endless shelves of books, a few degrees up on the walls, papers stacked a foot high on her desk. The office was small and most people would feel claustrophobic in it, but it was comforting to her. Like an old sweater she’d thoroughly broken in. Above her door was a sign that read, CHEMISTS DO IT SUBATOMICALLY.

She watched as the homicide detective walked in and shut the door behind him. He was carrying an iPad under his arm and wore a pinstripe sports coat with jeans and a tie. He had boyish good looks and despite herself, she knew she was blushing.

“Jon Stanton,” he said.

“Emma Lyon,” she said, rising and shaking his hand. He stood there a while. “Oh, sorry. Please have a seat.”

“So how do you like teaching here?”

“UCLA or Los Angeles?”

“UCLA.”

“It’s great. I get a lot of support, a lot of time to pursue research interests. Did you go here?”

“No, I taught here for a couple of semesters.”

“Really? Criminal justice?”

“No, psychology
and psychopharmacology.”

“And you’re now a homicide detective? That’s quite a jump.”

“Less pay and worse hours; how could I resist?”

She chuckled, just a little longer than she wanted to. “So what can I do for you, Detective?”

“I heard that you consult law enforcement on arson investigations?”

“Used to consult. Now I just do defense.”

“Prosecution to only defense. That’s quite a jump.”

She ignored the implicit question and said, “So I’m afraid you’re out of luck if you’re looking to get a conviction.”

“I’m not. My department’s looking to blame the sixteen-year-old stepson of the victim that died in the fire. I think he’s innocent but the arson investigation doesn’t support that.”

She leaned forward on the desk. “Really? Well, now you have my attention.”

Stanton unlocked his iPad and pulled up some photos. He lost them when he accidently closed the window and then opened it again and handed it to her. “Sorry, just getting used to this thing. He died of smoke inhalation but you can see the body’s pretty damaged too. The arson investigator said there’s a lot of evidence indicating that the fire was set intentionally. If that’s true, I still don’t think the stepson did it but he was the only one around at the time. I’m afraid it might be pinned on him.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t trust a jury to acquit him?”

“No, absolutely not. Juries convict the innocent all the time.”

She handed back the iPad. “Well you’re the first cop I’ve ever heard say that.”

“I’m not a fool. Our system’s not perfect. But I could really use your help. We don’t have a lot of money but I can probably get you approved for our standard consultation fees.”

“I guess there’s no way I could turn down that offer and sleep at night if that kid gets life in prison. Okay, you got me on board, Detective. I have a space open this afternoon around four thirty and I’d like to go see the house.”

“So soon? It’s not going anywhere.”

“The sooner the better. Some of the evidence I’m looking for dissipates over time. I know you send police escorts but I would ask for no more than one person. I like to work in some solitude.”

“It’ll just be me. Should I come pick you up?”

“I can meet you there. If you would please just leave the address with my receptionist.”

He rose. “I really appreciate this, Emma.”

“If he’s really innocent, then it’s my pleasure. But I’ve gotten quite a few detectives in here over the years and they’re not always happy with what I find. Don’t be surprised if he’s not as innocent as you think.”

Stanton smiled and tapped the desk. “Thanks again. I’ll see you down there.”

CHAPTER 11

Sunlight was
coming through the window in the kitchen and it lit up the room with a golden glow. Monique opened her eyes only slightly and could see the warm light cascading over her bare legs. As a child, she would sit in the kitchen and play with toys while her grandmother and aunt baked. The smell of pies and cookies was sometimes too much to bear and she would sneak some morsels when they weren’t paying attention.

The house was quiet. She could hear the creaking coming from the attic. She had always thought they had mice but never could find any evidence for it.

She moved her arms but they wouldn’t respond. Bringing her head down just enough to take a quick look, she could see that her wrists were tied with some sort of plastic wrap. Her ankles were tied as well but not as tightly. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of suffocation and she thought she was drowning before her head hit the carpet and everything went black. And there was something else too…laughter. She remembered the echoing laughter that had come from behind her.

