six-by-eight room containing a square table topped with the same taupe and gray faux marble found in the conference room. Two black chairs. And that was it.
The size of the room injected Vail with an instant dose of claustrophobia. Her eyes did a quick once-over of the space, her mind measuring it and adding it up and knowing it was small, but willing her brain to think it was plenty big, with enough air. She stood beside the door, ready to make a quick exit if the need arose.
As Vail struggled with her unfounded anxieties, she looked over at Walton Silva, who was occupying one of the two seats in the room. Silva wore well-tailored sweats that probably never saw the inside of a gym.
Dixon introduced herself, then nodded at Vail and said simply, “This is my partner. Can we get you anything to drink?”
“Any reason this had to be done now?” Silva made no attempt to stop his yawn. “It’s not even light out yet.”
Dixon sat down opposite Silva. “The sheriff is really upset about his stepson. He’s busting our butts. He’s called everyone in. We don’t want to let him down. And we’re hoping you can help us.”
Silva yawned again. “I’ll help you anyway I can. But what can
“We need to know about Scott. We knew him around the station, but friends always know us better than our coworkers.”
Silva shrugged.
“You’re with Rutledge Warren Stone, right?”
“I started there about a year ago.”
“How’d you do when the market tanked?”
“Like everyone else who had money in the market, I guess. I may be an investment banker, but I didn’t have a crystal ball. I took a bath.” His gaze drifted to Vail, who was standing still and quiet, across the room and to Dixon’s right, Vail’s shoulder beside the door. Back to Dixon: “But what’s that got to do with Scott?”
“How close were the two of you?”
Silva lifted a shoulder. “We went to school together, hung out, that sort of thing. We kind of lost touch when I left for college. But as soon as I moved back to town, we started talking again.”
“Scott was a good guy, wasn’t he?”
Silva sucked his left cheek, paused a moment, then said, “Yeah.”
“Did you two see a lot of one another?”
“About once or twice a month. We’d grab a beer when he got off shift. But we weren’t as close as we were before I left.”
“So you weren’t that close.”
“Nah, not like we were.”
“Let me show you something, Walton. It’s something Lieutenant Brix gave me a few minutes ago, and it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. Maybe you can help me understand it.”
“Sure.”
Dixon splayed open the manila folder Brix had given them, then turned it so Silva could see it. “These are phone logs for Scott’s cell phone. Can you tell me if you recognize any numbers on it?”
Silva pulled the sheets closer and looked them over. His eyes seemed to hover a bit, then he moved on down the long list. “No, nothing that looks familiar.”
Vail was moving now, catching Dixon’s attention. Dixon glanced over her right shoulder at Vail as Vail punched in a number on her BlackBerry. Dixon turned back to Silva.
“You sure about that?”
Silva shrugged again. “Yeah.” He looked at Vail and said, “I thought you’re not supposed to use cell phones in this building.”
Before Vail could answer, a musical ring tone sounded: the unmistakable strains of “Stairway to Heaven.” Silva’s eyes widened. Vail produced a thin-form Sanyo from her front pocket and held it up. A small red LED flashed on the top of the device.
Silva rose from his seat. “Hey, that’s my phone—”
“Is it?” Vail pressed a button on her BlackBerry and seconds later the Sanyo went quiet. “See, I just dialed 555-4981—”
“Okay,” Silva said. “I get what you’re doing.”
Dixon hiked her brow. “Really. What were we doing?”
Silva sat down slowly. “She—well, she called my number.”
“That’s funny,” Dixon said. She slid the papers in front of her and placed an index finger in a specific spot. “That number, 555-4981, appears on Scott’s phone logs. Every day, in fact.”
“Yeah, so what?”
Dixon leaned forward on her forearms. “Well, you looked at this phone log not a minute ago and said you didn’t recognize any of the numbers. And a minute before that, you said you weren’t that close with Scott anymore, yet according to these logs, you talked to him pretty regularly.”
“Obviously, I misspoke. It’s really early. It’s not even—”
“Not even light out, yeah, you told us.”
Silva looked from Dixon to Vail before settling back on Dixon. “Am I in some kind of trouble? Do I need a lawyer?”
“Nah,” Dixon said with a wave of her hand. “We’re just looking for answers and we could use all the help we can get. We like it when things fit together, and some things just aren’t fitting together.” Dixon let her fingers rest on Silva’s forearm. His gaze moved down to her hand. “Walton, there’s something else you can help us with. There was some scorched dirt mixed with a chemical residue near the cottage behind your house. We brought it to the lab for analysis and found that it contains a very specific substance called Class A foam.”
“Thanks for the chemistry lesson,” Silva said. “Can I go now? I’m really tired and I’ve got a full day ahead of me.”
Dixon tightened her hand on Silva’s forearm in case he was going to make a move to get up. “I’ve just got a couple more questions, if you don’t mind.”
Silva tilted his head in annoyance. “What?”
“Well, here’s that thing I mentioned earlier, the thing I said you could help us with. That same Class A foam found around your cottage is only used in fire extinguishers. And, see, manufactures put specific markers in their branded chemicals so they can be forensically distinguished among one another. And that exact foam was the one found at the arson scene where a woman was nearly burned alive.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“I’m sorry,” Dixon said, sitting back. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. What did you think I was implying?”
Silva looked from Dixon to Vail. “I think it’s time for me to call my lawyer.”
“Did you do something wrong, Walton? Do you need an attorney?”
“You tell me.”
Dixon turned to Vail. “Do you think he needs an attorney?”
Vail unfolded her arms, pleadingly holding out her hands. “We’re just looking for help, trying to figure out who killed Scott. Did you kill Scott, Walton?”
He sat back in his chair. “Are you out of your minds? Scott was my friend.”
Dixon nodded sympathetically. “Judging by how often you talked on the phone, I can see that. What did you talk about when he called you?”
Silva leaned his chair back on its two rear legs. “Stuff. You know, the market, where I saw things
