Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) (13 page)

Chapter 13

Jake arrived at Birch Brook Farm the next afternoon with
the complete file on the Cameron fire and a preliminary on the Tyson one for
Lani. After his meeting with Steve, he’d made copies in Bayport.

He’d put her off to give himself more time alone to
study them with a professional eye—and, he hoped, a dispassionate eye. Besides,
being with her distracted him too much. He wanted to miss nothing significant.

One particular item stood out. The condom lubricant
was unusual, from a specific brand sold in pricey sex shops. No drugstore
variety. Had to come from Portland or Boston. Whoever purchased those boutique
condoms had long since disposed of the evidence, but if he narrowed down the
suspect list, knowing the condom source might prove useful for intimidation
purposes.

He’d climbed the porch steps and was automatically
rubbing his thigh muscles when he spied a note on the door.

J, too nice to stay inside. Follow the path behind
the house to the dock.

She signed it with a smiley-face drawing except with
an oversize
O
for the mouth.

Jake chuckled in spite of his concern as he pocketed
the note. He made his way along the grassy path. Damned foolish. She had no
idea about security. Alone on the dock. A neon sign inviting the killer.
Come
and get me.
Headline—
Summer Resident Dies in Accidental Drowning
. “Fuck.”
He cranked up his stroll to a jog.

He wound past the disused paddock, across the wooden
bridge spanning the brook, and through a stand of white pines, where his
sneakers scuffed up their scent. The run loosened the kinks in his thigh and
soaked the back of his T-shirt.

The path opened to a spectacular panorama—rolling seas
and a smattering of spruce-dotted islands—he only peripherally registered as he
searched. There was Lani, perched on a boulder. He whooshed out a breath before
he called her name.

She turned, her smile brightening his day more than
the sun. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail. Above the scoop neck of her
pink cropped top matching her shorts, he glimpsed the tattoo but not enough to
decipher its design.

When he approached the dock, she beckoned him to join
her on the shore. “Sit on the dock at your own risk.”

The wooden structure extended a dozen or so feet from
where a set of matching steps descended. Water splashed up through gaps that
had once been boards, and one side sagged where a rotten piling had given way.
Unless a bad guy swam in, he wasn’t going to sneak up on Lani from that dock.
One less threat to worry about. But only one.

Seeing her face tilted up in greeting defused his
fear-fired temper. Too tempting to pass up. He planted a quick kiss on her
lips. The memory of being wrapped around each other in her kitchen hovered
between them like heat waves rising from pavement.

Before he got carried away again, he settled onto the
slab of rock beside her. “The dock one of the things to repair before selling
the place?”

She shook her head. “I’ll leave that to the buyer.
Most people nowadays use aluminum or a synthetic that looks like wood.
Something that won’t rot.”

“What are you having done?”

“Just got new locks. A hunky locksmith gave me a great
price.”

“Hunky, huh?” He grinned, winging a flat stone out
over the water. It skipped twice before sinking. He wanted this camaraderie
with her to go on without the downers of danger and secrets. But the light
purple shadows beneath her eyes were a testament to the grief and worry keeping
her from sleep.

He cupped her shoulders and turned her. “You’ve been
hanging tough but something upset you. What?”

Her eyes darkened. “About Gail. I don’t know how to
say this except straight out.”

“About her multiple...lovers, you mean?” How much else
she knew, he wasn’t sure so he left it at that. His belly heaved whenever he
thought about it. How must the news have affected Lani?

Her brows winged upward. “
That
was in the case
report?”

He shook his head. “Gail’s friends and lovers didn’t
tell the fire investigator or the prosecutor. But they’re talking now. I’ve
heard the stories. Like you have.”

“First, by no stretch of the imagination can I call
her sex partners
lovers
. What she was doing had nothing to do with love
or desire.”

The bitterness and pain in her voice stopped him from
asking what she meant. For now. He accepted the folded paper she took from her
pocket.

“Those four are the only names Becca and Heather knew
for certain,” she said. “There were others. Maybe even Kevin.”

He read the names, all familiar. Two local—not Mike
Spear or Steve Quimby. Two new ones to track down.

