knew or remembered. He was one of the brightest guys she knew. And he could have learned things from Otis P. Dodd’s personal letters, but they wouldn’t have told Jeffery any details about these fires.
She couldn’t remember any one of their interviewees or sources mentioning that the fires were started by a chemical reaction. Yet Jeffery appeared certain. She wanted to check some of their film footage. And she needed to check the films’ date and time stamps. How did Jeffery know about the fires so early?
She wondered if someone was tipping him off. He often joked that he had more contacts and informants than the CIA, and Sam had always been amazed at the network of people he knew, not just across the country, but across the world.
Why Big Mac hadn’t given Jeffery his own show always baffled Sam. Except that he didn’t have the “look.” Jeffery Cole was a bit too ordinary looking.
Sam jotted down names as she watched the taped segments. Was it possible one of these criminals had been paroled since the interview? There had to be a way she could check.
After two hours she was certain no one on the list, other than Otis P. Dodd, had been charged or was serving time for arson. Of course that didn’t mean arson wasn’t in their background. Most of these guys were charged with multiple offenses. And they weren’t choosy about what the offenses were. But if there was a connection between one of these criminals that Jeffery had interviewed and the fires from the past two weeks, she couldn’t find it. Even Otis’s “mystery man,” who had killed the woman with the orange socks and stuffed her into a culvert, didn’t show up anywhere else.
She was convinced, however, that Jeffery had inside knowledge. If not directly from the arsonist, then from someone who knew when and where the fires would happen. But who? And what kind of dangerous game had Jeffery gotten himself into this time?
Sam pulled up the footage from the warehouse fires, the footage she had taken before the fire trucks and rescue crews arrived. She remembered thinking it odd that no one else was there, and yet at the same time she had been excited about getting the exclusive. Agent Tully had been interested in this same footage but only until he found the man with the red backpack. Sam started watching from the point where Agent Tully stopped.
It was boring. Slow going. She clicked up the speed. Paused it when the crowd began to grow. Zoomed in. Panned the faces. Nothing. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for. Did she really expect to recognize anyone?
She sent it speeding along again. Just after the second explosion, she stopped the film. Hit REWIND then PLAY, and let it move in regular time. She grabbed her cup of coffee and sipped, keeping an eye on the computer monitor. She glanced away to look at her watch. When she looked back up she noticed several more people had joined the crowd. Just before the time stamp where she knew the second blast occurred, Sam paused and zoomed in again. She started panning the new crowd. Then suddenly she recognized someone.
She reached up so quickly to tap STOP that she knocked over her coffee cup.
What in the world was
CHAPTER 55
Maggie listened while Dr. Ling went over all the same information with Racine. The detective, however, didn’t appear all that interested. Maggie knew Julia Racine well enough to know something was up. She was patient and polite but she asked few questions. Dr. Ling started talking about the skull found inside the burned building. Then Racine became a bit agitated.
“But you can’t be sure he was killed in the same way or even with the same weapon?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m simply speculating. Although the fractures to the top and to the side of the cranium look similar, you’re correct, they are not conclusive.”
“Is it possible he fell during the fire and bashed in his own head?”
“No.” Dr. Ling smiled before she added, “He would also have had to decapitate himself.”
“Stan told us that pressure builds up inside the head during a fire. You know, from the blood and brain starting to boil.” Racine looked from Dr. Ling to Maggie and back to Dr. Ling like she was asking for backup. “And that pressure could literally blow a head off a body. That’s what Stan said.”
“It’s possible,” Dr. Ling said. “But not in this case.”
Ling went over to another counter. On her way she changed out her purple latex gloves for a fresh pair. Then she carefully picked up the skull from a deep tray that Maggie thought looked too much like an ordinary baking pan. Ling brought the skull over to Maggie and Racine.
“I’ve cleaned it as best as I could.” She flipped the skull upside down. It still had a muddy brown color to it, but the fracture lines were visible. Ling pointed to the base. “Do you see the cuts and scratches in the bone here? Right at the base? This one is what I call a hesitation mark. He started cutting and stopped. Perhaps whatever he was using didn’t work as well as he wanted. Here and here.”
She turned the skull as her finger traced the scratches.
“The fire dulled the effect a bit. These are chops, not cut marks.”
“Guess no chance of an accident, then.” Racine appeared visibly disappointed. “So what the hell did he use?”
“Anytime you chop, the instrument must be heavy and big enough to contribute to the impact. My early guess is some kind of large bladed weapon. Perhaps a machete.”
Maggie watched Racine. Clearly all of this had blown one of her theories.
“You mentioned earlier that Gloria Dobson’s murderer did
“The bashed-in skull is quite similar to Mrs. Dobson’s.”
“But she wasn’t decapitated.” Racine sounded hopeful again.
“True enough.” And Dr. Ling nodded, but allowed a smile when she added, “However, you could say he tried very hard to knock her head off.”
“Dr. Ling?” A tall young man called to her from the door. “That delivery you’ve been waiting for has just arrived.”
“Thanks, Calvin. I’ll be right there.” She returned the skull to its tray. “Will you both excuse me? I’ll be only five or ten minutes.”
“No problem.”
Ling had barely cleared the door when, like a mother with a child, Maggie pulled Racine’s elbow away right before she poked one of the bones with brain tissue still sticking to it.
“What? I just wondered what it felt like.”
“You know something new?”
But Racine wasn’t ready to talk about whatever it was and tried to change the subject. “That interview last night with your mother—that was brutal.”
“It must have been. She’s been leaving voice messages for me all morning wanting to explain. Quit changing the subject. Tell me what you found out.”
Racine got quiet. She was still eyeing the bone Ling had left on the tray.
“I thought I had it figured out,” she finally said. “I talked to Gloria Dobson’s husband last night. A male colleague was supposed to be making the trip with her. He said it made him feel better that she wouldn’t be driving the eleven hundred miles alone. He liked the kid. Said he was a good guy.”
She pulled a small notebook from her jacket pocket and flipped pages.
“Zach Lester, twenty-eight, five nine, a hundred and fifty pounds, light brown hair, blue eyes. Mr. Lester didn’t show up at the sales conference either. I put out a BOLO for him and for Dobson’s silver 2007 Toyota Highlander.”
“You think Lester killed her and took her vehicle?”
“Sometimes the simplest explanation is the correct one.”
“When did Mr. Dobson talk to his wife last?”
“Three days ago. She and Lester were on their last leg of the trip, almost to Baltimore. He said it wasn’t that unusual that he hadn’t heard from her since. The sales conferences were busy and he liked her to feel like she didn’t
