His phone rang, and, seeing Kyle’s name, he drew in and released a breath and expelled the anger before he answered the call. “Hey, pal.”
“Dad, I’m at Aunt Ann’s with Nate.”
“Great.” He and Kyle lived in a house about a half mile from Ann’s, on Bailey land. Nate and Kyle had been close as younger boys, and now that they were settled, the first cousins were getting reacquainted. “Be sure you listen to Aunt Ann.”
“I will, Dad.”
He raised his gaze to the charred structure that had been the beauty shop hours ago and knew he would be on scene for several more hours.
He said goodbye, hung up, and then pushed the phone into his back pocket as he moved toward the rubble. The air was thick with the acrid smell of charred wood and chemicals. “Looks like our boys are having a sleepover at Ann’s tonight.”
Clarke shifted his stance and rolled his shoulders. “It was my night with Nate, but when I heard the sirens, I knew I’d better drop him off at Tim’s.”
“Ann’s going to have her hands full with those two.”
“My wife can juggle more than any woman I’ve ever met.”
“She’s always been that way.”
“I haven’t had the chance to say it yet, but it’s good to have you back, Gideon. Missed you this summer.”
“Kyle and I needed the break. To unplug. By the end, neither one of us missed the cell phone.”
Clarke chuckled. “How long did it take Kyle to reattach to his phone?”
Gideon grinned. “Thirty seconds.”
Smiling, Clarke shook his head. “Not sure Nate could survive without his. That boy has his mom’s brains and is going to be building his own computers one day.”
Gideon’s boy was rough-and-tumble. He was plenty smart but would rather play soccer or ride horses than crack a book. Kyle was a chip off the old block, and he liked the idea of Kyle hanging out with his more studious cousin. “Nate will be running the state and then the country one day.”
Clarke’s grin reflected his pride. “Who’s to say the two boys don’t partner up and run the state?”
Gideon laughed. “Kyle will be running the ranch, but he’ll help your boy whenever he needs assistance.”
“Chief Mead!” The callout came from one of the firefighters, Samuel Thompson. “Like you to see something.”
As Gideon and Clarke walked toward the building, the radiating heat stopped them before they could get within ten feet. “What is it?”
“Around back,” the firefighter said. “One of my men found a purse.”
They followed Samuel around the building toward the alley that cut between the Beau-T-Shop and the law offices behind it. Gideon knew the attorneys well enough from his divorce and subsequent custody battle. He had spent a good bit of treasure and time on those folks.
Samuel paused at the mouth of the alley and pointed toward a blue purse leaning against the brick wall. “Seems odd that it would be here.”
Gideon reached in his coat pocket and removed a pair of protective gloves. Normally, he might not have been so conscious of forensics with a lady’s purse, but it was too close to the fire for it to have been a coincidence. He worked his large hands into the gloves and knelt beside it.
The purse, which did not appear expensive, was sitting upright, as if it had been placed carefully. If it had been stolen, the chances were that it would be lying haphazardly on its side. Thieves, in his experience, did not take the time to carefully set down a stolen purse. It was also zipped closed. Again, that did not fit the profile of a stolen item.
He searched around the purse and then grabbed his phone and took several pictures.
“Why the careful handling?” Clarke asked.
“It just doesn’t look right to me.” He unzipped the top and noted the wallet inside. He removed it, unfastened the clasp, and discovered three credit cards and thirty-six dollars in cash.
He glanced at the driver’s license. It had been issued to Lana Long and listed a Denver address.
“You think she might be the woman you saw inside the shop?” Clarke asked.
Gideon rose and looked at the burned-out structure. “If she was, she’s dead now.”
Confessions of an Arsonist
Each time I stare at one of my fires, I feel in control.
When I hear the flames roar, I feel power. When I see the black smoke rise toward the heavens, I believe I can accomplish anything. However, when the fire finally dies out, as they all do, that control, power, and optimism vanish.
CHAPTER FIVE
Missoula, Montana
Saturday, September 5, 2020
9:55 p.m.
As Gideon parked, his headlights swept the front of the three-hundred-unit apartment complex located on the outskirts of Missoula. Each of the buildings had three floors, with weathered wood siding and a pitched roof that mimicked a ski resort. Age and too many harsh winters had taken a toll on the buildings, which now looked worn and dated. But because housing in Missoula was not easy to come by, he knew the rents here would have been steep.
He had made a few calls and discovered that Lana Long had held a beautician’s license in the states of Colorado and Montana. And it was her Montana beautician’s license that had given him her current address. He’d placed calls to Jessica and Darren Halpern, hoping to get background information on Lana Long and to discuss the fire, but so far, his calls had landed in voicemail.
Out of his vehicle, he pushed back his jacket to clear his sidearm for easy access as he strode toward the manager’s first-floor apartment.
The curtains were drawn in the front display window, but a television’s wavy light leaked out around the edges, suggesting the manager was up and ready for him. He’d called ahead but had not shared specifics of his visit. For all he knew, Lana Long’s purse had been stolen, and he was not
