Chapter 68
The county fire marshal was waiting when Traci arrived at the dorm. She gasped and felt physically ill when she saw the burnt-out wreckage of the former golf cart barn. The concrete-block walls were smoke-blackened, but still standing, and the roof had caved in. It was a miracle that Felice and Livvy had escaped death.
The fire marshal was a woman named Dahlia Diaz. In her forties, she wore a long braid down her back and was outfitted in a Bonaventure Fire Department baseball cap, polo shirt, jeans, and knee-high rubber boots.
Traci introduced herself. “I know this is probably a dumb question, but I did promise I’d ask. Was there anything salvageable in there? Like laptop computers, for instance?”
“No, ma’am,” Dahlia said sadly in her thick Southern accent. “It’s all a total loss. If you want, I’ll walk you around and tell you what we found.”
The fire marshal led her around to the rear of the dorm, the area where the kitchen and laundry room had been. She pointed at a hole in the block wall near the back door, which was resting on the ground nearby. “The fire started here. You can see the washer and that gas dryer. See how the door was blown off?” She pointed at the jagged hole in the concrete block. “It looks like your arsonists put some articles soaked in an accelerant in the dryer. Likely kerosene. It was also sprinkled throughout the kitchen and the rest of the building. Then they set the dryer on high. When it got hot enough with the built-up pressure, it blew the door off and ripped the gas line here open.”
Traci’s mouth went dry, thinking of the narrowly avoided potential of that explosion. “Smart,” she murmured.
“Not that smart,” Dahlia said. “We can trace the fire’s route. We know accelerants were used, from the burn patterns on the floor. I will say your employees were fortunate they got out when they did.”
“What’s the next step?” Traci asked.
“Up to the sheriff’s office,” Dahlia said. “I’ll file my report with them. No question it’s arson, though.”
She was almost back to her cottage when her phone rang. Someone from the Bonaventure sheriff’s office was calling.
“Mrs. Eddings? This is Deputy Shapley. We met earlier today at the ER?”
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“We could use your assistance. We’ve been trying to interview KJ Parkhurst, but he insists you’re the only one he’ll talk to.”
“Me?” Traci was stunned.
“He wants to get some stuff off his chest. We believe it’s only a matter of time before his rich daddy figures out what all kind of trouble sonny boy is in. When that happens, he’ll bring in some high-dollar Atlanta criminal attorney and KJ won’t say another word to us. So if you could come down here and talk to him that’d be real helpful.”
Shapley met her in the lobby of the sheriff’s headquarters.
“What exactly do you want me to say to KJ?” she asked as they walked down a long hallway lined with stern-faced portraits of past sheriffs.
“Let him do the talking. Try to stay friendly. Neutral. If you can get him to tell us about the fire, and how it started, great. But the bigger issue is the murder of your niece. We’d really like to get him talking about that.”
They stopped at a desk where a female deputy was seated, typing at a computer monitor. “This is Deputy Gruver.”
The deputy was a dumpling-shaped woman with a pleasant smile. She took Traci behind a screen, patted her every which way possible, then nodded and returned her to Shapley.
He gestured at a door with a window in the middle. “He’s waiting for you. We’ll be watching through a one-way mirror on the other side, and recording the interview. We don’t believe Parkhurst is violent, so he’s not handcuffed. But if you feel uncomfortable or threatened, just tell him the interview’s over, and we’ll come in immediately.”
“No handcuffs?” Traci frowned. “What if he…”
“He won’t,” Shapley said. He pointed at the window into the room. “Look at him. He hasn’t slept, won’t touch the food he’s been given. He’s a whipped dog.”
Shapley’s description was apt. KJ was dressed in an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit with BONAVENTURE COUNTY JAIL stenciled across the front. It was probably the cheapest logoed clothing item he’d ever worn. He was unshaven, his hair greasy and stuck to his head. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and the black eye he’d sported last night, plus the bruised jaw, were turning purplish green.
“Ready?” Shapley asked.
Traci took a deep breath. “I guess.”
KJ had been slumped down in the chair with his eyes closed, but when she entered the room, he sat up straight.
