“Well then, once we figure out who was behind the College Fire and the two most recent ones, I’ll share all I have on Avery Newport with you.”
“And if the evidence still points to you, then I don’t get the evidence on Avery Newport?”
“I’m not that petty, Joan. You know me much better than that.”
She drew in a breath, punching down her frustration. Like it or not, he had a talent for identifying patterns. Showing him the map Gideon had made of the recent fires was a risk, but if anyone understood the mind of an arsonist, it would be Elijah. “Gideon mapped the fires. I’d like to show it to you.”
“I would like to see it.”
She handed him her phone, and he studied the image for a good minute. He rose up from the couch and moved to a desk, where he’d stacked his textbooks. He opened the top one and pulled out notes. “I could get used to this detective work. I can already tell it’s going to be rewarding.”
“You’re not an official detective until we’ve done an all-night stakeout with only stale doughnuts and cold coffee.”
A smile tugged his lips. “Not all glamorous like the movies.”
“I wish.” She nodded to the paper. “See anything on the map that tells you something about our arsonist, Detective?”
He enlarged the photo on her phone. “These areas around Missoula and Helena are the same guy. The others have no statistical significance, meaning they’re random.”
“Why these?”
“It’s just a gut feeling at this point. Can you get me the official reports?”
“I can’t.” She leaned closer and looked again at the map. “Were the rural fires practice? Was the guy building up his courage?”
“I would say he has plenty of both. He’s letting off steam until game day.”
“How do you know?”
“Again, a feeling,” he said.
“I trust my gut, but I find DAs like evidence.”
“You have two distinct patterns. Now it’s a matter of figuring out who was in both these areas at this time.”
“You weren’t.”
“No, I was not.”
“Do arsonists recognize others? Maybe some kind of tell?”
The easy smile faded. “I am not one of them.”
She was surprised by the edge sharpening his words. “So what’s this guy’s deal?”
“He’s not a crazy kid working out anger. He likes the fires, and he’s turned it into a money-making operation.”
“How do you know about the money?”
“I didn’t until you just confirmed it for me.”
Joan could have tried to backpedal and deny she had given him anything, but she had. “The Helena fire did involve a payout.”
“I’m assuming the Halperns also took out a hefty plan. Were the Halperns and the Helena business owner out of town when their businesses burned?”
“Yes.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “The owners travel to a distant city, their places get torched, and both parties come home looking innocent.”
“You’re saying that the fires are financially motivated?”
“For the business owners, yes.”
“And for the arsonist?”
“The thrill. The control. The power. The danger.”
“You can slip into this guy’s mind pretty easily. Maybe you’re behind the fires,” she challenged.
“We established I was in prison.”
“That didn’t stop you from finding my home address.”
He nodded slowly. “I admit to taking liberties when I worked in the prison warden’s office.”
“What other liberties did you take?”
“None.”
That she did not believe but for now let it lie. “Maybe you used one of your little Fireflies.”
“Interesting theory.”
“A local woman, Lana Long, came to see you in prison several times. You also wrote to her multiple times.”
“Yes, she did. She was an entertaining diversion.”
“How did you two connect?”
“I didn’t reach out to her; she found me. There are women who are fascinated by men behind bars. Several women came to see me while I was incarcerated.”
“You’re a good-looking guy.”
“I am.” No bravado, simply a statement of fact. “These women can build elaborate fantasy worlds because they know I’m locked away. They always know where to find me, and I can’t get involved in their worlds unless they want me to.”
“That’s what Lana wanted? To talk to a handsome man behind bars.”
“Yes.”
“It appears you two were never alone. Is that true? Prison wardens don’t always know what’s going on in their facilities.”
“We always had three inches of glass between us.”
“A trustee in the warden’s office must have extra freedoms.”
“Not that kind.”
“Did she ever mention a boyfriend?”
“Other than Ryan, no.”
She studied him closely, searching for signs of deception. “No one here in Missoula?”
“None.”
“Did you get her to set the Beau-T-Shop fire? Maybe she was the one up in the hills practicing techniques you’d taught her.”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
She ignored the question. “Did she lose her nerve in the beauty shop? Is that why you had to kill her?”
His frown deepened as if he had been presented with a new math problem. “Lana’s dead?”
“Burned to a crisp.” She was intentionally blunt to shock him and perhaps provoke a reaction.
He closed his eyes for a moment and seemed genuinely shaken. “I didn’t know she was the fatality.”
“Really?”
“I liked Lana. I would never wish her harm. Check the prison records. You’ll see that Lana and I first made contact back in January. They have samples of my correspondence.”
“How many girls like Lana did you know?”
“You’re suggesting I have this stable of women who set fires for me.”
“You wouldn’t be the first Svengali to get women to do your bidding.”
His quick laugh was tainted with a bitter tone. “You should write for television.”
Confessions of an Arsonist
I need more fire to burn the ice she has wrapped herself in. Soon. Soon. Soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Missoula, Montana
Wednesday, September 9, 2020
2:00 p.m.
Joan pushed through the doors of Tucker’s Diner, hearing the bell above her head as she entered. If only she had a nickel for every time she’d heard that damn bell or stood behind the counter and served coffee until 2:00 a.m. At least the late-night hours were quiet and allowed her to do the bulk of her studying. In fact, the regulars back then had toned down their chatter while she did her homework.
Dan Tucker stood behind the counter
