Crush

dinged, dull-metal butane lighter.

Vail and Robby shook their heads.

“Should it?” Robby asked.

“I’m here with an investigator from CalFire. We rely on them to determine cause and origin, and he’s pretty sure this here lighter is what was used to start it. That and gasoline. Found a can back behind the building. We’ll know more by morning, once we’ve had a chance to run it all through the lab.”

“Arson,” Vail said. Jesus Christ. What have I gotten myself into?

“Looks that way. When so much fire spreads that quickly, the cause is automatically suspicious.” Gordon handed the evidence bags to a nearby assistant. “Building was a freestanding structure, so no one else was at risk. All the other renters got out without a problem. So the question begging to be asked is, Any idea who’d want to kill you?”

“We just got to town a couple days ago,” Robby said. “Not enough time for anyone to get to know us, let alone want to kill us.”

Vail rose from the bumper. “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

Robby gave her a pleading look. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Dixon shoved her cell back into her pocket. To Vail, she said, “We’re good for the search. You were right.” She looked up at Robby. “As to any . . . disputes Karen may have had, they would’ve been with law enforcement officers. None of them would’ve done this.”

Vail nodded slowly. “I’ve pushed some buttons, but Roxxann’s right.”

“We talking about people here, on-site?”

Vail nodded. “The task force. Brix, mostly. I said some things the mayor, board of supervisors president, and Congressman Church’s District Director took offense to.”

“Again,” Dixon said, “not the kind of people who’d be involved with something like this.”

Gordon sucked on his teeth, then nodded slowly. “Okay, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m going to meet with each one of these people, on-site, right now. Get alibis, statements from each of them—”

“Mayor Prisco, Supervisor Zimbroski, and Tim Nance aren’t here,” Dixon said.

“Then I’ll send someone to go find them. This is serious goddamn shit, Investigator Dixon. And I take my job seriously. Which means I gotta ask you, where were you tonight?”

Dixon set her jaw, then said, “I went home after dropping Karen off here.”

“Anyone who can corroborate that?”

“My dog. He’s a standard poodle. He’s very smart.”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed.

“But,” Dixon said, “I suggest a recorded statement. His handwriting’s paw. I mean, poor.”

Gordon stared at her. “I’ll get you a pad and pen and you can give me your statement. I suggest you leave out that bullshit about your dog.” He hobbled off toward the now doused but still simmering structure.

Dixon watched him until he walked sufficiently out of range, then said, “What kind of bullshit is that? Thinking I had something to do with this. He pissed me off.”

Robby rubbed his eyes. “Not your fault. Karen’s got a way of rubbing off on people.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Vail said. She then shivered, grabbed a blanket the paramedic had given her earlier and wrapped it around her shoulders. “My backup piece was in there.”

“Yeah, well, it’s probably toast.” Robby winced. “Sorry.”

“Better it than me.” Vail wiggled her fingers at him. “Can I have your phone? Mine’s now an expensive paperweight, assuming they ever find it.”

Robby handed her his cell. She dialed Thomas Gifford’s direct line and left him a message, briefly telling him what happened, knowing he wouldn’t get it until he arrived in the morning. That was fine—there was nothing for him to do, but if she didn’t keep him informed of a potential attempt on her life, he would not be pleased. She handed Robby back the cell, rewrapped the blanket, and said, “So . . . no clean clothes and no place to sleep.”

“You guys can stay with me,” Dixon said. She gave Vail a quick once-over. “You’re a little taller, but I’ve got something you can wear until you can go shopping.”

“Guess I know what I’m doing tomorrow,” Robby said.

“Hey, let me borrow your phone again.” Robby handed it back to Vail, and she began dialing. “Who are you calling?”

“Jonathan.” She glanced over and saw Robby look at his watch, no doubt doing the time calculation. “I just need to hear his voice,” she said. “He’s a teen, he’ll fall right back to sleep.” But he didn’t answer. His cell went straight to voicemail. She listened to his recorded greeting, grinned, then left a message, told him she loved him, and that she’d call him when she had a moment.

As Vail handed her phone back to Robby, Dixon yawned wide and loud, then said, “Let me go write up my statement, then we can get the hell out of here.”

After Dixon walked off, Vail cuddled into Robby’s chest, watching the firefighters mill about, rolling hoses, packing air tanks, and stowing tools.

Gordon’s question echoed in her thoughts: Any idea who’d want to kill you? It was a question for which she had no rational answer.

Yet.

TWENTY-ONE

Someone was shoving her. Pushing her shoulder. What. Who—

It was Robby, lying beside her in the double bed of Roxxann Dixon’s guest bedroom. Because of Robby’s breadth and the mattress’s small size, they were jammed up against one another most of the night. That is, once Vail stopped hacking and fell asleep sometime around 1 a.m.

Robby was handing her his cell phone. “Your boss.”

“I didn’t even hear it ring.”

Vail pushed herself up on an elbow—and launched into a coughing fit. She rolled out of bed, hurried into the bathroom, and spit up a glob of soot-infused mucus. She swallowed some water, leaned on the sink a moment, then turned. Robby was standing there.

“You okay?” Robby asked.

“Peachy.” She took the phone, cleared her throat, and said, “Yes, sir.”

“You sound about as good as my eighty-year-old father,” Thomas Gifford said. “Smoked two packs a day for fifty years.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s good to know.”

“I got your message. Thanks for keeping me abreast of the situation. Wish you’d called me at home—”

“There was nothing you could’ve done. With the time difference, I would’ve woken you. No point.”

“True. Okay, here’s what I’ve set in motion. Art’s been in L.A. testifying in that Blue Lake Killer case. He was due to fly back to Quantico this afternoon, but I had him switch flights. He’s gonna stop off in Napa on his way. Just a quick visit.”

Art Rooney was a sharp profiler, someone Vail respected, and the person to whom Gifford assigned most of their serial arson cases. His input could only help.

“But this is not a serial,” Vail said.

“You sure?”

Actually, she had no idea. “I’ll check on that. I never asked.”

“Do you need any medical attention? Are you okay?”

“A paramedic worked on me, I should probably follow up with someone here.”

“Good. Do it. I’ve also made arrangements for you to get a new phone. An agent from the Santa Rosa Resident Agency is picking up Art at the Napa Valley Airport, so he’ll give the phone to Art, who’ll give it to you. A new badge will be overnighted to you. Which brings me to the next item.” He waited a few seconds before saying, “Do you think this fire was targeting you?”

“Hard to say at this point, sir. No obvious suspects.”