“You checked it out yourself?”
“Had to, the media was all over it. Pitiful tragedy,” he said. “The whole family dead, all but one child, and she was burned beyond recognition.”
“No motive you’re aware of?”
Chief Blaunert’s face reddened. “Motive? You tell
“No, sir, I don’t,” I said. “Truth be told, I’m just going through the motions. I’ll need to see the first firefighters on the scene, ask them a couple questions. I assume they’re here, this being the station that took the call.”
He stared at me until his anger subsided. When he finally spoke, his voice was clear and steady. “Yellow flame, gray smoke,” he said. “No suspicious people at the scene. No open windows. No sign of forced entry. No doors locked, no rooms blocked. Single point of origin, basement. No accelerants.”
“You definitely know the drill.”
“Ought to; I been doing it my whole life. You want, I can give you a couple names. You can say you interviewed ’em, take a quick peek at the scene, snap a few shots, and be back in Bloomington by dinner time.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “I’ll have to interview one or two neighbors, though.” He nodded, and I handed him the pen and spiral notebook I’d bought for the occasion. I’d also bought the camera sitting on the front seat of the rental car in case one of the firemen wanted to accompany me to the scene. Chief Blaunert wrote some names in the notebook.
“Three enough?”
“That should do it.”
He tore out a clean sheet from the notebook and wrote down my name. “Got a cell number?”
I gave it to him and thought about Sal’s warning. I could see where this was going.
“Need an escort over there?”
“Naw, it’s only a few blocks,” I said. “I’ll get out of here and let you get on with your inspection.” I stood up, reached over to shake his hand. He hesitated, deciding whether to say something else.
“As to the neighbors,” he said, “my guys were on the scene in four minutes twenty after the call was logged. You can check it out: four twenty.” He stared at me through serious eyes.
“That’s really quick,” I said, just to fill the silence.
“It was after midnight,” he said, “darker than a closet in a coal mine. We set up a perimeter, pushed the neighbors back pretty far. They won’t be able to tell you anything different that’s reliable.”
“Chief, no worries. We’re going to pay this claim. That little girl’s been through enough. Meanwhile, you’ve saved me some time and trouble, and I appreciate it.” I smiled, and this time he shook my hand. “See you in Seattle, chief!”
“That’s where I’ll be,” he said. “Up by Portage Bay.”
“Drinking coffee with the wife,” I said.
He smiled and gave me another thumbs-up. “You got it.”
CHAPTER 12
Greg and Melanie’s burnt-out home was one neighborhood removed from the posh Upper Montclair Country Club. These were two-story, upper-middle-class homes with basements, brick exteriors, and asphalt shingle roofs. I’m no expert, but I’d price them around seven fifty, maybe eight hundred thousand.
I got out of the car and locked it with the remote. Before heading to the house and without staring at anything in particular, I scanned the area and didn’t like what I saw out of the corner of my eye: a 2006 Metallic Blue Honda Civic Coupe parked where one hadn’t been parked a few seconds earlier. I suddenly spun around, pretending to have forgotten something in the trunk. This didn’t require an Oscar-winning performance on my part, since I had a small-frame Smith & Wesson 642 hidden in the wheel well.
As I opened the trunk and retrieved the handgun, I noticed the Honda moving toward me. Though the sun was reflecting off the windshield, I was able to see that the driver was a woman.
The Honda came to a stop about ten feet in front of mine, which meant it was positioned where I couldn’t see anything without exposing at least part of my face from behind the raised hood of my trunk. I put the gun in my right hand and waited. Could DeMeo have sent a woman to do the job? I wracked my brain. Were there any women in the business brazen enough to drive right up to me in broad daylight and make an attempt on my life? Callie, maybe, but she was on my team. No one else came to mind.
Suddenly, I heard the car door open, and every synapse in my brain became locked and loaded for deadly confrontation. I waited for footsteps, thinking, yeah, DeMeo could have sent a woman. But while there were dozens of contract killers who might come straight at a guy, Joe DeMeo knows me, knows what I’m capable of. Would DeMeo send just one person to do the hit?
No way.
Which meant there was probably someone else working their way behind me, getting into position to make the kill shot.
Which meant I should turn my head and see what was happening behind me. Unfortunately, just as I was about to do that, I heard her step out of the car, heard her footsteps coming my way. I didn’t dare look behind me and didn’t dare not to. The way things were developing, I didn’t like my chances.
She walked purposefully, coming straight at me, but so far no one had tried to shoot me from behind. A number of thoughts flooded my brain, forcing me to make split-second decisions. I was going to have to rely on skill sets and survival instincts honed over fifteen years of daily application.
She was in the vicinity of my right front bumper, which would normally cause me to move to my left. But no,
