Burn Patterns (29 page)

‘You've got the names?'

‘Should have in about …' he indicated his watch theatrically, ‘in about eight or nine hours.' Charles's legs were stretched out in front of him like he was on a lounge talking about the football scores.

Pavlovic said, ‘The funeral is tomorrow, so I might have to chase them up.' He made another note.

They went quiet as they contemplated the funeral.

Finally Pavlovic said, ‘So, the Lover's Lane Pyro?'

‘Is now in the newspapers and the police are stepping up. They nab a couple of burglars and a firebug. He goes back to cars using lighter fluid. He burns two more couples. He waits until they're … more than petting. They're getting right into it. Some very bad burns. Then the big one. You probably remember.'

Pavlovic nodded.

Iris said, ‘Remind me.'

‘She's a hairdresser who still lives at home. Very pretty. Twenty-two. He's an apprentice carpenter and a promising footy player of the same age. They've been going out since year eleven. They're engaged, I think. It's a Subaru station wagon. They're in the back. He pours petrol all over the back and over the top and lights it. They're trapped inside. The fire is fast. Big. It attracts a police car. They both die screaming, according to the cops who can't get close. The car exploded. Fuel tank. Sounds familiar when I put it like that.'

‘It stopped,' said Pavlovic. ‘I remember. Springsteen stopped after them.'

‘I pick up his trail later.' Charles glanced at Iris, added, ‘interestingly in the hills again.'

Pavlovic leaned forward. ‘Have you mapped these?'

‘Give me a fuckin break. The Doc and I only started on this line a couple of days ago. And I was on a bloody suspension.'

‘I'm not dissing you, Chuck. This is brilliant. It's a question.'

‘You blokes are the ones dragging your bloody heels. Give me the fuckin files.' Chuck glared.

Pavlovic shuffled some papers on his desk. ‘Do you mind if I put these things on a map?'

‘I can't stop you.'

‘No you can't. Why would you want to? We're both trying to catch this bastard.'

Iris interjected, ‘It's the summer he changed. For some reason. He matured. Possibly in age too. He started planning more. I think he liked the trapping.'

They both stared at her. They didn't follow.

‘Lots of firelighters like watching fire. Most are kids, don't forget. They love to see a building kindle then glow as the fire slowly takes hold, before eating everything. Compulsive, recidivist firelighters – the firebugs love to see it take off in the bush, from this tiny flame they lit to tear away as a wall of flame suddenly beyond anyone's control. Immense and powerful. See the people flee, watch the firefighters run around like ants trying stop the thing they've unleashed. Most of them aren't seeking to cause death. Certainly not in any direct way. It's been called a coward's crime because even those killers who use fire as a weapon, light it and walk away and don't see the consequences. Fire is not face-to-face. It's impersonal.'

‘You like fire, don't you?' said Pavlovic darkly.

‘Which is beside the point. It is elemental. Like lightning striking near you. Like trying to stand against waves at the beach. It is how others see it which is important, Detective. What I'm getting to is Zorro uses it, as Chuck once said, to hurt and kill. Sure he likes fire, he particularly wants to trap. He wants to control the fire so it hurts and kills at a pace and order he imagines. This is now, now he's the adult butterfly.

‘When he was a caterpillar, I think he went looking for the homeless because they were easy and burnt them for a thrill. I suspect he'd burnt animals before. He stepped up, like his pupa stage. His Lover's Lane summer was about his sexuality, his urges or his confusions. It might have been adolescent, I suspect, something larger is being worked out. I know a lot about Zorro doesn't fit the profile but I'd bet he comes from a broken or dysfunctional home. He has sexual issues. I'd be surprised if he wasn't known to the police or child protection during this time.'

‘Why'd he stop?' Chuck asked.

‘I don't know. Something happened or maybe was resolved. Maybe he was sent to prison. Juvenile detention is worth checking against the other names. Maybe he moved away and never did stop.'

‘Like Malaysia,' said Pavlovic.

They both gaped at him.

‘We think we've got a solid lead in Malaysia by the way.'

Iris said, ‘Are we all sharing, Detective, or is this still one-way?'

‘Yeah, you're not passing the ball much,' added Chuck.

