Evidence (24 page)

Ricki
Flatt picked at the bedcovers.

Milo
said, “The fire’s been on your mind. That’s what you meant by political.”

“Not
really,” she said. She hugged herself. Rocked. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I’m not
trying to be evasive, but I just can’t accept the fact that my brother was some
sort of paid arsonist. But fifty thousand… that’s why I didn’t sleep last
night. And the Bellevue house was huge and so was where Desi was… I can’t bring
myself to say it. Where it
happened
.”

“Two
huge houses,” said Milo.

“I
drove by last night in a cab. To
that
place. Even with just the
framework I could tell it was massive. I kept telling myself it meant nothing,
what connection could there be?”

“Tell
me what you know about the Bellevue fire, Ricki.”

“That
boy—Vince. He wasn’t murdered, he burned himself up, it was basically an
accident.”

“Van
Burghout.”

“Van,”
she said, trying on the name.

“You
didn’t know him well?”

“I’m
sure I saw him if he came to the house with Desi but he never registered. Desi
was popular, there were always kids over. And when the fire happened, I was at
college.”

“Out
of town?”

“No,
U of W,” she said. “Geographically not far, but I was into my own life.”

“The
arson file names Van as one of Desi’s hiking companions.”

“Then
I guess he was.”

“Did
your family discuss the fire?”

“We
probably talked about it, it was a big local story. But as I said, I wasn’t
living at home.”

Ricki
Flatt folded her lips inward, fighting tears. Milo placed a hand atop hers. She
lost the battle and burst out sobbing.

Rather than hand a tissue to her, he dabbed.

Ricki
Flatt said, “Now I’m a traitor.”

“To
who, Ricki?”

“My
family. I just lied, we
didn’t
talk about the fire. It wasn’t
supposed
to be talked about. Ever.”

“You
parents said that?”

“Unspoken
rule, Lieutenant. Something I just knew not to talk about. That wasn’t my
parents’ usual way. That’s why I’ve always suspected Desi
was
involved.”

“Those
kinds of secrets,” said Milo, “every family has them. But being honest doesn’t
make you a traitor. Not now, that’s for sure.”

Silence.

“You
want justice for Desi, Ricki. Would your parents have had a problem with that?”

No
answer.

“Would
they, Ricki?”

Slow
head shake.

“Tell
me what you know.”

“I
don’t
know
anything,” she said, “I just
feel
it. Always have.”

“Apart
from your parents clamming up, what gave you the feeling?”

“For
a start, Desi’s books. He had these counterculture books in his room. How to
build homemade weapons, how to disappear and hide your identity, techniques of
revenge,
The Anarchist Cookbook
. A whole shelf of that, above his
computer.”

“Your
parents were okay with that.”

“What
I told you was true. Mom and Dad were all about developing our own sense of
morality. Though one time I did hear Dad make a comment, being a firefighter he
still had that law-and-order thing going on. I overheard him telling Desi those
books would’ve been branded as treasonous in other societies and Desi answering
that those societies deserved to disappear because without free speech nothing
mattered. And Dad coming back that free speech was important but it ended where
someone’s chin met someone’s fist. And Desi
ending the
argument the way he usually did. By being charming. ‘You’re absolutely right,
Pops.’ Dad laughed and it never came up again. That was my brother, all honey,
no vinegar. Unlike me, he never wasted energy arguing with Mom and Dad. He was
the easy kid.”

“No
overt rebel,” said Milo. “So he got to hold on to his treasonous books.”

“And
his foldouts from
Hustler
, no matter how gynecologic and how much Mom
considered herself a feminist.
And
his Che poster and whatever else he
wanted. I’m sure Mom and Dad never imagined him doing anything more with those
books than reading.”

“Until
the fire.”

“The
weekend after the fire, I was home for the weekend. Getting my laundry done,
Ms. Independence. Mom and Dad were at work but Desi was home so I knocked on
his door. He took a really long time to unlock, didn’t seem thrilled to see me,
wasn’t the least bit warm. Which was odd, generally we’d share a big hug. But
this time he looked flustered, like I’d interrupted something. My first thought
was something adolescent—you know what I mean.”

“Those
Hustler
foldouts.”

“He
was
seventeen.” Blushing. “Then I saw that his room had been completely rearranged,
even the bed was in a new place. Desi was always neat but now it looked
downright compulsive. A lot less stuff in the room. Including the books. All
gone, and in place of the Che poster he’d hung a photo of moose in the forest.
I made some wisecrack about redecorating, had he turned gay or something.
Instead of laughing like he normally would’ve, he just stood there. Then he
edged me away from the door. Not by touching me, by inching forward, so I was
forced to leave or bump into him. Then he closed the door behind him and we
both went to the kitchen and he was the same old Desi, smiling and funny.”

I
said, “Focusing on you instead of his room.”

“Desi
was great at that. He could make you feel you were the center of the universe.
Then he’d ask for something and you just said yes, no hesitation.”

“Did you ever bring up the fire?”

“Not
with Desi, just with Mom. She got a strange look in her eye, changed the
subject. That whole weekend was strange.”

“All
three of them nervous.”

“I
felt like a stranger. But in the beginning, I didn’t connect it to the fire. It
was only after I found out that Desi and some of his friends were questioned by
the police that things started to click.”

Milo
said, “Were you ever questioned?”

“No,
and I wouldn’t have said anything. I had nothing to offer, anyway.” She wadded
a tissue, released her fingers and watched it open like a time-lapse flower.

I
said, “Did Desi keep anything suspicious in his room besides books?”

