Chapter 17
LEVI
My back aches, reminding me of my age. It was a long day at the clinic, running between farm calls and appointments. Walker asked me to meet him at Santiago’s house after I closed the clinic, and I obliged.
Not that it would take much to get me here.
Even though the sun has just dropped below the horizon, the inside of Santiago’s home is lit up as if it's still day.
Santiago's kitchen looks like it was built for feeding an army. A massive island made of dark wood sits in the center of the room beneath wrought-iron pendant lights. The black cabinetry contrasts with the weathered timber beams overhead.
Snow taps against the windows outside. Inside, a cold bottle of beer slides across the kitchen counter toward me, and I catch it, popping off the lid with a bottle opener. Santiago stands on the opposite side of the island from where I sit on a wooden stool.
The creak of the front door and the familiar cadence of boots on the hardwood floors alert us to Walker’s arrival.
“In here,” Santiago calls.
Walker crosses the kitchen in three long strides and drops a large stack of manila folders on the dark granite between Santiago and me. “This is how you can help.”
Santiago takes a sip of his beer, then uses it to point at the mountain of reports. “You’re joking.”
Walker scoffs, folding his arms. “Did you think you’d be kicking down doors and getting in shootouts?”
“I mean…” Santiago trails off.
“Well, police work includes researching and analyzing data.” Walker gives Santiago a look that is full of smug satisfaction.
“We’re on it,” I claim as I grab the first file from the top and open it in front of me. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“I have a theory,” Walker informs us with a nod.
Santiago waves his hand out. “Care to share with the class?”
Walker shakes his head. “I don’t want there to be any bias. Just look for patterns.” He taps the pile, then turns on his heel and heads back out the door.
As Santiago picks up the next file, I remind him teasingly. “Don’t forget to put on your grandpa glasses.”
Santiago gives me a miffed look. “Ha. Ha. Very original.”
I smile into my beer when I spot Santiago retrieving his glasses from the living room.
Two beers later, I’ve filled half of a legal pad with notes. Santiago has his own organization system that only makes sense to him. To me, it looks like a tornado came through the kitchen and only hit his files.
Opening the next manila folder, a certain detail sticks out to me.
I’ve read this before.
Flipping back through my notes, I count the number of times the detail has come up, and a sickening wave of realization wells up in my abdomen. “Oh, my God.”
Santiago discards his file into his mess. “What is it?”
I don't give him an answer as I stare down at the papers in front of me. “That bastard.”
“Who’s a bastard?” Santiago rises from his seat, rounding the island.
“That dirty, rotten bastard!” I shout as I throw my pen down.
Santiago searches for the answer, hovering over my shoulder. “Gotta give me a little more to work with.”
I point to the words I just read in the case file. “I think this is what Walk wanted us to find.”
Santiago picks up my notes, flipping through the pages. “Are you saying that Derek Holt was the arsonist?”
Retrieving specific files, I show him what I found. “He was first on the scene for every arson fire, and he saved each person who was caught in the fire. And look here. The direction the fires spread seems to be away from the people who were in the buildings.”
Santiago strides back to his side, somehow able to find exactly what he's looking for in his clutter. He flips through each file he pulls, reading the same few words aloud over and over. “First on scene: Derek Holt.” He drops the folders, adding to the disarray. “Why would he do it?”
Shaking my head, I shrug my shoulders. “I’m sure Walk has an idea.”
“I’ll call him.” Santiago sighs as he grabs his phone.
Walker is back in Santiago's kitchen in less than 10 minutes. He looks at us expectingly, impatiently waiting to hear our analysis.
“Derek Holt is the arsonist,” I state plainly. “He was first on scene at all the arson fires. And not just first. He got there more than ten minutes before the truck. At each one, he saved at least one person.”
Santiago rocks on his feet. “I’d bet my entire herd that he knew where the people were every time, making it easier to save them.”
Not a single muscle twitches on Walker's face.
Santiago narrows his gaze. “You already knew, didn’t you?”
Walker lets out that disappointed breath. “I had a hunch.”
My lips curved down, forming a small frown. “How?”
“When I talked to Julie Holt, her mantle was basically a tribute to her first husband, who died while in the army,” Walker explains, rubbing the back of his neck.
“There were only a few pictures with Derek. I didn’t search the whole house.
I was only in the living room, but I assume it’s the same everywhere else. ”
My eyes stare blankly at nothing, attempting to put together the entire picture. “So…what? You’re saying Derek set fires so his wife would think that he’s a hero like her late husband?”
Walker shoves his hands into the pockets of his brown wool-lined coat. “Exactly.”
I would think that after taking such a huge step in this case, Walker would look relieved, but instead it's as if Santiago and I confirming his theory has added to the stress weighing him down.
Santiago corks abroad. “You get that from your cousin, the hot shot FBI man?”
“I didn’t call him,” he pauses, “Yet.” Walker blinks, and the haunted look in his eye is gone. “Next step is to figure out who would hold a grudge against Derek for this.”
“That would mean someone else put two and two together.” I presume.
Santiago's eyes dart between Walker and me, waiting for one of us to confirm. “Do you think someone figured it out?”
Walker's tone turns grave. “I think so. According to Derek’s wife, everyone loved him. The fire chief said the same thing. So who does that leave?”
“A person who lost something because of the fires he set,” I deduce. “No one died, but there was plenty of property damage.”
“It could be someone from his past,” Santiago suggests
Walker nods. “Always a possibility.”
“What do we do next?” Santiago inquires.
“Let me guess,” I interject, “more research.”
Walker tilts his head. “Exactly.”
Santiago and I groan in unison, bringing an amused smile to Walker's face.