“Did you tell anyone you were headed out there this morning?”
He regarded her steadily. “You. I told you.”
She returned his gaze, her thoughts whirling. “I didn’t tell a soul. You were followed, or they were already at the burn site looking for something.”
“Maybe they wanted the key I found.”
“Let’s see it.”
He scowled. “I lost it when I ran to my truck. It was bronze. Like a door key. I can draw the shape of the head if needed.”
“I’ll look for it. You want to head into town to get that arm tended to?”
“It’ll keep another few minutes. I’ll ride over there with you.”
“Sure? You can walk me through it later.”
“Let’s do it now while everything is fresh in my mind.”
She didn’t fuss because she’d want that if their situations were reversed. “All right. We’ll take my squad car since it has communication equipment. Park your truck in front of the pharmacy.”
She tailed him across the street. While she waited, she saw she’d missed two calls on her cell phone. Both from Chief Tyler. She returned his call. “The situation is under control, Chief.”
“Better be,” he grumbled. “I’m counting on you. Give me the abridged version.”
“I was assisting at the accident scene per your orders, and North drove to the burn site without me. Shots were fired. North fled the scene and called for help. Bullet barely grazed his arm. We’re heading back out there now to recon the area.”
“He’s okay?”
“He’s fine. The wound isn’t bleeding.”
“He wasn’t supposed to come to any harm on our watch.”
She hoped her conciliatory tone would soothe her chief’s ire. “I understand.”
“Notify the sheriff since it happened in his jurisdiction. And take better care of our VIP guest.”
“I won’t let you down, sir.” She ended the call as Wyatt eased into her car.
“You think the arsonist shot you?” she asked.
He nodded, his expression troubled. “I don’t believe it was a random gunshot or a hunter with terrible aim. Given the nature of my work, someone didn’t want me poking around the ashes. The person with the most to lose is the arsonist. So, yeah, I think it was him.”
He gripped and regripped his hands. “He’s still here.”
She made a three-point turn and headed to Pirate’s Cove. “What about the profile? Is shooting typical for an arsonist?”
“This firebug follows an atypical pattern. I don’t think he’s experimenting, curious, delinquent, crazy, or disordered. With his wide-ranging territory, this isn’t a kid. We’re talking about a grown man. Whether he starts fires for revenge or thrills, I can’t say.”
“Does it matter why?”
“Motive can help us predict where he might strike next. The idea is to catch him before he does any more damage.”
A few minutes later, Laurie Ann signaled a turn on Spyglass Lane. She needed to catch the shooter before he hurt Wyatt. “I’m getting a better picture of your investigation. What else do you know about him?”
“He likes old buildings. He’s killed twice before, once in Rome, once in Milledgeville. He uses gasoline as an accelerant. Today I had an insight into why he selects the run-down places. Fewer people pay attention to abandoned buildings, so there’s more opportunity to escape detection. Older places hold a wealth of steel and copper. I went looking for copper pipe at Pirate’s Cove and came up empty. We need to check the sales listing to see if the kitchen appliances conveyed with the property.”
Laurie Ann brightened. Finally, a way she could help. “I’ve tracked scrap metal sales in the area for a while. I have a good working relationship with scrap yards in Brunswick and in Richmond Hill.”
“This guy roams the state. We might need to cast a wider net to find salvaged metal.”
“Not to worry. Scrap yards are required to copy the seller’s driver’s license. It’s a red flag when we get Atlanta folks down here selling scrap metal or if our people are selling scrap upstate.”
He shot her a long glance. “Didn’t know that. Let me rethink the scenario. Our arsonist couldn’t take the attention of scrap sales all over the state, but he could pay locals to do it for him. They could share in the proceeds. That would be win-win.”
Laurie Ann followed his logic to a point. “Except James Brown didn’t have a driver’s license.”
“We don’t know how he fits in yet. The arsonist didn’t plan to kill my partner either. It was a crime of opportunity. Perhaps the same is true of Brown. He could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
She parked beside the ashy rubble at the road’s end. “Wait here while I sweep the perimeter.”
“Shouldn’t you call for back up?”
She opened her glove box, took out her Glock, and gave it to him. “This is my spare gun. Know how to use it?”
He nodded, clenching his fingers around the grip.