“That’s not all.” Her shoulders sagged, clearly with
the weight of what she’d learned. She stared past him into the trees as if the
answers lurked in the chickadees’ chatter. “Her other secret explains her moods
that summer.”

“That secret
was
in the report.” Jake ached for
her. “According to what your parents told Tyson, she had an abortion that
spring. A guy at college. He had an alibi that night.”

“That’s what I found out from Gail’s friends. The
abortion, I mean.” She pressed a hand to her chest as if her heart hurt. Her
mouth trembled but no tears welled. Sheer will power. Did this tough cookie
ever let anyone see her cry? Or did she let herself cry at all? Somehow her
fight for control made her seem more vulnerable.

“The infection she had must’ve been caused by the
abortion,” she continued after a moment. “Mom said mono was the reason she
dropped some of her classes.”

“A white lie to protect Gail’s secret?”

“Guess she was ashamed. Or maybe it was the rest. I
don’t know.”

“The
rest
?”

Damn, he still didn’t have the whole picture. This
mystery had more layers than Maine had rocks. “Okay, lob the other hand
grenade.”

“Heather said the infection left her sterile. Knowing
she could never have babies sent her into a tailspin. Every time she slept with
a guy, she told her friends it didn’t matter because she couldn’t get pregnant.
She wouldn’t listen to them about STDs.”

Damn, that sucked. No wonder she went into tailspin. “Depression.
The reason for her moods and the frantic coupling.” The wanton sex that had
probably led to murder. And could again if he didn’t nail the bastard. “Seems
neither of us really knew her.”

“All this surprised you too?” Lani said.

He jabbed a hand through his hair. “I had no clue. She
made a big deal out of exclusivity between us.” Rather than dwell on the myriad
blows to his masculine pride, he switched the focus. “Everyone else knew what
was going on but she didn’t confide in you. That has to bite.”

“Big time. She knew I wished I was hot and popular
like her. It hurts she didn’t feel she could share her pain with me, her twin.
I screamed at her ghost when I got home, I admit. But sitting here thinking, I
get it. Sort of. My folks were protecting me, protecting her. Maybe they
thought I’d give her a hard time about it. Maybe I would’ve.” She gave him a
rueful but wobbly smile. “The usual sibling stuff.”

So she didn’t believe in herself as a woman because
she’d felt overshadowed by the more outgoing Gail, but still hung in with her
twin when things got rough. She didn’t realize she was every bit as hot. Every
bit as beautiful. More so—inside. Kind and caring. Genuine and loyal.

Lani extricated herself from Jake’s embrace. In his
arms, she felt warm and secure, but no way did she want to depend on him. “Thanks
for making me feel better. Don’t think you can distract me from the case
reports. Hand ‘em over, buster.”

“Not so fast, Quick Draw.” He held the folder out of
reach. “I had a chat with Steve Quimby today, remember?”

Resigned, she sat cross-legged and listened while he
went over Steve’s interview. Ol’ Steve had been just as evasive as Mike Spear.
The Eagle Task Force research found zip on them but both had murky alibis. Mike’s
depended on his wife and Steve claimed he didn’t remember.

“Just great. And Kevin?” Crap, she shouldn’t have
asked. But she had to know.

“According to the report, lots of people saw him at
the fundraiser party that night. But none of them at the crucial times. J.T.
kept the car keys. Kevin didn’t drive away, so he had to be there. I’ll follow
up on that.”

“And the other? Kevin, with Gail?”

“I haven’t gotten a straight answer out of him.”

The thought sickened her. Her old boyfriend with her sister.
Did Kevin have sex with both of them? But what possible motive could he have
otherwise?

Her chest constricted as if fire seared her lungs.
Bile crept up her throat from her still shaky stomach. Dragging in cleansing
sea air, she forced herself to stop dwelling on all of that. She didn’t want to
throw up again. Not in front of Jake.

She turned to him. “You going to let me read those
reports?”

He was studying her as if perceiving her inner
torment, but he said only, “Sure. Here you go. But much about the fires
themselves is professional jargon.”

She skimmed the report. Arcane terminology like fire
triangle and gas chromatography had her head spinning.

