Ashes, Ashes, They All Fall Dead (21 page)

“Some friends I met in college live on farms. They had bridges like this all over. You just have to adjust the boards before you cross. This one looks perfectly solid.” He stepped onto the bridge and bent down, pulling the boards left or right as needed to center them over the supports beneath.

“The boards aren’t even nailed down?” Tessa squeaked from somewhere behind him.

“They started out that way, but the nails pop up and the boards move. That’s why you have to check them before you cross.”

From the sounds of the cursing coming from Tessa, he figured she didn’t like that answer.

When he finished adjusting the boards and got back into the car, Tessa wasn’t with him. She stood several feet off the side of the road.

Matt rolled down the passenger window. “What are you waiting for? Get in.”

“If you want to risk your fool neck, go ahead. I’ll walk across it after you. But I’m not driving in a car across that thing.”

It would be dark soon. If they were going to get to the group home and look around, and cross this bridge on the way back before nightfall, they had to get going right now. He didn’t have time to argue with her.

He backed the car up and centered it on the road, aligning the wheels with the bridge. With his window rolled down, he leaned half out of the car and edged forward. Tessa was right. It was a tight fit, so he had to go slowly to make sure he kept the wheels lined up. But two minutes later he was on the other side, and Tessa was yanking the passenger door open.

She jumped inside. “I’m not even going to tell you how close the wheels on the right side came to going off the bridge. You, Matt Buchanan, are a lunatic.”

He laughed and eased the car forward, speeding up until the ride leveled out.

Fifteen minutes later they were at the group home or, rather, where the home had once stood. He parked beside a faded sign that boasted the name
MURRAY STATE GIRLS’ HOME
.

Their feet crunched over more gravel as they approached the main structure. Charred beams stuck up into the sky on the left side, where the fire must have been, but the smell of smoke had faded years ago, and green vines covered most of the wood lower to the ground.

Tessa stopped just outside the part of the building that had burned. She stared at the building so long that Matt was about to check on her, but then she took a halting step forward and went inside.

He followed, keeping a respectful distance. He didn’t expect to find any documents, or even any people, anywhere near this abandoned place. His whole goal in coming here was to see if it would stir up any memories for Tessa, memories that might help them figure out more about her past. So far, he didn’t know if his strategy was working. But she was combing over every inch of the place, even walking into the parts of the building untouched by fire, standing in the middle of each room, quietly looking around.

The sun was going down and they needed to cross that wooden bridge while he had enough light to safely navigate across it. He was about to tell her they had to leave when she looked up at him.

“Let’s go,” she whispered. “I’ve seen everything I needed to see.”

The tears in her eyes were like a punch in the gut, but before he could reach for her she hurried outside.

Forty minutes later Matt could stand the silence no longer. Tessa’s noncommittal noises in response to his questions had him gritting his teeth in frustration. He pulled the car into the first parking lot he saw on their way into the city of Murray, which ended up being at a fast-food restaurant called Taco John’s.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Why were you upset back there? Did you remember something?”

She didn’t answer for a full minute. “I remember what happened, why I ended up in the group home.” The misery shining from her eyes had his heart stuttering in his chest.

“There was an accident,” she said. “We were in the car, driving down the highway. There was a loud bang. Then we were sliding across the road. The car slammed into a ditch.” Her bottom lip quivered and a single tear slid down her cheek. “She died in my arms.”

“Who died in your arms? Who was in the car with you?”

“Sissie. My sister.”

M
ATT SHIFTED HIS
weight on the hard wooden bench and rested his head against the wall behind him, a wall that was as gray and gloomy as the rest of the Murray, Kentucky, police station. He caught the desk sergeant’s gaze on the other side of the room. The sergeant flipped a page in the magazine he was reading and shrugged, as if to tell Matt he didn’t know how much longer the wait would be.

No surprise there. He’d already been waiting for over three hours.

