Chapter Twenty-Seven
The chime of Patrick’s cell phone startled me from a sound sleep. He answered it before the second ring, and I fumbled around for my phone to see what time it was. Eleven thirty p.m.
“Hello,” he said. “Matt. What’s happening?”
I stayed still as Patrick listened.
“When? Right now?” Patrick said. “I’ll check it out.”
“Who’s Matt?” I said, widening my eyes to see in the dark.
“He’s a buddy from the station, calling to give a heads-up.”
“This late? That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not. The house on Landry is on fire.”
“The crime scene?” I uttered, stunned. “Is it arson?”
“I’d say that’s a definite possibility.” He turned on the night table lamp.
“We’re involved in something big, aren’t we?”
“We’ll have to find out exactly what that is,” he said and stood to get dressed. “I’m going to check out the scene. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Oh no you don’t.” I jumped out of bed. “I’m coming, too!”
****
The flashing lights of the fire trucks and police cars served as disorientating beacons of disaster. I tried to avert my eyes from the strobes of light that were making me nauseated. Or maybe it was the stress of the situation. Patrick and I parked on the fringe of all the activity and got out of the car. Smoke and acrid stenches thickened the night air. Part of the roof had collapsed, and the firefighters continued to drench the house even though flames weren’t visible.
I forced a swallow.
“Are you okay?” Patrick asked.
“Yeah, I’m just not used to being so close to something like this.”
“How about we go for a walk? Want to check the periphery? Sometimes arsonists like to watch their handiwork,” Patrick said.
“So sick,” I said. We walked up the street, checking to see if any person was sitting in a parked car, or if anyone was hiding behind bushes or shrubs. I pulled out my phone and hit the video record button as we paced the area.
Patrick smiled. “Very resourceful.”
“For an amateur.” The neighboring houses stood in darkness. There was no movement in or around cars, foliage, or trees, but I kept recording anyway. A few neighbors in pajamas stood on their front lawn, watching the commotion. A hunched woman held a hand to her face.
After a walk up and down the street, we returned to Patrick’s vehicle.
“I saw nothing out of the ordinary, did you?” Patrick said.
I shook my head. “No.”
“How is your recording?”
I hit play on my phone. “It’s dark. And pixilated.”
Patrick leaned over my shoulder and watched. “Nothing is really discernible.”
“I should have turned on the torchlight. Oh, well.” I slipped the phone into my handbag.
“Video surveillance was a great idea, June. Now, how about we try to have a word with the captain?”
We advanced toward the bustling scene and found a firefighter beside a rumbling firetruck. He clutched a two-way radio close to his mouth. “Is the house negative for occupancy?”
“Yes, negative, Chief,” a crackled voice said. “The fire is controlled. We’re just wetting down hot spots.”
“Great news, Meyer. We’ll initiate salvage operations in the morning.” The captain turned toward us.
“Hello, Captain?” Patrick said.
“Wes Butler,” the man said.
“May we have a word?”
“Yeah. You are?”
“This is June Harber, and I’m Officer Verbeek. We’re investigating a crime that was committed in this residence.”
The captain nodded. “They made me aware there had been a murder inside.”
“Chief, do you have any indicators as to the cause of the blaze?”
“This fire had high intensity. It burned hot and fast. We won’t be able to make assessments until tomorrow.”
“My guess is arson for crime concealment,” Patrick said.
“Mine, too. But vandalism, pyromania, insurance fraud, or even an act of revenge have to be considered as well.”
Firefighters clomped by in their heavy boots, rolling up hoses.
“I’ll stop by in the morning,” Patrick said.
The captain nodded. “The team will still be here. And the fire marshal, if you have any further questions.”
“Thank you,” I said to the chief. “And be careful.”
Patrick and I headed back into his car. He smiled. “Be careful?”
I shrugged.
He put his arm around me. “You couldn’t get any sweeter if you tried.”
“Neither could you.”
Along the drive home, my mind raced as I tried to imagine how and why the fire had started. Maybe the murder suspect who was still on the loose doused the place with gasoline. I shivered.
“Are you tired?”
I shook my head. “Not really. You?”
“Would you mind if we stopped for a pizza?”
“I could go for that,” I said.
Patrick ordered from a pub, and we picked up the pizza on the way home. At the kitchen table, he opened the box. The smell of fresh bread and pepperoni made my mouth water.
I grabbed a slice and bit off the triangle tip. I was hungrier than I thought. “This is great.”
“Eat up,” he said and took a slice for himself.
I paused before taking another bite. “Is it just me, or does it feel like this case is becoming more obscure?”
He nodded. “It’s not just you.”
“What is your plan or your next move?”
“There are several areas to look into.”
“So many things have happened. Where do you start?”
“Here.” He finished his slice and then ripped off the top of the cardboard box and pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket. “Let’s get a visual.” In the center, he drew a house and then added items as he spoke.
“There are several unconnected events—the house with a body, a suspect running away, your assault, your house break-in, the business card you found, the two phone calls, and the house fire. The most dominant areas of interest are the house and the murder. Why was a man murdered? And did Dr. Fulthorpe know him? Dr. Fulthorpe needs to be contacted, especially now that his estate has been damaged. We’ll need to see the fire marshal’s report on whether they rule the blaze as arson, and if it is, the motive will have to be determined.”
“Do we go back to talk to Dr. Crawford?” I said. “And see if Dr. Fulthorpe has returned to work yet?”
“We can try to speak with him. This has become a full-on criminal investigation. Dr. Fulthorpe will have some explaining to do and a lot of questions to answer. His absence isn’t helping his case, either.”
“Hmm,” escaped my lips as I remembered what Aram had said to me a while ago.
“What, June?”
“I thought that Aram, Dr. Hamid, had said Dr. Fulthorpe was a good guy.”
“Good guy in what regard?”
“Well liked. Respected.”
“He may well be. But often, you never really know people, until you see what their actions are.” Patrick put down the pen. “The three outliers in this case, which have to be proven to be related and relevant, are the guy that knocked you over, your house break-in, and the prank calls. If they’re not related, we have more than one open investigation. Meanwhile, it’s vital to be wary. If you are being sought after for whatever reason, it would be wise to keep you out of sight and inaccessible as much as possible. Is that all right? Are you okay with this?”
“I won’t lie. This is all unnerving.”
“June, I will do everything I can to keep you out of harm’s way.”
His eyes glistened. I believed him and trusted what he said. I wanted to forget everything for the rest of the night. All I longed to do was go upstairs to the cozy loft.
“Patrick. Can we head upstairs?”
“I’d like nothing more.” He scooped me out of the chair with no apparent effort. He made me believe I was featherlight even as he soared up the stairs, two at a time.