It was home but not the one he’d left behind.
Frozen for a few seconds in the middle of the house, he turned 360 degrees, soaking in the horror. “Dana,” he muttered under his breath before repeating it again, gradually getting louder. “Dana!”
The cabdriver followed him into the carnage glancing around. “Mister. What happened?”
Jack charged past him, his face full of fierce determination. “Take me into town.”
The driver looked back for a second before returning to the vehicle. “Yeah, yeah, sure thing.”
It was a good twenty-minute drive into Telluride, and another five to get through heavy traffic. The Telluride Marshal’s Department sat directly across from a lodge. It was a stone building crouched at the corner of Spruce and Pacific Avenue. In all the time he’d lived in the town he’d given it a wide berth, concerned that his mug shot from his time in San Francisco might have surfaced. He was convinced that CCTV cameras had caught him and equally surprised that no one had tracked him down. After paying the taxi driver he headed in, desperation masking his face. On the journey into town he kept telling himself that everything was okay. It was probably the result of leaving the stove on, or a gas leak or human error. He’d inform the cops who he was, and they’d connect the dots and within the hour he’d be talking with Dana.
It’s OK, he told himself.
Inside the station it was quiet. He approached the front counter and spoke to a female officer behind thick Plexiglas. The officer was on the phone at the time and upon noticing him, raised a finger.
He paced for a second or two until he rapped the window again. A look of frustration spread across her face as she hung up. “Can I help you?”
“The name’s Jack Winchester, I own the house that burned down over on Francisco Way. I’ve just returned from a trip to California. What can you tell me? Where is Dana?”
The young woman stared back, frustration leaving her face before she got on the phone, and told him to hold for a second. Jack ran a hand over his face and rolled his shoulder to work out the tension from the long journey. When the officer concluded her call she told him the chief would be with him in a minute and to take a seat.
“Take a seat? I need to know what happened.”
“And you will, sir. He’ll just be a minute.”
Not wanting to cause a scene he took a seat and waited. He sat there tapping his foot and thinking the worst. Fortunately he didn’t wait long. A door buzzed open and a man similar in stature and size to him came out. His face was clean, his jaw rugged and he had silver flecks at his temple.
“Mr. Winchester?”
He nodded, and rose to greet him.
“I’m Chief Wilkerson.” He jerked his head. “Come this way.”
The cop led him through a series of corridors into a cramped office. It was tidy, and there was the faint smell of lemon in the air. Before him was a small desk. On it sat several photos of family, a notebook, and a pile of paperwork. A shelf of books and two tall steel cabinets were either side of that. Jack glanced at a golden nameplate on the front of his desk. Wilkerson closed the door behind him then waved him to one of two chairs. “Please, take a seat. Can I get you some coffee?”
Jack remained standing and the chief sized him up.
“The officer said you’ve been away?”
“Los Angeles. Visiting a friend.”
“When did you leave?”
He fished into his pocket and pulled out his boarding pass. Jack was all too familiar with police procedure. They would want specifics. No generalities. Proof was better. Although his property was in his name, until they had his details and a clear alibi, there was always a chance they might think he had started the fire himself to claim on insurance.
“Look, my girlfriend Dana Grant. She was staying there when I left. But… I couldn’t find her. Did—”
The chief glanced at his boarding pass and slipped it back across the desk. He clasped his hands together, resting them on the desk, and his chin dropped as he cut him off. “There was no body found among the rubble,” Wilkerson replied.
Jack rocked his head back and breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank God. For a second there I thought you were going to say she died in the fire.”
The chief stared back, his brow furrowed. “Mr. Winchester, a neighbor of yours came forward to report the fire. No one else has been in. While we were able to establish you were the owner, without an idea of where you were, we were unable to contact you.”
He shook his head, perplexed by it all. “How long ago did it happen?” he asked.
“Six days ago.”
A day after he’d left? It would explain why she hadn’t called but… “Well if she wasn’t there, where is she?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Just out of curiosity, is this a new relationship?”
“No, why?” Jack asked.
“Did you argue much?”
“We had our disagreements like anyone else. What’s that got to do with it?”
The chief tipped his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. Jack knew what he was getting at. “No. She didn’t start this.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been called out to a blaze to discover an angry partner was behind it.”
Jack shook his head and placed a hand on his hip while he ran the other through his hair. “I can reassure you, that is not the case here.” He stared back. “Look, what caused it?”
“The fire marshal said it was an electrical malfunction.”
“An electrical malfunction?”
“A programmable timer set to turn on lights while you were away.”
“That’s impossible. Why would it be set to turn on when Dana was at home?”
“Mr. Winchester, you know her better than I do. Perhaps she took a vacation. You know, to spend a