“If
he did, I wouldn’t know. He had a lock on his door and used it.”

“Liked
his privacy.”

“Sure,
but what teenager doesn’t? I figured it was because of all those girls he took
in there. Was Doreen one of them? Probably, but only one, he might as well have
had a revolving door. And, no, my parents never objected. Desi would play music
to block out the sound but sometimes you could hear the bed knocking against
the wall. Mom and Dad just continued to read or watch TV, pretended not to
hear.”

“So
your parents were used to looking the other way.”

“You’re
saying that made it easier for them to cover for Desi when he did something
really bad?” Long exhalation. “Maybe.”

Milo
said, “After the FBI questioned Desi, you started to wonder.”

“The
FBI? All I heard about was the police. The FBI actually came to the house?”

“They
did, Ricki. Talked to your parents, as well as Desi.”

“Unbelievable
… only reason I found out the police were involved was by reading the
Daily
—the
U of W paper. Something to the effect that no progress had been made but local
kids were being questioned and Desi’s name was mentioned. Did I say anything?
No.”

Milo said, “What do you know about Desi’s ten years on
the road?”

“Just
what I told you yesterday.”

“Doing
the hippie thing.”

“Retro-hippie,”
said Ricki Flatt. “Original hippie was my parents’ generation. Then all of a
sudden, he shaves his beard, cuts his hair, buys nice clothes, enrolls in
architecture school. I remember thinking, so now he wants to build, not
destroy.”

“The
fire stayed on your mind.”

“I’m
not moral enough to be haunted by it, but every so often, it would creep into
my mind. Because that boy had died and the police had suspected my brother
enough to question him and my parents had acted so weird.”

“Do
you have any idea how Desi reconnected to Doreen?”

“None
whatsoever.”

“He
never mentioned her.”

“He
never brought up any woman, Lieutenant. I just assumed he was being himself.”

“Meaning?”

“Playing
the field and keeping it casual.”

“Did
he mention any women from his years on the road?”

“Not
a one. The fifty thousand, you’re pretty convinced he was into something
seriously illegal?”

“That’s
a lot of cash, Ricki.” She grew silent.

Milo
said, “A couple of other kids in Desi’s hiking group were also questioned after
the fire: Dwayne Parris and Kathy Vanderveldt. Anything you remember about
them?”

“I
wouldn’t know them if you showed me a picture. I was three years older. To me
they were all a bunch of stupid kids.”

“You
mentioned before that Desi was into health. Did he ever mention vegan Jell-O?”

“Sure.”

“He did, huh?”

“Why?”
said Ricki Flatt. “What does food have to do with it?”

“Vegan
Jell-O’s homemade napalm, Ricki. It might’ve been used in the Bellevue fire.”

She
went white. “Oh, my God.”

“What
did Desi say about vegan Jell-O?”

“I… I
don’t know, it’s just something I heard him mention. It’s really that?”

“Yes,
Ricki.”

“I
honestly thought it was food, some crazy organic thing.”

“Did
he talk about it before the Bellevue fire or after?”

“Let
me think, let me think … all I can recall is Desi and some friends in the
kitchen, having a snack before … maybe before a hike—I think they were packing
trail mix, water bottles, and then someone, maybe it was Desi, maybe it was
someone else, I really don’t recall, said something why don’t we pack vegan
Jell-O. And everyone started laughing.”

“Was
Doreen there?”

“Was
she there … probably. I can’t be sure, maybe not, I don’t know.” Wincing.
“Vegan Jell-O … Now I have to think about my brother in a whole new way.”

Milo
closed the motel door on a fetal Ricki Flatt. “Sweet dreams? Unlikely.”

Back
in the car, he said, “Those parents had to know their boy was involved in
torching that house.”

I
said, “Firefighter dad, too much to handle.”

“Backer
does God-knows-what for ten years then decides to be an architect? What the
hell’s that, I destroy, I build, the whole God thing?”

“Or a
stab at atonement.”

“Fifty
grand says he felt no guilt. Wonder if anything in San Luis got the vegan
Jell-O treatment while Backer attended Cal Poly.”

“It’s
Robin’s hometown, I’ll ask her.”

I
instructed the voice-recognition system to “phone cutie.”

She
said, “I’ve never heard of anything but I’ll ask Mom.”

Robin’s
relationship with her mother is, to be kind, complicated. I said, “Selfless
public service.”

She
laughed. “If we keep it at serious crime, we’ll be fine.”

Milo
said, “I’m in debt to you, kid.”

“Bring wine the next time I cook for you.”

“What
did I give you the last time?”

“Orchid
plant. Also lovely but don’t you want something you can share?”

“Find
me a mansion arson in San Luis two to six years ago and I’ll bring you a case
of the best Pinot I can find.”

“Back
to you on that, Big Guy.”

She
called back three minutes later: “Mom’s never heard of anything like that and
neither has my friend Rosa, who’s lived there her entire life and knows
everything. If you’d like, I can do a newspaper search.”

“I’d
have to put you on regular payroll, kiddo.”

“Like
you keep threatening to do with Alex?”

“Point
taken,” he said. “Anyway, not necessary, I can push keys.”

“When’s
my blue-eyed boy coming home?”

“Right
now, if you want him.”

“I
always want him, but don’t let me hinder your investigation.”

“If
only there was one.”

“That
bad?”

“Hey,”
he said, “we’re walking, talking, breathing, I’m grateful.” Robin said, “I
don’t like that kind of talk from you.”

“I
shouldn’t get philosophical?”