Pavlovic stood, really cranky for the first time, ‘People! Do you have any idea how big this is? How many departments are involved? Massive amounts of information are being sifted, interviews run down, old stuff like we're getting for you, Chuck? There are chains of command where I live. Then the fucking Martian escapes. Now the zoo! It's getting pretty reactive all around. As essential as I think your line of investigation is, every time I'm here or with you Iris, I'm not in about five other rooms all moving ahead as fast on as many other lines of inquiry.'

Iris said, ‘Yeah, Iris, stop being so selfish.'

He stood glaring at her.

Iris said, ‘Point taken. I'm sorry. We're tired. We're stressed. I'm hungry.'

He sat again. ‘They don't usually share fingerprints, so we finally nudged the Foreign Minister in on the negotiating. We have a house fire, children killed. James Jules, an Australian citizen who married an Indian Malaysian. By accounts he's Anglo-West Indian, which all fits.'

Charles said, ‘Time frame?'

‘Five or six years ago. Definitive paperwork is winding through channels.'

‘December?'

‘Don't know yet.'

Charles pointed to Pavlovic's notepad. ‘So the first question to the school people is, “Was the fire safety inspector a bit Indian looking?”'

Iris said, ‘So jail in Malaysia?'

‘I don't know yet. If it is the same man, we have to assume he wasn't jailed. He came home, started again. He is very good at getting out of locked places.'

Iris checked to see if he was having a dig at her, but Pavlovic was busy thinking.

Chuck too seemed to be running time lines.

Pavlovic asked, ‘Anything else he told you in the interviews we can use? I am assuming his escape and the targeting of you is related.'

Iris said, ‘He is in pain. He has suffered trauma. He killed his wife and children, which accounts for his retreat into the Martian delusion. A dissociative identity disorder. I believe he has been reworking this trauma in the construction of his spaceship crash – he wants to go back to save his family from the fire. Which is in my report.' Iris still struggled to see James as Zorro, but went with the hypothesis. ‘It was a different breakdown which caused him to light the fire and attempt suicide in his house in Malaysia. I would have liked to have worked with him further.'

Charles said, ‘Yeah. I'd like to work with him. With a pair of plyers and an oxyacetylene kit.'

Pavlovic nodded.

Iris said, ‘You should talk to Silverberg about his conclusions.'

‘Yes,' said Pavlovic, closed once more. His telephone beeped, he glanced at the screen. ‘Good. We've got your clothes for you, Mrs Foster, and some of your toiletries. There's a shower and a cot adjoining the commissioner's office which you can use tonight.'

‘Can I have my phone back?'

‘We haven't exactly told anyone where you are. In spite of Chuck's mates filling him in. We have also not released the names of those in the butterfly enclosure or if anyone was injured. They were running with a gas cylinder malfunction, but the cover story fizzled when the zoo started evacuating the animals.'

‘So I can't have my phone?'

‘Who do you want to call?'

‘My husband. I think he can be trusted.'

Pavlovic pointed to the phone on the desk where he was sitting. ‘Dial nine to get an outside line. I'll get a constable to show you up to the top floor. Chuck, how about we find a map to pin these crimes up. Mrs Foster, Iris, thanks for your help.' Pavlovic had his hand out.

Iris shook it.

‘On ya, Doc,' said Charles with a big wink. ‘With a bit of luck we'll have him locked up by the time you get up in the morning.'

‘Don't take any of their shit, Charles.'

He laughed as he followed Pavlovic out.

Iris went to the desk, lifted the phone. She supposed the line was being monitored. She supposed Pavlovic still didn't quite trust her. Iris cleared her mind so she could remember Mathew's mobile number without the aid of her mobile telephone's memory.

It rang for some time. When Mathew finally answered, his voice sounded groggy. ‘Mathew Foster.'

‘It's me.'

‘Good god, Iris. I've been sick with worry.'

‘I'm fine. A piece of metal caught my shoulder.'

‘I saw the news coverage. It must have just been after you called me.'

‘Yes.' Iris couldn't hear breathing in the background. ‘I can't say a lot because they're holding me for my own protection.'

‘It wasn't an accident?'

‘It might even be the mad school bomber.'

