Crush - Alan Jacobson [82]
Silva leaned his chair back on its two rear legs. “Stuff. You know, the market, where I saw things going.”
“The stock market?”
“That’s what I do. Securities, equities.”
Dixon nodded. “Right. But, see, nothing’s been going on in the market lately. Volatility mostly. Goes up, then down, then up. But you had this long conversation with him on the ninth. What was that about?”
“How am I supposed to remember what we talked about?”
“It wasn’t that long ago.”
Silva looked up at the ceiling. “I have lots of conversations every day. I can’t remember what they’re all about.”
“This one I think you’d remember. Because it was right before the fire. And then you spoke again, right after the fire.”
Silva let the chair fall forward onto all four legs. “Why do you keep asking me about this fire?”
Dixon leaned in close again, glanced back at Vail, as if she wanted to have a private conversation with Silva, out of the earshot of her partner. “Can I be totally honest with you, Walton?”
The man squinted. “Please.”
“We did a preliminary rapid DNA screen on that foam. It’s the latest in DNA technology, and it’s not a hundred percent accurate—but it’s close. The lab will be doing a more comprehensive test, but that’ll take a few days. But the rapid screen, it showed your DNA mixed in with the Class A foam. You so much as breathe in the same room and it’ll pick up your DNA. And, see, that foam was identified as an identical match for the one used in the fire. The arson.”
Silva slapped the table. “Now wait a minute—”
“Calm down, Walton. Before you get upset, I have good news for you. I know it sounds like the evidence implicates you as the person who set the fire. But that’s not what we’re getting at.”
“What are you getting at, then?” Silva asked.
“Well, Scott’s death.”
Silva rubbed his face with both hands. “I’ve had enough. I think I need an attorney.”
“For what?” Vail asked. “We’re trying to help you here. You bring in an attorney and the DA will, for sure, file charges against you. We don’t care about the fire, you hear? We just want to find Scott’s killer.”
“And I told you. I can’t help you there.”
Vail stepped up to the table. “Sure you can,” she said in a lilting voice. “We know Scott set the fire. He told us that shortly before he was killed.”
“He did? Why—”
“Why he told us is unimportant. The point is, he did. But—can we—can we keep talking here, Walton? Because we know you didn’t set the fire.”
“Fine. So what is it you want?”
“Well,” Vail said, “we just want to know why Scott set it. If we can figure that out, it may lead us to his killer. And that’s all we’re interested in.”
“So I tell you what I know about that, and I can go. Right?”
Vail turned to Dixon. “Yeah.”
Dixon shrugged agreement.
Silva chewed on this a moment, not saying anything, but his eyes were roaming the room, thinking, working it through.
Come on, scumbag. Say something stupid.
Finally, Silva leaned forward. “It was nothing, really. At least, my part wasn’t that big a deal. Scott wanted to set this fire, like he told you, but he didn’t want anyone getting hurt. So he asked me how he could control the fire so it wouldn’t spread.”
Atta boy. That qualifies. “Why would you know anything about that?”
“My dad was a chemical engineer at Dow for forty years. I asked him some questions one day. He’s retired and gets bored easily. So I asked him how to do a controlled burn if all you had were household supplies lying around. He was all too happy to help me out. So, yeah, it was Class A foam. It prevented the fire from spreading, just what Scott wanted. That’s the extent of my involvement.”
“The scorched dirt near the cottage,” Dixon said. “Did Scott do a test run? Just to make sure the foam would work?”
Silva’s eyes flicked between Vail and Dixon. “Yeah. Scott was testing it.”
“I’m sure Scott told you why he wanted to do this, to set this fire.”
“All he told me was that an FBI agent was causing problems. She wanted to go public with this killer you people are after, and he couldn’t let that happen.”
“Couldn’t let it happen, like silence her? Kill