“Hi, KJ,” Traci said. She was so nervous her palms were sweating, her pulse racing. Her voice came out high and squeaky, like a cartoon mouse.
“Mrs. E. You came.”
She sat in the chair across from him at the table and waited.
KJ stared down at his lap. “I, uh, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. For everything that happened. You were nice to me. Treated me right. I feel real bad about all of it.”
“All of what?” she said impassively.
“You know.” He raked his fingers through his hair, looking everywhere except at her.
“You mean the fire? At the dorm?”
“Yeah. That and all the other stuff. I’m not like that. Really, I’m not. I’ve never been in any trouble before. Well, no serious trouble.”
Because you’re a Saint—a rich white kid who never had to take responsibility for his actions,Traci thought.
“Then how did you get mixed up with Garrett and Charlie Burroughs?”
He looked up, surprised. “You know about Charlie?”
“Some of it, but I was hoping you’d tell me.”
His cheeks bloomed crimson. “They were blackmailing me. I didn’t have a choice.”
“They figured out you were gay?”
Now he looked right at her. “You knew?”
“I guessed.”
“That bitch Marcie figured it out. She saw me leaving the Back Porch.”
“The gay club in town?”
“Yeah. It was Wild West night. I was just having a little fun. But she spotted me and let Burroughs know. Pretty sure she’s sleeping with him. One day I was working in the boutique, and pricing some really expensive sweaters. The count was way off. When I told her, she said I better mind my own business. That’s when she told me she’d seen me at the Back Porch and I should keep my mouth shut unless I wanted my granddad to know I was a friggin’ faggot.”
The words sent a chill down Traci’s spine. Marcie Meadows had worked at the Saint for at least five years. She was hardworking and efficient, great at merchandising the shop, and fabulous as a saleswoman, and also as a thief, apparently.
“So, it started with the thefts. Clothing from the boutique? What else?”
“Everywhere, really. Garrett sold cases of booze out of the trunk of his car, to people in town. And he’d let his buddies drink free at the Saint, or get them comped rooms at the hotel, so he could eat and drink free at bars and restaurants in town.”
“And Charlie? What was his department?”
KJ made an expansive gesture with both hands. “He took a cut of everything. I was the noob—you know, the new guy—so I wasn’t in on everything. But I heard he made a lot of money when the hotel was being renovated. Garrett said anybody who did business with the Saint had to do business with Charlie first.”
“That included the seafood and meat wholesalers in the restaurant?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Whose idea was it to burn down the dorm?” she asked.
He grimaced. “That was Garrett. Livvy, she thought she was some kind of detective. She used to watch all those true-crime shows and listen to murder podcasts. Her and Felice kept poking around, asking questions.”
“He figured Felice and Livvy knew about his operation?”
“Yeah. He found out they’d talked to one of his old girlfriends and she told them a bunch of stuff. Garrett said if we didn’t do something, right away, we’d go to prison.”
Traci leaned forward, trying to get him to look her in the face, but he still averted his eyes. “Tell me about the fire. How did you do it?”
KJ looked down at his hands again, clenching and unclenching them. “Sunday, after the girls left, we went in and put the roofies in everything in the fridge. Felice’s kombucha, Livvy’s open bottle of wine, a bottle of Dr Pepper, all of it. We waited until we figured the girls were zonked out, then we snuck back into the dorm. There was a load of towels already in the dryer. We soaked them in kerosene, then set the dryer on high. Because it was a gas dryer, it was supposed to blow up, once it got hot enough inside.”
KJ gingerly touched his bruised jaw.
“How’d you get those bruises?” she asked.
“Garrett was really pissed because he saw Livvy searched his room. He had one of those little hidden camera things, and he watched her on his phone. We were supposed to leave after we did the dryer thing, but he dragged out some more towels and clothes and put ’em around the dorm and outside their rooms, and sprinkled kerosene there too. I didn’t know it, but he’d brought along these little spike things, and he stuck them in the locks on their doors, so they couldn’t get out.”
