Fire and Bones (Temperance Brennan #23)

Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

Possibly Stoll had changed to moss-green shorts and a lilac-and-teal Hawaiian shirt featuring Roy Rogers saddled up on Trigger. Up close, his scrawny limbs brought to mind old black-and-white photos of death camp survivors.

Deery’s opener was typically curt.

“Roy Stoll?”

Before the man could react, his exact duplicate appeared at his side, this version still sporting the ugly parrot tee. He, too, looked like he lived on nothing but celery. The cap and shades were gone, revealing hazel eyes flecked with gold and sandy hair fast losing ground to pasty white scalp. Features identical to those of the man to his right.

“My, my. What brings Johnny Law to our humble abode?”

“I assume you are Roy Stoll?” Deery tried again.

“You know what they say about that?” The man’s lips lifted into a smile showcasing remarkably small teeth. “Assume makes an ass out of u and me ,” he explained, emphasizing the breakdown in case the joke wasn’t clear.

Deery’s face never changed.

“I’m a detective with the—”

“Yes, sir. We saw your badge.”

“Am I speaking to Roy Stoll?”

“You are, indeed. And this is my brother—”

“—Ronan Stoll.” Hawaiian shirt.

“What in hell could the police possibly want—”

“—with us?”

They were twins. I got it. But their manner of finishing each other’s sentences was somewhat disconcerting.

“Perhaps this matter is best handled inside,” Deery suggested, sotto voce.

“My brother and I have nothing—”

“—to hide.”

“Your neighbors. Your choice.”

A quick sideways glance, then Roy stepped back. Brushing past Ronan, my nose took in a tsunami of something relying heavily on sage.

The brothers led us down a short hall, then left into a somewhat feminine version of a man cave. Faux cowhide rug. Faux maroon leather sofa. Dual recliners facing a billion-inch flat-screen TV.

A laminate bar ran the room’s rear wall, looking like a piece straight off an Amazon truck. A Bud Light sign hung above it, buzzing softly. A mini fridge sat behind it. Four matching stools bellied up to its front, each outfitted with a lavender vinyl seat.

“Por favor.” Roy arced a hand toward the couch.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Ronan added.

Deery and I circled a coffee table—a hippo supporting a tinted glass oval on its back—to sit where directed.

Ronan settled into a recliner and tucked one scarecrow leg under his bum.

“Nice place,” I lied.

“It’s home.” Ronan smiled broadly. Same undersized dentition.

Deery’s eyes met mine, narrowed in warning.

I nodded, acknowledging my earlier commitment to total silence.

Roy remained standing, arms crossed on his chest.

“Please sit down, sir,” Deery said.

“I’m happ—”

“Sit. Down.” Steely.

“Do you have a warrant, Detective Deery?”

“Do I need a warrant, Mr. Stoll?”

“Just comply,” Ronan whined. “I have things to do.”

Eyes rolling like synchronized pinballs, Roy sat.

“Have you an objection to my recording this conversation? For accuracy. For your protection as well as mine.”

“Of course not,” Ronan said.

Roy looked dubious but didn’t object.

While Deery set up his phone, I assessed my surroundings.

The room was tinted blue by the neon beer sign, giving it a watery, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea vibe. The air smelled of fried food. I guessed the takeout Roy had been carrying in the bag.

The unit was larger than its humble exterior suggested, probably occupying the building’s entire footprint. A narrow hall ran backward from the man cave to end in a kitchen at the rear. Checkerboard linoleum and harvest gold appliances suggested a love of sixties design. Or a lack of updating.

I counted five doors along the corridor, assumed they led to bedrooms and baths. Maybe closets. A study or library seemed unlikely.

The walls were hung with what I guessed were family photos. From where I sat, I could only see those on the left. One was a professional portrait. Three were amateur shots, enlarged, matted, and framed.

The portrait resembled those for which Gran had posed in her youth. Sepia-toned, it showed a woman seated in a high-backed chair, hair in a complicated updo, hands placed one atop the other in her lap.

