Up in Smoke (30 page)

Garrett, too, was a firefighter twenty years ago. Egelhoff, Fromm, and Garrett battled a forest fire where—five? six?—some number of firefighters died. Now Egelhoff and Fromm were dead and only Garrett was alive.

A woman named Cass Storm had just moved back to town, she had lived here twenty years ago and knew all three men. What connections besides proximity did she have with them? Nothing to do with smoke jumping as far as he knew. He'd check. Old angers and resentments that could lead to revenge? Nothing like a woman scorned to think of serious revenge. Was Storm a woman scorned? And if so, which one had scorned her?

What was big-deal political writer, Pulitzer prize winner, Sean Donovan, cousin of Her Ladyship the Chief, doing with the Garrett campaign? His business card had turned up in the trunk of the car with Gayle Egelhoff's body, his fingerprints were in her house.

Why was the kid attacked? Did she know more than she was telling? That was a given. Everybody knew more than he was telling. Right now the girl wasn't able to say much. What could she know? How did her assault fit in with the murders?

Maybe the bastard broke in thinking the house was empty and got a big surprise. Why break in? Looking for something? What? If it was the unknown suspect who killed the Egelhoff broad, had he left something in the house? Or worried that he had?

If so, it was nothing that leaped up in Demarco's face. He'd have to talk with the kid, walk her through the place, maybe she'd spot something missing. If the son of a bitch had any brains—which they often didn't—he'd just let it go. Nothing in the house—at least that Demarco had found so far—pointed a finger at anybody.

Rewrapping the sandwich, he tossed it back in the refrigerator and was eyeing the leftover pizza when Yancy called to say a reporter had gotten to the Egelhoff girl.

*   *   *

Demarco was livid that Her Ladyship's hot shit reporter cousin had been able to get to the kid. He felt like tearing the head off the uniformed officer guarding her door. Just the thing to get rid of the tension along the back of his shoulders.

“You manage to let anybody else in while I was on my way?” he demanded.

Officer Cooper, a lanky kid with red hair and pale skin that tended to flush under stress—like now—clenched his jaw. “Nobody but the doctor.”

“How the fuck could you be so stupid?”

“Sorry, sir, I thought I had it covered. I was only gone a minute.”

“A minute during which a suspect got to the witness. How long you think it takes to slip a knife under a girl's ribs? She could be dead because of you.”

“Sorry, sir, it won't happen again.”

“Damn right, it won't, or I will personally see to it that you'll be eating nothing that requires teeth. You need to take a piss, tie a knot in it.”

The girl, scrunched down in bed, had the television on but wasn't watching it. She looked like she was fighting sleep in that dead tired way of little kids. She jumped when he came in.

Rummaging around on the bed, she found the laptop under the blankets.
Creeping up! Scared me!

“Sorry. I thought you might be bored here so I brought you something.”

She eyed him with deep suspicion.
What?

“A game called Kill The Invaders. Ought to be just your style. Hey, might even get rid of some of that aggression you carry around.

Don't.

“You need anything from home?”

No.

“Just plain no? You don't want to throw in a few four-letter words and about ninety exclamation points?”

Ha. Funny.

He leaned back and stretched his legs out. “You sure you don't want anything? Don't girls always like to primp and need tubes and pots and stuff?”

Have never primped!!!!

“There you go with the exclamation points. Tell me what you want and I'll bring it.”

She glared at him, then typed out carefully.
He touched my things!

“The intruder?” Demarco nodded. “Not much I can do about that. Except maybe get a shovel and dump everything in the trash.”

She scrunched her eyes tight as though afraid she might cry.

“You all right?”

She made that slight dip of her head that passed for a nod, avoiding too much movement that would arouse pain. She didn't look all right. She looked tense and frightened.
Where you been?

“Why? You miss me?”

She started to scowl, then winced and wiped her face blank.
No way.