“You mean, so they’d be burned alive?” Traci’s stomach churned as she pictured what could have happened.
“I told him that was taking it too far. He threw some punches, called me a fruity little titty-baby.” KJ rubbed his bruised jaw.
“Then we went out to the woods to wait. By then, Garrett had cooled down. We smoked some weed ’cuz we were both pretty amped up.”
“Was Charlie there?” she asked.
“He told us he’d meet up with us and give us some money to get away. But he ghosted us.”
“How long did you wait?”
“Dunno. I fell asleep. I woke up when the dryer exploded. Flames were shooting out of the kitchen windows. Garrett took off on the golf cart. He left me behind.”
No honor among thieves,Traci thought.
“Where did Garrett go?”
KJ ran his fingers through his greasy hair again. He looked nothing like the puppy-eyed frat boy who’d reported to work at the Saint in his pop-collared polo shirt and boat shoes only a month earlier.
“Not sure. To his girlfriend’s, maybe?”
“The one who works at the Saint’s spa?” she asked.
KJ laughed bitterly. “Who knows? He was boning a lot of chicks in town.”
“Why didn’t you leave when Garrett did?”
He put his head down on the conference table, cradling it in both hands.
“Don’t know.” His voice was muffled.
“Come on,” Traci said, making an effort not to lose her temper. She glanced toward the one-way mirror, knowing Shapley was on the other side, silently willing her to get to the most urgent issue at hand.
“You know what I think?” she said softly. “I think maybe you’re not like Charlie or Garrett. You’re a decent person who made some bad decisions.”
Slowly, he raised his head. Now he looked right at her, his eyes red-rimmed and full of self-pity. “I’m not anything like them,” he said.
“KJ. Could you tell me about what happened at the afterparty? With Parrish?”
He buried his head again. “I can’t talk about that.”
She waited. Looked up at the large clock on the wall. Heard it ticking, heard her own breath, in and out, in and out, synced to the second hand of the clock. KJ’s shoulders shuddered. And still she waited.
Minutes passed. He sniffled and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jumpsuit.
“It was a mistake,” he said, tears running down his cheeks. “A huge mistake.”
“Whose idea was it to drug Parrish?”
He shook his head again, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t… I mean, I need to call my dad. I don’t want to say anything else. Call my dad, please.”
He gave her the puppy-dog eyes again. “I’m so sorry. I never thought any of this would really happen. I was stoned. So was Garrett.”
There it was. The confession. She’d done what she’d been asked to do. But she had more questions.
“The next day, you went back out to the Shack, pretending to look for Parrish, even though you knew she was dead. And then you and Garrett got rid of any evidence. Cleaned things up nice and neat, didn’t you?”
His face had turned to stone. He pointed toward the window. “Call my dad. I want a lawyer!”
“Where did Charlie and Garrett go?” Traci persisted. “Where are they now?”
He shrugged and looked at the ceiling.
“I think you know, KJ,” she said. “Why protect them? They ran off and left you behind. Probably the two of them are splitting the money you three stole from me.”
KJ sniffled again and wiped his nose on the other shoulder of his jumpsuit.
She pointed at the mirror. “There’s a detective behind that glass. He’s recorded everything you just told me, including your confession to theft, arson, attempted arson, and a bunch of other stuff. I’m no lawyer, KJ, but I do know that Georgia is a death penalty state. You might want to think about that.”
He stiffened. “I didn’t kill anybody. I want a lawyer.”
Traci exhaled. She’d done what she’d come here to do.
The door opened and Shapley stepped inside. He gave her a curt nod, then directed himself to KJ. “Does Garrett know where you are? How about Burroughs, the boss-man?”
“Lawyer,” KJ repeated. He put his head down on the table.
“I’ll walk you out,” Shapley said as they left the interrogation room. “I wouldn’t worry too much about Burroughs and Wycoff. I’ve had deputies posted outside the gates to your property since I spoke to your witnesses at the hospital. If he’s on that island of yours, we’ll find him.”
“They could be anywhere by now,” Traci said.
“We’ll catch them,” Shapley repeated. “Go home now.”