After Tessa’s flash of memory about the car crash, Matt had called the local police to see if they could provide any details about the group home fire. Detective Stephens had been the lead on that case and was still active on the force. But when Matt asked him to dredge up information on a fire that happened twenty-three years ago, the detective’s demeanor had turned as cold as the case. Only the fact that the FBI was involved had gotten him to agree to help—and then only after grumbling, extensively, about how he’d have to go to an off-site annex to dig up a file that old.

Matt rolled his head on his shoulders and studied Tessa. She was sitting on the other side of the bench, staring at the battleship-gray walls, lost in a world she refused to share with him. He’d tried to hold her after she’d remembered the accident. He’d wanted nothing more than to offer her comfort, but she’d stubbornly pushed him away, her back ramrod straight, unshed tears shining in her eyes.

She hadn’t been able to answer any of his questions, like where her parents were when she and her sister were in the car. What were her parents’ names? Where had the family lived? Where were Tessa and her sister going at the time of the accident? The look of utter devastation in her eyes was his only answer.

He replayed her version of the crash in his mind, but something about it didn’t seem right. The facts didn’t fit, like a jigsaw puzzle with a crucial piece missing, but damned if he could figure out what bothered him about her story.

A gray-haired man dressed in a wrinkled business suit stopped at the desk and spoke to the duty sergeant. The sergeant pointed to the bench where Matt and Tessa were sitting. The older man’s gaze barely touched on Matt before landing on Tessa. His mouth tightened, and he stared at her for several moments before crossing to them.

“Mr. Buchanan, Special Agent James, I’m Detective Larry Stephens.” He held up a manila folder and waved them forward. “Follow me.”

They had both risen to shake his hand, but Stephens didn’t seem to notice. He led them to a surprisingly large office, until Matt noted the three desks. If the other two men who worked in this office were sitting at their desks right now, the room would probably feel as cramped as a closet.

Stephens pitched the folder onto the scarred laminate desk and motioned for Matt to help him get the two chairs from the other desks for Matt and Tessa to use. Once they were all seated, Stephens planted himself in his chair and pulled a stack of pictures and the top few sheets of paper from the manila folder.

He tapped the pages. “Please tell me three hours of crawling through spiderwebs and breathing toxic mold was worth it, because there sure isn’t a hell of a lot in this report. I assume you already have a suspect?”

“Not yet,” Matt said. “We’d hoped you might help us with that.”

Stephens rolled his eyes and leaned back.

Tessa pulled a picture of Tonya Garrett out of her suit jacket pocket and held it up. “I know it’s unlikely you’ve seen this girl, but she’s missing. I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word among your officers.”

He didn’t move to take it. “You believe she’s here, in Murray?”

She put the photo on his desk. “Probably not. But I thought I’d ask.”

He grunted in response.

Tessa shot him an irritated glance and scooted forward to read the report about the group home fire. Matt read over her shoulder.

“The report says the group home fire was arson, but the newspaper story we read said the fire was caused by an electrical short,” Tessa said.

Stephens raised a brow. “The FBI doesn’t feed false stories to the media to hold back details crucial to their investigations?”

“Point taken.”

“Accelerant, a mixture of gasoline and kerosene, was used around the foundation of the wing that burned. There were twelve girls sleeping in that section of the building. Only eight made it out.”

Tessa didn’t visibly react to that news. She seemed to be holding herself together much better now that they were actively investigating again. She sorted through the photographs, which showed different views of the burned-out building.

“From what I see here,” she continued, “and from what we saw at the site today, it doesn’t seem possible that anyone could have made it out alive. How did the survivors escape?”

“Smoke alarms woke the nighttime security guard. He used a fire extinguisher to knock down the fire near one of the windows and helped the girls climb out. But he couldn’t get them all. The building was all wood, even the floors. Mix that with the accelerant and there wasn’t much he could do. That fire swept through the whole wing in just a few minutes, and some of the girls were trapped. By the time the firemen arrived, the building was fully involved.”