She was trying so damn hard to be tough, he felt like ruffling her hair. Instead, he grabbed her wrist and squeezed gently. “Did he scare you? The man who was in here last night?”

She gave him one of her looks of scorn. That's my girl, he thought, keep your spirits up.
Nice. Unlike you.

“Nice? You just haven't seen my nice side yet. When I turn on the charm, all the women in a twenty-mile vicinity swoon and throw themselves at me.”

You wish.

“What did he want?” Demarco pulled the armchair closer and slid down so he could see the computer screen easier.

She shrugged.
Called me Acushla.

“Better than Moonshine. Why you want to call yourself that?”

Moonbeam!

“Moonshine, moonbeam, you got a perfectly good name, why don't you use it?” He knew why. She wanted a name that said, Look at me, I'm different, I'm important, I'm special.

Arlene dork name!!!!!!

“I've heard worse.”

Name one.

“Eglantine.”

She dealt him another look of scorn.
You made that up.

“What, you never heard of the famous actress Eglantine Fontelle?”

She eyed him suspiciously, as if not quite believing there actually was such a person, but afraid she'd sound stupid if she admitted she didn't know.

Where's Rosie?

“Who's Rosie?”

Gayle's dog.

Ah, so there was a dog. “What kind of dog?”

Belgian Shepherd.

“You miss your dog?”

Not mine! Gayle's!

“I see. You don't like the dog.”

A heavy sigh of frustration at his idiot brain started in her chest, but stopped halfway up when it hit the pain threshold.
Rosie only likes Gayle. My dog died.
Her eyes glistened and she blinked furiously.

“When?” A thought passed through his mind that there might be a connection with Gayle Egelhoff's murder.

Long time ago. Years.

“Why didn't you get another?”

She shrugged. The kid had about as many varieties of shrugs as she had looks of scorn.
Too expensive.

“Somewhere a dog is waiting.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I'll help you find him when you get out of here. What does a Belgian Shepherd look like?”

Big. Black.

“Like a German Shepherd?”

She did that nod thing.
Only Blacker.

“Would it have run away?”

Never.

“You weren't home the night your sister was attacked.”

Told you. Music Festival.

“Would the dog, Rosie, have protected Gayle? Gone after whoever was threatening her?”

Sure.

So, why hadn't it? He didn't know anything about Belgian Shepherds, but German Shepherds were aggressive. They wouldn't stand by while an owner was attacked. And if the bastard killed the dog, why hadn't they found its body?

Want my backpack.

“Where is it?”

Not sure.

“Did you have it when you snuck back into the house?”

Yes.

“Why do you want it?”

Has my stuff in it.

“What stuff?”

Backpack! Just bring it!

“Okay. Calm down. Where is it?”

A number five on the Richter scale of scorn came his way.
Bed,
she started to type, then stopped.

“In your bed?”

A limited scowl because of the possibilities of pain given a real one.
Bedroom I think!

“I'll find it. What does it look like?”

Backpack. Black.

“Okay. Anything else?”

Hunched in on herself, she typed.
Only Gayle.

“Sorry, kid. I wish I could.”

She typed.
You found me?

“When you were hurt? Yeah.”

How know?

“A neighbor saw lights and heard noise.”

The kid typed,
Mrs. Hadwent!

“No. A Mrs. Cleary.”

The kid nodded.
Always yammering about how she had went to the doctor's and had went to the drug store and had went to church. Gayle and I called her Mrs. Hadwent. Nosey old bitch!

“Watch your language. Be nice about her. Wasn't for her, you'd be dead.”

He squeezed the kid's shoulder and left. He liked her. She was a mess. She had nobody to take care of her. All that idiocy with the clothes and the foul language was part adolescent trying to figure out who she was and part aching heart crying out for somebody to look at her, pay attention, love her. He hoped a good foster parent could be found, one who genuinely liked kids and tried to do right by them, not one only interested in the monthly check. This girl was like a frightened kitten trying to survive in a hostile world. Somebody needed to take her in and teach her things. How to be independent without dressing like a hooker, how to take care of herself. Somebody who would let her feel safe, so she didn't have to hiss and spit all the time.