A
clink of glass behind her. She glanced back to her dining room. A man was sitting at the table. A linen napkin was tucked into his shirt. He was handsome and his head looked like it had recently been shaved. He cut into a steak with a fork and knife and then dabbed at his lips with the napkin before taking a sip of red wine.

He noticed her, and smiled.

“Headache?”

She opened her eyes fully, taking him in. Then she immediately looked away. He needed to know that she couldn’t identify him.

“Wha…what?” she said. She felt lightheaded, as if she were floating in space.

“I said
, do you have a headache?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll get you some aspirin.” He finished his wine and rose, coming into the kitchen. He walked past her and stood at the counter. “Um, which cupboard?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Oh.”

He left and came back a moment later. He filled a glass with water and handed it to her with a couple of ibuprofen. She kept her eyes closed, refusing to look at him. He giggled.

“Open your eyes.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to see you.”

“Am I really that hideous? I apologize. I haven’t seen a mirror in a long, long time.” He opened her mouth gently and put in the ibuprofen and then put the glass to her lips. She drank a few sips and washed the pills down. “Oh…I see. You think if you don’t see me I’ll think you can’t identify me to the police. Is that it?” She didn’t answer. “Well, you’re incorrect. But if I was going to kill you, identification wouldn’t matter to me. Most sociopaths do what they do because it’s an uncontrollable urge. Like the pedophiles that grab a child in the grocery store in front of ten people. If I was that type of sociopath, which, given the circumstances, is a good assumption to make, it wouldn’t matter one bit if you saw me or not. So please, open your eyes.”

She didn’t respond and closed them even tighter, the urge to scream and cry piercing her as she pressed her wrists apart to break the ties.

“Open your eyes or I’ll nail your lids to your forehead,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless.

“No, please,” she cried. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Open your eyes.”

Slowly, painfully, she opened them. Before her the man knelt, the glass of water in his hands. He smiled as he stood up and placed the glass down on the counter.

“Are you hungry?” he said.

“There’s money,” she said hurriedly
. “My parents left a bunch of money here for emergencies. I’ll give it to you if you let me go.”

“Money, money money money. That seems to be the prime motivation
for people today, yes? Although how the hell would I know? I’ve been locked in a room since I was a child. You hear that little rasp in my voice? I noticed that yesterday when I spoke to someone. It means my voice box has atrophied from disuse. I used to have a beautiful voice. I sang in a choir when I was young. But, that’s not what you’re interested in.”

“Please, please, just take whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want? What if I wanted to rape you? Do you give me permission to do that? Then again, it wouldn’t really be rape, would it?”

“Please,” she cried, tears flowing down her cheeks now, “please don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you, hurt you…now that is a good idea. I hadn’t thought of that.” He reached behind him on the counter and took out a kitchen knife from a drawer. He brought it down to her breast and pressed the tip deep enough that it cut the skin. “Should I cut your tits off?”

“Please
…please—”

He removed the knife, throwing it behind him without looking as he let out a sigh. “You know
, I think you’ve really hit on something with this rape you and hurt you stuff. Maybe we’ll get to that later? For now, I’d like to finish my meal. You would be just shocked as to what swill I’ve been forced to eat these last years and call it food.”

He walked into the living room and she heard her stereo turn on. It was turned to a classical station and he walked back in the kitchen and stopped. His eyes were fixated on a spot on the ceiling. “Anybody else live here?”

“No,” she stammered.

“I disagree.”

He smiled, his eyes refocusing on her, and blew her a kiss. Then he went back to the dining room and sat down, tucking the napkin back into his collar and taking a bite of steak as if she wasn’t there.

CHAPTER 12

Stanton heard the pounding on his door but didn’t move. He hoped that whoever it was would go away. One of the perks of living on the eleventh floor of a secure high-rise was that people couldn’t drop in unannounced. He wondered who it was that had made it past security without having to buzz up.

The knocking got louder and he pulled the covers up over his head, staring at a spot on the sheets, holding his breath and waiting for the next knock. It didn’t come for a long time, but when it did, he took a deep breath and rose to answer the door.

Stephen Gunn stood there with two coffees in his hand.