The Kodak moments were in color and had a theme. Each showed the same woman at varying ages, with two identical boys at her sides. In the nearest photo, the boys were seven or eight and had on matching sweaters and bow ties. In the next, they were preteens wearing plaid open-collared shirts. In the third, they were young men, probably in their twenties, and finally dressing themselves. One had long hair and wore a Foo Fighters tee. The other was in a buzz-cut and Izod polo.

“May I ask about the lady?”

Roy’s voice brought me back.

“Accompanying me is Dr. Temperance Brennan,” Deery replied, giving zero reason for my presence.

“A dick and a doc. Catchy. You should pitch it to one of those true crime shows.”

Apparently, Roy considered himself quite the humorist.

“Do you feel my presence here is related to a crime, Mr. Stoll?” Deery’s face showed not the slightest trace of amusement.

“You’re a policeman.”

“Omygod!” Ronan angled forward, spine arced, a red patch spreading across each of his cheeks. “Is this about the break-in at Joyce and Clive Zamzow’s condo? We heard that their home was totally trashed. I was terrified. What if we’d been targeted instead? We could have been killed!”

“Their condo was not totally trashed. ” Roy’s mocking tone was clearly meant to deride his brother. “And the detective who interviewed us said the Zamzows were burglarized because they were out of town. We were not out of town.”

“You aren’t always right, you know.” Ronan slumped back in his chair, all cocked chin and affronted scowl.

The brothers weren’t always in sync , I thought. Made sense. Even twins must disagree at times.

Deery waited out the bickering, then, “I’m engaged in an arson investigation.” Calculatedly offering no further detail.

“Can’t help you with that. There’s been no scuttlebutt about a fire around here,” Roy said. Then to Ronan, “Have you heard anything?”

“What am I, gossip central?”

“There’s no call to be snappy,” Roy snapped.

“The fire was in Foggy Bottom,” Deery offered, watching carefully for a reaction. As did I.

The brothers exchanged puzzled looks.

“Foggy Bottom is way out of our—”

“—price range. What has this got to do with us, detective?”

“I’m VCB, sir.”

“I’m Sagittarius.” Roy pantomimed waggling a cigar, Groucho style.

“VCB is the department’s violent crimes bureau.”

“I didn’t think you were referencing a Vacuum Circuit Breaker.” Roy chuckled at his own wit. “That’s a gizmo we install—”

“People perished, Mr. Stoll.”

“Ohhh,” said Roy, drawing out the word in what seemed like mock anguish. “Forgive my tactlessness. I am truly sorry,” he said, sounding not sorry at all. “But we know nothing about buildings burning down in—”

“—Foggy Bottom. Please excuse my brother. Occasionally, Roy’s comedic timing is less than ideal.”

The brothers kept their eyes on their laps. Maybe their genitals.

The beer sign buzzed.

Seconds ticked by.

Ronan shifted from one skinny buttock to the other. Laced his fingers atop the lilac-and-teal horse and its rider.

Roy picked nonexistent lint from the parrot tee.

Roy cracked first.

“It’s tragic that people died,” he said. “Of course, it is. But my brother and I are simple contractors. We fix things.”

“You drive a yellow Toyota Camry. Is that correct, sir?” Deery employed another tactic, the quick segue.

“Yes.” Roy sounded genuinely puzzled. “But, meaning no disrespect, so do thousands of other people.”

“Your vehicle was spotted near the fire scene.”

“What? When?”

“The morning of May twenty-four.”

“Not our car.” Roy wagged his head so hard I feared an eyeball might fly from a socket. “No way.”

“Your Camry has a parking decal on its left rear window and a bumper sticker saying ‘I brake for aliens’?”

“What? What?” Simultaneous.

“And there’s this.” Deery pulled a copy of the photo taken at the second fire location from his pocket and laid it on the unfortunate coffee table.

Ronan sprang from his lounger, snatched it up and looked at the print.

“Let me see that.” Roy curled impatient fingers.

Winging the pic to his brother, Ronan dropped back into his chair.

“Where was this photo taken?” Roy asked.

Deery told him.

Roy studied the image a very long time. Trying to recall why his car was at that place on that date? Buying time to construct a cover story?

