“You’ve always maintained your innocence. You’re persistent. I’ll give you that much,” Gideon said.
“Because I am innocent.”
“Your DNA was attached to a partially recovered incendiary device found at the scene. Eyewitnesses put you in the vicinity. And the jury found you guilty, Elijah.”
He had a list of all the jurors’ names and would soon have their addresses. “I was framed.”
“Framed?”
“That’s right. Someone set me up. I reported my backpack had been stolen days before the fire. When I got it back, I discovered my sweatshirt was missing. That garment was used as a wick. And sure, I was in the area. I went to school there.”
Gideon frowned. “Where’s Mr. Pickett?”
“Gone to bed. According to the others here, he drinks on the first Saturday of the month. I hear he can’t hold his liquor as well as he used to and goes to bed about ten.”
“All right, then, I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
“By the way, what burned down?”
Gideon arched a brow. “The beauty salon on Main Street.”
“What type of structure was it?”
“Brick mostly, like the others around it.”
His heart rate sped up a beat. “Did the fire spread?” He should not be so curious, but he found the details hard to resist.
“No. Fire department stopped it.”
“Injuries?”
“Don’t know yet. Rubble is too hot.”
Elijah shook his head, sensing that the detective was withholding information. But then, Gideon was a smart one. He would not ask questions until he had a good idea of what the answers were. “I sure hope no one was hurt, Detective. Fire is a terrible way to die.”
Gideon’s expression darkened with suspicion. “Yes, it is.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Good evening, Elijah.”
“Yes, sir. You come back anytime. I’ll be here or at school.”
Elijah watched Gideon stride toward his SUV and then pause at the paint stain. “Trouble?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
With a nod, Gideon left, his long legs chewing up the distance to his vehicle in seconds. Yes, sir, he would have to be careful and not underestimate Detective Gideon Bailey.
Confessions of an Arsonist
Simple is best. No need for fancy devices. I can destroy anything with a milk jug, a cotton cloth, and gasoline. The trick is to remember fire is as dangerous as a wild animal. Pretty to look at, but it’ll kill you in a heartbeat.
CHAPTER SIX
Missoula, Montana
Sunday, September 6, 2020
7:00 a.m.
By early morning, Gideon had not gotten a wink of sleep. After leaving Elijah, he’d called over to Ann’s to check in. She’d had questions for him about the fire, but he had deflected them, promising she would have answers when he did. He had also given her a heads-up that Elijah had registered for her class. The silence stretched between them before she thanked him for the information.
The next couple of hours were spent trying to obtain a restraining order against Elijah. Though he did not want Elijah within five hundred yards of his sister, the magistrate had made it clear that Elijah had paid his debt, and until he proved otherwise, there was no limiting his comings and goings.
Gideon grabbed a large thermos filled with coffee from the station along with several cups, drove to the scene of the fire, and parked across the street. Two of the three fire engines had returned to their stations, but one truck remained.
While two firefighters continued to spray water on hot spots in the smoking rubble, Clarke roped off the area with yellow crime scene tape. It was a holiday weekend, and the tourists would soon be up for breakfast. He wanted to keep this as low-key as possible.
As Gideon got out of his vehicle, the sunrise bathed the east side of the mountains, showing off brilliant reds and oranges. Within weeks, the entire mountain range would be in full fall colors.
Thermos and cups in hand, Gideon crossed the street, reaching Clarke as he tied off the last of the tape. “How’s it going?”
“You missed a local reporter. She shot footage of the fire and promised to have it on this morning’s news,” Clarke said.
“Not sorry I missed her.” Gideon handed him an empty cup.
Clarke sighed as he held it out. “No getting around it.”
Gideon filled Clarke’s cup. “What about the guys on the truck? They need a hit of java?”
“I made a run for them a half hour ago. They had the lion’s share of the coffee, so this is much appreciated.” He took a long sip. “Did you find the woman who owned the purse?”
“I visited Lana Long’s apartment, which was stripped bare except for a bed and packed suitcase.”
“She was planning on leaving town?”
“Looks like it. She also had a few books on arson.”
Clarke frowned as he regarded the rubble. “You really think she did this?”
“I can’t say yet, but it sure looks like it.”
“We’ll be on the lookout for the body you saw when we walk this place. So far, no one has spotted any remains, but there’s a lot of debris to sort through.”
Gideon nodded. “I spoke to Elijah yesterday evening.”
Clarke frowned as he sipped his coffee. “And he denies anything to do with the fire.”
“That’s right.”
“You believe him?”
“I’ll know better once I confirm his alibi, but he was cool as a cucumber.”
“He always was. Never could get a read on that guy.”
“I didn’t know him, really, until the fire. We were seniors and he was a freshman,” Gideon said.
“Smart as hell. Remember he was in Joan’s class when she was a teaching assistant,” Clarke said, studying Gideon’s expression.
Joan Mason. He had not heard that name in a while or seen her in ten years. To say he thought about her every day would be a stretch. Sometimes a few months went by without her trespassing on his thoughts, but she was always there in the shadows.
Though they had been ill matched from the beginning, Gideon and Joan had found something in each other that just fit. They dated all their senior year, and as deep as his roots were sunk