He laced his fingers together on the desk. “From what Mr. Buchanan told me on the phone, Special Agent James, you were one of the survivors.”

“So I’m told. I don’t remember.” She glanced at Matt. “Not clearly, anyway. There are . . . fragments of memories, or maybe it’s just from seeing the burned group home today. I don’t know for sure.”

“Well, like I said, there’s not much here. We never developed any good leads. And that folder is all I could find. A case that old . . .” He shrugged. “No telling where all the files ended up.”

“You don’t remember anything else that isn’t in the report?” she asked.

“Do you know how many investigations I’ve worked on in the past two decades? Hundreds. Do I remember any details about this particular case that aren’t written right here in black and white? From over twenty years ago? No. I don’t.”

From the mutinous expression on Tessa’s face, Matt decided interference might be needed before she said something she’d regret.

“What about other arson cases the year of the group home fire?” Matt asked. “Did any of them involve gasoline and kerosene as accelerants?”

“The case file doesn’t say anything about that, and I don’t remember any other arsons that year. To know for sure, I’d have to go back to the annex and do a lot more digging. Unless you can offer me a damn good reason to do that, I don’t plan on it. I’ve got a heavy caseload that I should be working on instead of a dead-end, decades-old arson case.”

“Four girls being murdered isn’t a good enough reason?” Tessa accused.

Stephens’s jaw clamped tight.

“I didn’t see any witness statements in the report.” Matt rushed to fill the awkward silence.

Stephens riffled through the other papers in the folder. “There are a couple here, from the staff. No one saw anything. Like I said, no leads, no suspects.”

“May I see the rest of the documents?” Tessa’s request sounded more like an order. She held her hand out for the folder.

He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How about I make this easier on all of us by copying the whole damn thing? You can take it with you.”

He shuffled everything back into the folder and stood.

A knock sounded behind them. A young woman stood in the open doorway holding some papers. “Are you the FBI agent and private investigator Larry talked to on the phone?”

“We’re busy here, Susan. What do you need?” Stephens didn’t look pleased with the interruption.

Undaunted by the detective’s brusque greeting, Susan stepped into the office and introduced herself. “I’m the glue that holds this place together, otherwise known as an administrative assistant. While Larry was crawling over boxes at the annex, I did some digging of my own.” She put her hand on Tessa’s shoulder. “You’re one of the girls who escaped the fire?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Larry said you’d remembered something about a car accident before you went to live at the group home.”

Tessa glanced at Matt in question.

“I mentioned it to Stephens on the phone.”

“Susan,” Stephens said, “I’m sure they don’t have time for—”

“No, no. Please continue,” Tessa said. “We appreciate any information you can give us.”

Susan held up the papers in her hand as if they were a trophy. “I called Family Services and asked a few questions. The original records from the burned group home were lost years ago, and we don’t even have group homes in this area anymore. The foster care system has eliminated the need for things like that.”

“Is there a point to this?” Stephens asked, his voice gruff, impatient.

She grinned triumphantly. “As a matter of fact, yes. Family Services gave me a list of which counties used to send children to the Murray State Girls’ Home.”

“How many counties are we talking about?” Tessa asked.

“Ten. But don’t let that worry you. The first county I called, Hopkins County, has records on all the children they transferred here. Those records are sealed, of course, but when I mentioned the car accident, and what you remembered about it, the clerk found a possible match. I pulled the police report on the accident. I think this is what you’re looking for.” She handed the papers to Tessa.

Stephens frowned and rounded the desk. “You don’t need to be wasting the FBI’s time with unrelated cases.” He reached for the papers, but Tessa pulled them back.

“Just a minute, Detective. I want to look at this.”

He flashed an irritated look at Susan, but he didn’t try to grab the papers again.

Tessa shook the assistant’s hand. “Thank you. You’ve been tremendously helpful.”

Susan beamed at her, then hurriedly left the room, flashing an uncertain look at the detective as she did so. Stephens stalked out of the room after her, mumbling something about making copies.