“Look. Detective. We own a business that operates in DC, Maryland, and Virginia. We move around, our vehicles move around. Occasionally I allow a friend or employee to drive the Camry. What can I say?” Spreading upturned “what can I say” palms.

Roy and Ronan gazed at us across the fake fur and fake hide, faces innocent as those of scouts selling cookies.

“Can you think of any reason your vehicle was in that area at that time?”

“Maybe we were working a job near there?” Roy looked to Ronan for help.

Ronan shrugged.

“We don’t bring our work calendar home with us, but I’d be happy to check,” Roy said.

“Do that.”

“First thing tomorrow morning.”

“Where is your business located, Mr. Stoll?”

“T Street. It’s no big deal, just a small garage in the back of a very large building. But it’s perfectly situated for our little operation and we’ve been there for years. We keep some tools, our books, a work van there.”

“Let’s try an easier one, now. Where were you on the evening of Thursday, May twenty-second? After work hours?”

“Seriously?” Nervous chuckle. “I hardly remember where I was last night.”

Not a twitch of a reaction from Deery.

Again, Roy turned to his brother, brows, hands, and shoulders raised in entreaty.

Eyes performing another theatrical roll, Ronan pulled a smartphone from a breast pocket of his shirt. Lips pursed, he scrolled with one skeletal finger, presumably checking his calendar app.

“Roanoke, Virginia.”

“You’re saying you were out of town, sir?”

“From late afternoon that Wednesday until midmorning the following Friday.”

“Can someone corroborate that?”

“Our grandmother.”

“You went on a road trip to Roanoke with your granny?” Skeptical.

“Our grandmother wished to visit her sister. We took her.”

“Did you drive there in your Camry?”

“We did not. We felt the Camry would be uncomfortable, so we borrowed a cousin’s SUV. They’re roomier, you know.”

“Where was the Camry?”

“We left it with my cousin.”

A beat, then,

“Perhaps you’ll have better recall concerning the evening of May twenty-eighth. Last Wednesday.”

“That’s easy,” Roy said. “My brother and I have dinner every Wednesday with our grandmother.”

“You two are very good to your granny.”

“Is that a question, detective?” Ronan’s tone now held all the warmth of a walk-in cooler.

“Our mother died when we were kids,” Roy offered, hoping to ease the escalating tension.

“Uh-huh. During what hours were you at your grandmother’s home?”

“We usually arrive at six,” Roy said. “GrammaSue always opens some excellent wine, and it’s a long drive out to Mount Airy, so we usually spend the night.”

“You did so on that occasion?”

“We did.”

“Your grandmother’s name, please?”

“Susan Jane Lipsey.” Roy flashed one of his tiny tooth smiles. “The old dear is eighty-eight years old but still goes by Susie. We call her GrammaSue.”

“Ms. Lipsey can corroborate that you were with her for the entire night on both the twenty-second and the twenty-eighth of May?”

“It’s Mrs. ” Ronan sniffed and recrossed his legs. “GrammaSue hates being called Ms. Detests the whole concept of hiding one’s marital status.”

“I’ll need Mrs . Lipsey’s contact information. And that of the cousin who lent you the SUV. And the address of your garage.”

Deery dug a Bic and small spiral from a hip pocket and extended them to Roy.

While Roy scribbled, I compared the brothers. Spotted not the tiniest feature to distinguish one from the other.

“Please don’t take offense, detective.” Roy returned the pen and notebook with an apologetic grin. “My twin can be overly protective when it comes to our grandmother.”

His twin raised one offended brow.

I understood Ronan taking offense. But giving Deery the benefit of the doubt, I assumed his use of the term “granny” was meant to bait.

But had he noticed? Deery was a skilled interrogator. Was he an equally good listener?

I couldn’t wait to leave. To be alone so I could ask him.

Still, I kept my face totally neutral.

“None taken.” Deery rose, pocketed his phone and other belongings, and placed a card on the hippo.

“If you think of anything further, call that number.”

I knew there was no way that would happen.

Ronan walked us to the door.

Back in the Durango, Deery was his usual taciturn self.

Before he could start the engine, I said, “You caught it, right?”

“Caught what?” Deery’s eyes were on me now.

“Caught that the bastards are lying.”