“What the fuck? It’s like one o’clock. What’re you still doin’ in bed?”

“I just wanted to sleep in today.”

“You been sleepin’ in a lot these past few weeks,” he said, brushing past him and into the apartment. He placed the coffees down on the table. “Brought you some joe.”

“Thanks,” Stanton said, sitting down on the couch.

“Don’t you want it?”

“No, I can’t drink coffee, Stephen. You knew that.”

“Oh, yeah, guess I forgot.” He came and sat down next to him. “Still gettin’ used to the Mormon thing. Weren’t any Mormons in East Brooklyn when I was growin’ up, I can tell you that.” He took a sip of coffee. “So what happened with that arson expert you were gonna bring in?”

“She cancelled because of some emergency. I’m meeting her at the Yazzie’s house tomorrow afternoon.”

“What’s she look like?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Don’t be a fag, come on. What’s she look like?”

“She’s hot.”

“No shit. How hot?”

“
Out-of-your-league hot.”

“Pss, you forget who you’re talkin’ too, son.”

Stanton yawned. “She’s too smart for you, Stephen. She wouldn’t be interested.”

“Yeah? And how the hell would you know?”

“Because I know. She wouldn’t be interested.”

“You, my friend, have never seen the attraction a bad boy has over shy nerdy types. I will bet you dinner I can get her to go out with me tonight.”

“She might just do it out of pity. Although I think you’ll be revolting enough to her that she won’t even do that.”

“Bet?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, cool. Now get your ass dressed we got a
meetin’.”

“With who?”

“CI. She’s got some info on that homie we found in the dumpster.”

“Michael Cisneros.”

“Whatever. One junkie’s just like the next to me.”

Stanton got up and walked to the bathroom and started the shower. He went to his closet and took out jeans and a button-down shirt with a sports coat. “How’d you hear about this CI?” he shouted as he undressed and stepped into the shower.

“She called me. It was an old one I was usin’ back in Narcs. They called her Super BJ Jones.”

“Why?”

“Seriously?”

“Nevermind.”

“If you want, I could give you two some privacy and you can find out why they called her that.”

“I can do without gonorrhea, thanks.”

“You can’t get gonorrhea from a blow job, man.”

“Of course you can. It can infect the throat and can be passed to the genitals of another person.”

“Well, I’m tellin’ you. It’d be worth it with her. I had a sample back in my Narcs days and Super Blow doesn’t begin to describe it.”

Stanton got out of the shower and began to towel off. He was dressing in front of the mirror when he heard his fridge open and things being unwrapped. Then the balcony door slid open.

When he was done and came into the living room, he saw Gunn sitting on the railing of his balcony with his feet dangling over, eating a sandwich.

“This view, man. It’s somethin’ else. I don’t know how you got this place on a cop’s salary. If you was anybody else
, I’d say you was takin’ cream.”

“I haven’t stolen anything since I was sixteen years old and even then I
was terrible at it and got caught.”

“What’d you steal?”

“Pack of condoms.”

“You’re kiddin’? Did you use ‘em?”

“No. I just wanted some of the other kids in gym to see them in my locker. I thought that might make me seem cooler.”

“Did it work?”

“I don’t know ‘cause I got busted walking out of the store. That’s what happens when you act like something you’re not.”

Gunn bit down into
the sandwich. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You ready?”

“You drive.”

Stanton checked his watch and saw that it had taken them thirty minutes just to get to the freeway onramp. The traffic was so congested from an accident up ahead that people were standing outside of their cars talking.

“Shit,” Gunn said. “Super Blow ain’t gonna wait forever.” He tapped the steering wheel a few times with his index finger and then said, “Hang on to your balls.”

He swung the car over to the shoulder and one of the tires went up on the small cement curb leading up to the freeway. He sped past the other cars and forced his way in between two SUV’s. Horns were blaring and Gunn hollered as he weaved out from between the SUVs and lightly bumped a car forward by hitting them from behind.

“Pull over,” Stanton said.

“They’re fine.”

“Stephen, pull over. We need to cover that damage.”

“There was no damage, now pull your tampon out and relax.”

