Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [92]
“Four would be the insurance fraud we were talking about.”
“Political terrorism and social protests.”
“Along with riots and all that—five. Six is the hero gig. Somebody lights a fire so they can save people and look important.”
“That’s what people are going to think I did. To make up for my failure at Leary Way. They’ll say I placed Annie Sortland in the building so I could save her.”
“Ridiculous.”
“It won’t sound that way after G. A. puts his spin on it.”
“What’s left? We were at six, the hero gig.”
“Morons and madmen. Irrational pyromania.”
“That’s seven. Riverside Drive doesn’t fit any of them,” she said. “Does it?”
“Maybe it was done to frame me. No other reason.”
“People don’t usually murder someone in order to frame someone else.”
“Maybe they were just going to light the place and the old woman stumbled onto the perp while he was doing it, and he was afraid she’d tell the police it wasn’t me.”
“And then they put your jacket on the back porch?”
“They were probably planning that all along.”
“Did you recognize the voice on the phone that night?”
“Nope.”
“I guess if there were eight reasons, number eight would be framing another person to get them out of your hair. You find this house prepared for arson. The house is evidence. The house burns down, the evidence is gone, and you’re discredited and removed from the picture because you’re the prime suspect. What I don’t understand is why G. A. is so determined to get you. There’s a good chance any other FIU investigator would have handed you that jacket and said, ‘Here, you forgot this when you were here the other day.’ He started building a case right away.”
“He and I have been butting heads over Leary Way.”
“So he had a grudge against you before the fire?”
“I would say so.”
Keeping close to the beach, they circled Lake Union, paddling slower when there was something Diana wanted to see, faster during the open stretches. They passed the Lake Washington Ship Canal Bridge with the freeway running atop it and then headed west, paralleling a former rail line that had been converted into the Burke-Gilman jogging trail. Two in-line skaters paced them for a few blocks.
On the west side of the water they doubled back and passed under the Aurora Bridge and Highway 99. Finney knew Diana was an active athlete, but still he was surprised at the depth of her competitive spirit. Nobody had ever outpaddled him from the backseat, and only a few of the strongest had been able to match him stroke for stroke the way she was doing. On the west side of the lake they got into a playful contest to see who would quit paddling first, their speed gradually picking up. “You’re welcome to take a rest anytime you want,” he said.
Breathing hard, she said, “Yeah, so are you.”
They were both arm-weary by the time they began closing in on the houseboats off Westlake Avenue, by the time Finney noticed a man standing on the dock in slacks and a navy-blue fire department windbreaker. Captain G. A. Montgomery. Oh, God, Finney thought, the bastards have come to arrest me in front of Diana. Robert Kub and Chief Reese loitered in the shadows farther along the dock. As expressionless as a bum requesting spare change, Montgomery waited while Finney held the kayak snug against the wooden dock and let Diana climb out. Kub met Finney’s gaze as Finney climbed out and held the bow rope. Reese folded his arms behind his back.
“What do you want?” Finney asked.
G. A. moved forward, and an angled sunbeam spotlighted a patch of beard his razor had missed. “This would be better if you and I were alone,” he said, giving Finney the full effect of his intimidating stare.
Mirroring his cocky demeanor, Finney said, “Why? You afraid of witnesses?”
“John, go easy on the insolence. I just wanted you to know we went through that jacket one more time. Don’t know how we missed it earlier, but there was a ticket stub in one of the pockets. Want me to tell your friend here what it was for?”
“There’s no other reason for you to find a stub you couldn’t find earlier except to frame me.”
“I