Jessica stepped away from the officials gathered inside the barricade and walked around one end to mingle with the crowd. She knew, more from television and movies than experience, that sometimes the culprit would insinuate himself into a crime scene. Maybe that woman with the camera? The man there with the scar on his face? Was she standing beside an arsonist? But, no, the arsonist had killed himself. Again. Is it a cult thing? The thought made the back of her neck prickle.
"Are you a reporter, honey?" Jessica turned to see an elderly woman supported by a hand-carved cane.
"No, ma'am," she answered. "I write for Our Place, the magazine. Do you live nearby?"
The woman shook her head. "Near the last fire, not this one. They're so like the one when I was a girl, though. I asked a neighbor to drop me off on her way downtown, so I could see what-was-what before it was all through." She chuckled wryly. "Not a girl, really. Older than you."
Jessica explained that she planned to write a column about the older fire. Would the woman mind talking with her? Soon, they were at a café across the street, Jessica sipping a fruit smoothie, the woman stirring hot tea. Her name was Audrey Scott and she'd lived in the city since she was born. Her mother and grandmother had been born there, too. Really, all of her family. She'd seen so much growth, so many changes.
Audrey shook her head. "When I was a little older than you, there was this boy. I'd known his mother when we were just little things. We'd grown apart because her family had money and mine didn't. Once we weren't in school together anymore, I never saw her. But this boy was her only son."
The woman paused for a few minutes, taking a sip of her tea before continuing with her story. "Police said he started the fire! They had positive identification, they said, picked out of a line up. A couple of people died, so it was tragic news, in the paper for weeks. It was a relief when the boy was caught, but his family bonded him out. Today, they probably wouldn't be able to do that, but the family had lots of money, and things were different back then."
"Did he go to prison?" Jessica asked, jotting notes into the little pad she kept with her at all times.
Audrey shook her head. "The town was so worked up that they probably would've had to move the trial out of the area anyway. That boy wouldn't have had a prayer of a fair trial here. The people who perished were beloved by the whole town, the librarian and her husband. He worked at the post office. No children of their own, but they were always taking kids in for picnics and such, taking them to the movie on Saturday, active in their church."
"What happened to the boy? Do you remember his name?"
"Vince. Vincent Alexander. I think his mother's maiden name was Avery, but my memory isn't always reliable." Audrey took a sip of her tea again and then looked at Jessica, shaking her head sadly. "He killed himself before the trial was underway. Shortly after he was released into his family's custody, just days after, if I remember correctly. He went out to Beecham's Bluff and jumped."
Audrey wiped her mouth primly with a napkin. "They never found the body, mind you, but his family was so distraught, they left the city not long after. We hadn't been in contact for years, but I did try. Even if he was a murderer, I felt sorry for her, losing him like that. I never could reach her, though. It was like she had vanished into thin air."
Beecham's Bluff was still a popular picnic spot, Jessica knew, a beautiful, grassy, and tree-shaded park frequented by families during the day and necking teens at night. There was a sharp drop-off to the river below, the highest point in three counties. A child who jumped would have no chance of survival. More than likely, Jessica thought, he died from the fall, hitting the treacherous boulders before the current washed him downstream and out to sea. She shuddered as she envisioned the scene. At the time, they would have lacked the equipment for a more thorough search.
Jessica laid down her pen. "How did everyone take it?" A suicide, especially that of a child, usually hit a town hard. But a child who'd burned down a building and killed the town's favorite couple?
Audrey grimaced. "Well, they didn't hold a parade, exactly, but the general feeling was one of "good riddance". His death saved everyone a lot of time, heartache and expense, though people were hesitant to put it in those terms. Obviously, he must have been severely troubled, although no one had seen it coming. Nice boy. Very polite. His father had died when he was a toddler, but his mother had remarried. Father was a professional man, affiliated with the bank or something like that, I think. Well-known. I just don't remember."
Jessica drew in a breath. Didn't Worth and his mother live here years ago? Worth's father had been a newspaper man, a professional. Maybe he'd known the arsonist's father? She hadn't paid as close attention during that lunch as she should have. Dillingsworth Vincent. Vincent! Vincent Avery. No, that was the mother's maiden name. But Vincent. Just an odd coincidence?
He had paled, she was sure of it now, when he had listened to her pitch about the column. How long did he say he and his mother had been back in the area? A few months? Right about the time the latest fires had started. Were the so-called suicides a cover-up?