*   *   *

Demarco let himself into the Egelhoff place and stood just inside the doorway, sensing whatever the house chose to tell him. It was quiet, only the creaks and groans of an old house talking to itself. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and covered his shoes with paper slippers.

In the living room, CDs had been tumbled from the shelf holding the player. Cushions uprooted or thrown to the floor. Dining room. China cabinet doors open, dishes and glasses shoved around, two wine glasses fallen and broken. Kitchen. Drawers open, dumped, cabinet contents shoved out. Master bedroom. Clothes spilling from dresser drawers, closet doors open. Kid's bedroom. Real mess. Maybe a little worse than when he'd searched the first time, but not much.

Whatever the asshole had been looking for had to be small enough to fit under a couch cushion, and fairly flat. Or he was just angry and took it out by making a mess. Unless he was smart. Then he'd have created just such a mess to suggest the item was small when it was actually as big as a VCR.

Demarco had no way of knowing if anything was missing. He'd need the kid with him to know that. Since she wasn't available, he'd see what he could find. Going under the principle that an individual brought something with him to the scene and took something with him when he left, Demarco searched. He was disciplined and methodical, why he'd been so suited to the military, and went through the house inch by inch. He checked windowsills, crawled on floors, examined corners and baseboards, looked with differing angles and differing heights for scuff marks, footprints, palm prints discernable to the naked eye.

The kitchen was a bitch because of the enormity of the mess, food from the refrigerator dumped in the sink. Presumably to check the containers for the item in question. He opened the refrigerator door to see what was left inside. The dickhead hadn't dumped everything. He'd left five small containers, about six inches by four inches. So whatever he was looking for was bigger than roughly six by four and not over four inches in height.

Didn't exactly zero it down. Could be anything. Only thing Demarco knew for sure, it wasn't an elephant.

He searched both bedrooms. Down on his knees, poking under the beds, checking the closets, corners, and shelves and the only thing he got for his pains was a moldering apple core in the kid's room. And the backpack. He stood up, looked around, took in a breath and blew it out. Waste of time. That didn't irritate him. In the military time was often wasted.

Closet where the kid had hidden and pelted the intruder with such potentially lethal items as pillowcases and blankets. The floor was littered with them. Also candles and candleholders, broken glass flower vase, old Easter baskets, and a flashlight without batteries. He wondered if the vase had been a hit. It would help if the asshole had a broken nose or a facial cut that needed stitching.

The kid had said she jumped straight toward him from the top shelf. She'd landed on him and clutched at his jacket. She thought she'd heard it rip, but she was yelling so loud she couldn't be sure. If she was right, there might be threads somewhere. With his nose almost on the floorboards, he crawled along the length of the closet. He was about to give it up when he saw a little ball of crumpled paper caught in the door hinge.

Gently, with tweezers, he picked up the ball of paper and dropped it in a plasticine envelope. He could see it had some writing on it. He wrote the date and his initials on the envelope.

In the bathroom with the little girl's blood, now a dark rusty color, all over the floor, he was mindful of where he put his feet. Medicine cabinet had a bottle of aspirin, cotton balls, Q-tips, and nail polish.

After another run through to make sure he hadn't missed anything, he headed out. Anything more would have to wait until the kid was up to coming with him. One crumpled ball of paper wasn't much to show for the time and energy exerted in finding it. He drove to the shop, went in to his desk and examined the backpack. Earrings dangled all up the edges of the shoulder straps.

He put on a pair of latex gloves and unzipped the front pocket. A piece of notepaper folded in half. He unfolded it and read
As soon as they'll let me I'll come and see you. I've got lots to tell you. Stuff I can't put in words if you know what I mean. Bart asked about you in school yesterday. I think he likes you.
He refolded it and stuck it back.