Silence, as he processed the enormity, thought through the implications.

Iris said, ‘I wanted to warn you.'

‘Me?'

Ha. I want to warn you about June. She's a bit flighty and she's starting to really stack it onto her hips. I thought you liked skinny things. ‘As part of the investigation they are looking at possible terrorism.'

‘Yes.'

‘Some army intelligence officers felt I wasn't cooperating so they tried to threaten me by threatening you. They made halfhearted threats regarding your seeking the bench.'

‘In what way? I can't see any …' He went silent again.

‘They were trying to see if I was implicated and sought pressure points.'

‘That's ridiculous.' He sounded certain, which made Iris's heart jerk.

‘I think we've all moved on now.'

‘Do you need a lawyer?'

‘No. I'm working with them. And sorry, it's all happening very quickly and now I'm consulting on this because it's all
blowing up around me. Ha. I know I promised I wouldn't but …'

‘Yes.'

‘I hope you'll forgive me.'

The barest pause. Nearly not one. ‘Of course.'

‘I wanted to let you know I'm all right.'

‘Thank god, darling.'

‘And to let you know about the army people.'

‘Can't hurt me.'

‘I love you. I wish you were here with me.'

‘I'll be back tomorrow. I'll get the first flight I can.'

Say you love me. Say you love me, even if you don't mean it.

‘I love you, darling,' he said. ‘See you soon.'

‘Bye.'

Iris felt teary. She saw an older policewoman hovering in the doorway. The policewoman gave a sympathetic grimace. She followed the policewoman, wondering idly how they could misconstrue her conversation with Mathew, looking for terrorist codes in the marital ones.

In the lift the policewoman said, ‘You're having a big week.'

‘Tell me about it.'

They went up, Iris feeling her tiredness grow incrementally with the passing floors, like extra gravity.

‘You probably don't remember me. I did court duty when you testified on the warehouse arsonists. On the heritage warehouses.'

‘Oh, hi,' said Iris. She didn't recognise her. It had been years ago.

The doors opened to quieter hallways. Offices were closed, frosted-glass doors unlit from behind.

The policewoman led her past the dark-wooded door belonging to the commissioner's suite to a smaller grey door beyond. Inside Iris found an ensuite, a small single bed with neat piles of Iris's clothes on top.

‘Thank you,' said Iris.

‘Hope you get this creep.'

‘Me too. Thanks.' Iris gave her a warm smile.

She latched the door, explored the toilet bag they'd brought from her house. She supposed they'd conducted a search at the
same time. Iris wondered about her laptop and whether it was with any of the investigative streams. She suddenly remembered thinking someone was in the house late on Saturday.

The shower was not very hot. Iris supposed the heating system must be a distance away. She washed the grit and the hospital smells. Her shoulder didn't really hurt much. She supposed a clean cut, neat stitches. A small interesting scar.

She remembered the feel of James's back, a flash of memory, followed by a hot flush of shame. Iris washed her face. If James was Zorro, he had completely taken her in. He might have been playing her from the beginning, even following Iris before the school. He must have, to know about the butterflies. He had tricked her, then was about to have intercourse with her. It would have been a multiple victory, using the Fire Lady sexually then to engineer his escape. He had attempted to dispose of her when he'd finished with her. Humiliate your enemies before killing them. Iris scrubbed herself roughly. She worked her hair, scratched at her scalp. Iris was not so clever. A puny, wrinkled old fool.

‘Well, fuck him,' she said into the tepid water.

Iris rinsed off the soap, turned off the shower only to realise there were no towels. It made her laugh. It pleased her how the world could still be normal, the tiny things slipping through. She dried herself using the tracksuit pants and smock she'd been dressed in for most of the day. She could feel a cool slick of water still on her skin.

Zorro was overreaching, jumping things up exponentially with the school. He'd used a chemical that was beyond his control. Was he angry with her? Is that why he'd tried to kill her at the zoo? Was the triumph of making a fool of her so short-lived? Or had revealing his real identity through naming his children been another mistake, another piece of overconfidence, to be corrected? He'd failed at his target with the school. The firefighters would not have been enough. He'd failed at the zoo. Would his ego implode?