“Consider me backed up.”
With that, she headed into the woods, tracking clockwise around the burn site. The shooter had been in the treeline for concealment. About halfway around, she found something. A trampled down area, freshly broken branches, and a spent casing. She used an ink pen to pick up the casing, and then tucked it in an evidence bag. She studied the woods behind her. Found another casing.
Someone had stood here, watching Wyatt. They’d taken two shots. Judging by the broken branches, they’d exited the area at a fast clip. She followed the trail. About fifty yards in, she found what she needed—a fresh shoeprint. She snapped several pictures of the indentation with her camera phone. For one image, she placed her pocket-sized notebook adjacent to the impression to make sure there was no doubt of the scale.
She returned to the squad car and retrieved her evidence kit from the trunk. “Got something.”
His eyebrows rose as she placed the box on her car hood.
“Spent bullet casings and a shoeprint. The shooter stood about five feet in the treeline there.” She pointed toward the tallest pine. “He hurried out of there, and possibly hurried in there too. Lots of broken branches marking his passage.”
“Can we get a police dog to track him?”
“We can. I’ll call Kieran now. Fred’s the best scent dog in three counties.”
“You’re all right, Dinterman. This is a good break. He’s making mistakes.”
“He shot at you. It was nearly game over.”
“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.”
Chapter 23
Wyatt rested his weight on an upside down five-gallon bucket in the ashes. His arm throbbed. He’d been lucky. He knew that. But the cold fire in his gut fueled his resolve. The arsonist was on the ropes. He knew Wyatt was after him. He knew Wyatt was building a case. He’d fled the scene for now, but he hadn’t gone far. He had to know what Wyatt knew.
“You all right, Mr. North?” Officer Calucci asked.
Laurie Ann had sweet-talked this guy into babysitting him while she trekked through the woods with her friend Kieran and his scent dog. Wyatt hoped the arsonist didn’t take aim at his cop.
His cop?
Where did that come from?
Strange how the mind worked under pressure. He shifted on the bucket, the scent of charred wood filling his head. “I’m fine. I needed a moment. It’s been a crazy morning.”
“I can continue the search alone if you’d like to wait in the squad car.”
“I can do it. Thanks.” No way would he be sidelined by a kid. “There aren’t too many places that key could be. I was standing right here when I heard the shot. My truck was parked over there by the road. I ran straight to it for cover. The key must be between the two locations.”
“I’ll keep looking, sir.”
Wyatt studied his soot-blackened hands and then gazed at the treeline, his thoughts racing. He’d cheated death again. Years ago, his mother had joked that he had nine lives, but he didn’t feel much like joking today. He felt every day of his age and a couple more, besides.
There were other jobs he could do.
Not that he’d ever wanted another job, but he could work in a less hazardous field, like that teaching position the feds kept offering him. For the first time, he wasn’t repelled by the idea. In fact, teaching sounded like good sense.
Laurie Ann jogged out of the woods. He rose to meet her, hoping she’d found evidence he could use to catch the guy. The gun would be good. Fingerprints on the gun would be even better.
Her face lit with animation. “The path ended near the trailer park. We found grassy ruts where someone could conceal a car. The scent trail ebbed at the road.”
“Makes sense.” If the shooter’s car was elsewhere, no wonder Wyatt hadn’t seen a parked vehicle on Spyglass Lane.
“Did you find your key?”
She sounded so earnest, so hopeful. “No. We’ve looked all over out here.”
“Hmm.” Laurie Ann gazed at the tall pine and back to the rubble. She took four or five steps and bent down. When she stood, the key was in her hand. “This it?”
“How’d you do that?” His voice sounded rougher than he meant it. But still. He’d looked for the key for fifteen minutes. She’d spent less than a minute here and found it.
She shrugged. “Don’t take it too hard. The sun came out from behind a cloud, and I happened to see a glint. Let’s get you to the EMS office in Mossy Bog and then grab some lunch.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
She turned to the uniformed officer. “Thanks, Calucci. I owe you one.”
Calucci looked like he wanted to say something. Instead, he nodded, turned on his heel, and departed.
“He doesn’t know what to make of you,” Wyatt observed.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a better cop than he is.”
“I’ve been at this longer. I should be better.”