When she looked up, Jake was watching a lobster boat
idling beyond the dock. The lobsterman and his sternman, both clad in
waterproof overalls, winched up a trap dripping with seaweed. The trap would
reek of rotten bait and contain creatures with snapping claws—not unlike what
this investigation was uncovering.

“I yield to your expertise. Explanation, please.”

“The fire triangle is oxygen, heat, and a fuel source,
or accelerant. Oxygen was plentiful in the open barn, with more openings to the
upper story. Gasoline fires make black smoke, witnessed by the first
firefighters to arrive. And they later found the gas can for the lawn tractor
in the barn. Empty. No fingerprints.”

“That’s oxygen and the accelerant. And the heat
source?”

“Matches and maybe also the oil lamp. But the
accelerant’s where things get tricky. Complete information about the evidence
didn’t make it into Tyson’s report. He launched an investigation, sketchy as it
was. Mostly he talked to the firefighters, your family, me, and a few of Gail’s
friends. He concluded that Gail started the fire by accident when she tried to
light the oil lamp and knocked over the gas can.”

“What about the evidence?”

He held up a hand. “You’ll see. The state fire marshal
at the time was satisfied, but he may not have seen all the notes. The heat
source was a book of matches. Light one and set it near gasoline-soaked bales
of hay and there’s a hell of a fire damned fast. But not before the arsonist
can split.”

“But doesn’t the matchbook burn up in the fire?”

“There’s usually something, even minute, to nail down
the fire’s origin, like at the Tyson fire. The burn pattern tells the
investigator where the fire started, where to look. In the old fire, the burn
patterns on the remaining timbers showed that the fire started in more than one
place. Someone splashed gasoline around on three hay bales and the wall. The
base of the matchbook remained as well.”

“What about the fire that killed Tyson? The same
method, except for the C-4?”

“Close, but more in line with premeditation. The heat
source was one of the most common used by arsonists—a lit cigarette attached to
a book of matches by a thin wire. The cigarette gives the arsonist more time to
escape before the fire explodes.”

She brightened. “What about DNA on the cigarette?”

“Report says there was none. Another sign this guy
knew what he was doing. Probably lit the cigarette without touching it to his
mouth. Also, he came prepared with his own gasoline and knew how to make the
fire spread faster—the C-4. What we don’t know is how he enticed Tyson out to
the barn.”

The possibilities were too much to absorb. “Professional
or pyromaniac?”

“Not necessarily either, but someone with experience.
He’s done it before.”

“You think the same person started both fires.”

“Maybe. Hard to say. If he did, he learned more about
fire starting in the past twelve years. Pyromaniacs don’t usually commit
murder. The fire’s the goal. And sometimes the fire fighting and publicity.
Deaths if they occur are a secondary outcome. But the C-4 connection to El
Águila makes a firebug less of a possibility.”

“Tyson’s report obscured the truth.”

“He didn’t cover all the bases. Like asking the
questions we’re asking now. Those kids would’ve cracked and named names if he’d
interviewed them more than once. Pushed them a little. Maybe he was in a hurry
to get the report done fast and retire.”

She managed a weak smile. “Then why was he killed? To
implicate me?” If the killer wanted to keep her from questioning Tyson or throw
suspicion her way, she was still responsible in some way for the man’s death.

“Good question. I want to run all this new info by Robichaud
before I start supposing.” He pushed to his feet, stiffness cramping his leg
before he evened out.

“Why not your smuggling task force?”

“This state guy is steady and logical. He’ll see the
holes if there are any. He has an understanding of Maine people the task force
doesn’t. Plus I like to keep in good with the fire marshal’s office. They’ll
have this case before long. Then I’ll call my task-force contact.”

“Is there enough similarity to the old case?”

“I have no doubt the two fires are connected. If the
first arsonist didn’t start the Tyson fire, he instigated it. And is somehow
involved in the smuggling operation.”

The implications boggled her mind. “There could be
more than one player.”

“A distinct possibility. I’ll mention it to Robichaud.”
He held out a hand. “You ready? You shouldn’t be here alone. Our bad guy could
sneak up on you from the woods.”