Into the Inferno - Earl Emerson [123]
“State Patrol,” corrected Britney.
A shadow fell across us as Stephanie approached, eyes moist. She hugged the girls. I said, “Stephanie, I’m so sorry for what I said. Can you forgive me?”
“Forgive what?”
Clasping her to me, I said, “I’d give anything to erase what I said.”
“Forget it.”
“At least let me plead temporary insanity?”
“Stop apologizing. Your daughters are safe. That’s what counts.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Stevenson said, stepping forward. “This is all peachy keen. Hi, girls. Glad you could make it.” He fixed his dark eyes on me. “Mind if we ask some questions without this circus breathing down our necks?”
I stepped off a few paces into the field with Shad, Stevenson, and Holgate. It was so dark, I could barely see their eyes. Holgate said, “I’m glad your daughters showed up.”
“Thanks.”
“The question now is, who’s the prizefighter in the backyard? You originally thought it was that young lady over there, right?”
“My baby-sitter, yes.”
“I can see they’re about the same size. Easy mistake to make. But who’s in your backyard, really?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’re going to have to question the baby-sitter. And your girls.”
“Like hell.”
“It’s a matter of routine that—”
“Ain’t going to happen. You’re not talking to my girls.”
“At least your baby-sitter,” said Shad, more irritated with me than ever.
“You’ll have to see her and her mother about that.” As he gawked at Morgan’s bare legs, a shriek came from that direction. Helen Neumann had just come out of her house and spotted her daughter. Why Helen had thought her daughter was in the fire when she hadn’t yet returned her car was beyond me, but then, Helen had always been prone to panic.
“You want to know how we think this went down?” Shad asked.
“I do. Yeah.”
“You did it.”
“Here we go again.”
“No, bear with me. We got a telephone call from a woman. Maybe two hours ago. Said you were real depressed. That you guys weren’t getting anywhere trying to find a cure for whatever it is you think you’ve got. That right?”
“We haven’t found a cure. That part’s right.”
“Said you were going to take yourself out. That you might want to take your family out at the same time.”
“Another anonymous caller?”
“A woman. I think she was the same one I spoke to after the trailer explosion. Only this time she called from a pay phone in Bellevue. You know anybody in Bellevue?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“It fits your MO perfectly.”
“What does? Setting my house on fire? Give me a break.”
“No,” Shad said. “Not setting the fire. Chickening out. You’ve done it once already. With the trailer. You set it up to kill yourself. And then at the last second you get the butterflies and run away.”
“Look. Surely you can figure out who made the call.”
“Wish we could,” Stevenson said. “It was a pay phone.”
“You got an explanation for all this?” Shad asked.
“Sure. Somebody’s setting me up.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’re going to go through the rest of the house,” Stevenson said. “And then we’re going to come back and talk to you again.”
“He was with me,” Stephanie said. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“You guys really got a call about me tonight?” I asked.
Shad tipped his head toward his taller partner. “He did.”
“But you didn’t do anything about it, did you?” I said. “You didn’t believe her, did you?”
“I believe her now. Stick around. We’re coming back.”
“Anyone who knew two hours ago that my house was going to burn down was in on it.”
As I spoke, an evidence technician from the county approached, a young woman with short chestnut hair and heavy eyebrows. She wore the green-brown uniform of a King County deputy and held a partially burned driver’s license by the edges.
“Anybody know this person?” she asked.
52. MISS SQUIGGLY HEADS FOR THE BEACH
Without taking it from the technician’s fingers, each of the three investigators leaned forward in turn and examined the license: Carpenter, Achara. Sex F. Height 5′0". Weight 95 pounds. Eyes brn. Birth date 090969. Along the right side of the license on a blue background