“You’ll always be a better cop than he is. You have a passion for the truth. He’s in it for the glory.”
Laurie Ann’s eyes narrowed. “Sounds like you’ve been trying to figure me out.”
He raised his dirty hands in surrender. His left arm wouldn’t cooperate, and he couldn’t quite hide the stab of pain. “Guilty.”
“What am I going to do with you, North? You almost got yourself killed today.”
“We’re getting to this guy. He feels the heat, and he doesn’t like it.”
“The point is to catch your arsonist without getting hurt. You’re making me look bad.”
He caught the note of humor in her voice as he eased into the passenger seat. “I’ll try my best not to wreck your promotion, but I don’t know what the arsonist’s next move will be. At least we learned he’s still here.”
She revved the engine and backed up. “Still got my spare gun?”
“I put it in your glove box when the other cop showed up. Didn’t want him to shoot me.”
“Keep it while you’re here. If I get called out again, I’d feel better if you had a gun. This arsonist is playing for keeps.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Do that. And don’t be such a man about this.”
“You don’t want me beating my chest and doing a Tarzan yell?”
“Be the smart guy I know you are. Don’t make a move without me unless you have the gun.”
“Let’s change the subject, shall we?” It was bad enough she’d been told he was delicate. He didn’t want her to think he was a brute either. “If someone was harvesting the copper pipes from the restaurant, was James Brown involved or was he in the wrong place? How did he end up dead?”
“Easy. Someone coshed his head and set the fire.”
“We already knew that. Why was Brown there?”
“Maybe the Foxworths can help when they arrive tomorrow.”
“I bet they’ve already filed for the insurance money.”
“Probably,” she said.
Two large dogs of indeterminate breed sat at the end of a dirt road abutting the highway. Laurie Ann slowed and moved into the opposite lane to give them space. He liked the way she adjusted mid-stream as if whatever came along wasn’t any big deal. His sisters would have slammed on brakes and tried to find the dogs’ home. And they’d be talking about the lost and abandoned dogs for days. Laurie Ann was definitely a different breed of female.
“Those dogs live there,” she said as if reading his thoughts.
He nodded. Yep. She could think circles around him.
He leaned back against the headrest, wishing he were sitting in his recliner at home. With the sun shining in the window and the vibration from the road, he must have dozed off. The next thing he knew, they were stopped at Sheryl’s Diner. The EMS truck was parked under an old oak bearded with clumps of Spanish moss.
“Are we going to interrupt their dinner?” he asked.
“Nah. Leighton and Roberta have been here an hour and a half easy. They like to hang out here because Sheryl’s got the best iced tea in town. Wait here a minute, and I’ll get one of them to come out and doctor you up.”
He hoped they had something for a headache. Leaning back into the seat, he closed his eyes and slipped into a dream of him and Laurie Ann. Kissing. She rubbed against him like a cat, and he was reaching for her to make sure this was real when the car door opened. He blinked at the sudden shift to reality.
A concerned brown face bobbed a few inches from his. “You done wore him out, Laurie Ann. This poor fella was sound asleep in your car.”
He glanced over the woman to see Laurie Ann nodding at him. “Roberta, this is Wyatt North, an arson investigator from Atlanta. He has a scrape on his arm. I thought you could take a look at it.”
“Sure thing, hon,” Roberta said. “Come on over to my chariot, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Injured.”
Wyatt blinked against the sunlight. After that powernap he felt better, as if he’d reset and was ready to go again. His stomach growled, and he looked hopefully toward the restaurant.
Roberta laughed. “You came to the right place for lunch. Ms. Sheryl’s cream pies are to die for. How’d you hurt your arm?”
“I was out at the Pirate’s Cove looking through the rubble,” Wyatt said. “I had a fall and noticed the scrape later.”
Laurie Ann studied him with her serious cop eyes from under the brim of her hat.
Was she wondering why he’d omitted the getting shot part? He didn’t want to deal with the red tape of a gunshot wound today. He especially didn’t want to deal with Aunt Barbara.
“I heard a
shots fired
call go out on the radio. Good thing you weren’t hit.” Roberta opened his shirt and gently tugged the sleeve down his arm. “This doesn’t look too bad. You don’t need stitches, only a bit of TLC.”