Gunn got on the far shoulder and zipped past the other cars.
If anyone opened their door at any time, they would ram right through it.

They reached the scene of the accident and a uniform was standing there directing traffic. He grew furious when he saw their car barreling toward him until Gunn held up his badge out the window. The uniform immediately stopped other traffic and created an opening for them to slip through.

“Come on through, Detective,” the officer shouted.

Gunn thanked him as he whizzed past and onto the open
left-hand lane. He sped up to eighty miles per hour and began shouting like a cowboy riding a bucking horse. Stanton watched him until he noticed. Gunn laughed.

“You know what, Jon? You gotta get more fun outta life, man.”

They took exit 239 to Palameno Street and found an old bar and grill named Ex-Wife’s Place. The exterior was brick and worn brown wood and there were neon beer signs up in the windows. After parking, Stanton checked his firearm’s safety and then stepped out of the car, following Gunn into the building.

The interior was as depressing as the exterior. It was dark and smelled like cigarettes and spilt beer.
The only customers here were a few drunks sipping away their hours at the bar. Stanton felt for them; they couldn’t escape.

In the corner booth was a woman with chocolate skin and ruby red lips. Her hair was straight and fell over her lean shoulders. She was strikingly beautiful and didn’t fit in with this environment. Gunn sat across from her in the booth and Stanton stood by, pretending to keep watch. CI’s, particularly females, were jumpy and didn’t talk freely in front of strangers.

“How you doin’, sugar?” she said to Gunn.

“Good as can be. How
‘bout you, Nicky? You gettin’ by?”

“I’m always gettin’ by, sugar. Just a matter
a how well.”

“You still with Pauly over there at Sherman Oaks?”

“Pssh, that broke-ass nigga couldn’t keep a job much less a woman such as The Nicole. I kicked his ass to the curb and sent him packin’.”

There was a pause and Stanton looked back and saw Gunn smiling.

“Is that what really happened?”

“Yes,” she said. “Why? You don’t believe me?”

“Well it’s just weird ‘cause I heard Pauly was doin’ twenty for armed robbery.”

She shrugged. “Well I don’t know about all that. All I know is I threw his ass out. I can’t keep track of what he doin’ when I ain’t there.”

“So no more Pauly. Who you got protectin’ you now?”

She reached into her purse and brought out the handle of a pistol. “I got Mr. Browning watching my back.”

“That’s good. But you need someone out here watchin’ your back, makin’ sure you’re not left alone with the sick fucks.”

“I got my girls; I ain’t need no man lookin’ out for me.” She rubbed his hand. “But you sweet for worryin’
‘bout me.”

“So what’s the info you got for me on the body in the dumpster.”

“Cisneros? I was with this john the other night. We was in the Wal-Mart parkin’ lot up there on Treemont and he started talkin’, right. I was blowin’ him and he just started talkin’ and callin’ me bitch and sayin’ all sorts a crazy shit. Then he said, ‘I’m a shank you like I shanked Mike’s ass.’ And he went off after that ‘bout all the shit he was gonna do to me. Cuttin’ me up and hangin’ me, all sorts a ignorant shit.”

“Did he try to hurt you?”

“No, he was just talkin’. Once he bust a nut he just paid me and be on his way. But I remember that ‘cause I remember Cisneros was shanked.”

“Yeah,” Gunn said, “you could say that. He was stabbed over twenty times.”

“Yeah, so I took down this dude’s license for you.”

“Well, it could be nothin’, but I’ll take it. How much?”

“Six hundred.”

“Shit, I ain’t no rook out here
tradin’ blow jobs to not cite you, Nicky.”

“Three hundred then. I gots to pay my rent.”

Gunn pulled out three hundred dollars from his wallet. “How’s your son?”

“He good. He’s in first grade now.”

“No shit? Time just flies, huh?”

“Believe that,” she said, taking the cash and stuffing it into her bra. She handed him a slip of paper with a license plate number on it.

Gunn rose. “If you need anything, you call me.”

“I will, sugar. Thanks.”

Gunn slapped Stanton’s shoulder. “Let’s go. We got a john to discuss his pillow talk with.”