Vail 02 - Crush (17 page)

coughing—

hair in her face—

and an explosion behind her—a fireball rose up into the sky, wood shards slamming into her back and above her, to the side, all around, and—

He kept going, the smoke still thick, and she kept bouncing around as he ran into the graveled parking lot. Eyes burning. Tearing. Can’t see—

Off in the distance, a siren.

Vail lifted her head.

Forced her eyes open, then closed, then open . . .

... saw two blurred headlights jumping in the darkness. They stopped, someone running toward her, and she was suddenly laid down on the gravel, looking up and seeing—

“Karen! Oh my god—what happened?”

She looked up, blinked repeatedly, eyes thick, and Robby was only a few feet away, running toward her. And then he was leaning over her, lifted her up and embraced her, held her close.

“Are you okay?” He pushed her away, held her at arm’s length, looking at her. “Karen—Karen, are you okay?”

Vail coughed, hard, nodded, her senses coming back to her with the cleaner air starting to infiltrate her lungs. With her pulled hard against his body, his long arm and large hand wrapped around her body, grabbing her hip, Robby led her farther away, toward his car. But he stopped, turned, and said, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Coughing.

“I’ll be fine.”

And then he was moving her toward the car again.

JOHN WAYNE MAYFIELD sat in the thicket, a pair of Carson Super-Zoom binoculars pressed against his face. Normally, seeing in the distance at night would require a specialized night vision apparatus. But he didn’t have such equipment—and with the intense illumination given off by the fire, the area was lit just fine for his needs.

He had never experimented with fire, but watching the flames jump and consume and
devour
—he had to admit, it carried a certain excitement. A certain power.

But how would you leave your mark? How would others know it was
you
who set the fire?

Most of all, it was so distant, so removed from the action. The thrill just wasn’t there, at least not the same level of thrill he sought. That he
craved
. He was a tactile person. He needed to feel the death with his hands. And watch, up close.

As he sat there, he considered the virtues of various methods of killing. Guns, arson, poison . . . they all caused death but they just didn’t possess the qualities he sought. Still, he had to admit, fire setting had its merits. To arsonists, the scene before him was, in fact, the kindling that stoked their desires. Their internal fires.

Mayfield lifted the binoculars back to his face and watched.

THE SIREN WAS LOUDER NOW, filling her ears, floodlights and headlights and movement all around her. Firefighters jumping off the truck, pulling hose, paramedics rushing to her side, grabbing her left arm, Robby steadying her on the right, moving her quickly, lifting her off the ground and carrying her away from the fire truck, away from the commotion, from the smoke.

They sat her down on the ambulance’s bumper, strapped an oxygen mask to her face, and one of the men started examining her, bright light flicking across her eye as he checked her pupils.

Vail looked over at Robby. “Thank you, thank you . . .” she said through the mask. “You saved my life. You saved me . . .” As tears started rolling down her ash-covered and soot-stained face, the paramedic was saying something, turning her head back toward him.

She heard something. Robby was talking to her.

“Don’t thank me.”

Don’t thank me.
That’s what he said.

And then it registered. Vail turned her head away from the medic, focused on Robby’s face. And noticed he was looking off to the left.

“Thank her,” he said.

Standing in the flickering light of the fire engine’s swirling light bar, with singed clothing and blackened face, was Roxxann Dixon.

V
ail sat there looking at Dixon, who was now bent at the waist, coughing hard. The other paramedic left Vail’s side and helped Dixon to the ambulance’s bumper, beside Vail. He reached inside and grabbed another oxygen mask, then strapped it over Dixon’s face.

Vail pulled down her mask with a weak hand that felt like it weighed fifty pounds. “You? That was you?”

Dixon’s eyes moved right, the whites in stark contrast to her soot-covered face—and they narrowed as she smiled. Then nodded.

Vail grinned too. A silent thanks.

AN HOUR LATER, with the blaze now doused and the fire chief, Brix, Lugo, and Fuller on scene, Vail and Dixon were breathing easier and refusing transport. Their eyes had been flushed, they’d been infused with oxygen, and a few second-degree burns on Vail’s legs were dressed with Silvadene ointment.

Once Vail had her wits about her, she asked Dixon why she had inexplicably shown up at the bed-and-breakfast—not that she was complaining.

“You forgot your purse,” Dixon had told her. “It was shoved under the seat. When I got home, I pulled mine out of the glovebox and remembered you’d stowed yours, too. I checked and it was still there. I figured your phone and wallet were probably inside, and it wasn’t that far, so I thought I’d bring it by.” She turned back toward the destroyed building. “I certainly wasn’t expecting this.”

Vail said, “This is the first time I’m glad I left my purse somewhere.”

Now, half an hour later, Dixon was approaching the ambulance, her face smeared with black ash and streaked saline, giving it a running mascara appearance. “Okay,” she said. “We’re covered. Once the fire is out, the exigency under which we entered the scene is greatly diminished. Further search or scrutiny of the scene requires a search warrant or consent from the owner or agent in control of the premises. I had Ray contact the owner. She went to San Francisco for dinner. She’s on her way back.”

“What makes you think this is a crime scene?” Robby asked.

“Just being thorough. I think it’s strange that right after you left, an aggressive fire breaks out and nearly kills Karen.”

“I agree,” Vail said. “So what’s procedure out here?”

“Well, the firefighters are doing their bit, poking around, conducting an investigation to determine the ignition source and method to make sure the fire’s really out, and that the cause of the fire no longer exists. That’s their responsibility, and it’s covered by the exigency under which they entered the premises. But because
we’re
here, a defense attorney could make the case that the search is going beyond what is required by exigency and turning to the collection of criminal evidence.”

“But since I paid for the room rental, don’t I have the right to give consent for the search?”

“Hmm. I’ll make a call. You may be right.” Dixon pulled her cell phone. “By the way, one of the fire guys said he saw a gas can behind the building. Don’t know if it’s related, or if it’s from a lawn mower, or whatever. To be safe, they backed off and waited for Brix to get here.”

“Brix is here? Didn’t even see him.”

“Behind the structure,” Dixon said, tilting her head back over her shoulder. “There’s another guy with him from the Napa sheriff’s office. I don’t know who he is, but they’ve been pointing at things, talking a lot.” She turned and punched a speed dial number into her phone.

Vail sighed. “All our stuff was in that room. We’ve got nothing to wear.”

“Just stuff,” Robby said. “Replaceable.”

The noise of crunching boots on gravel made them turn. Walking
toward them was Brix, alongside a short, squat man in a suit. His legs were so thick he rocked a bit from side to side as he approached.

Brix nodded at Dixon, then gestured to the man. “Burt Gordon, Napa County arson investigator.”

Gordon acknowledged Vail, Dixon, and Robby. “This look familiar?” He held up a plastic bag. Inside was a dinged, dull-metal butane lighter.

Vail and Robby shook their heads.

“Should it?” Robby asked.

“I’m here with an investigator from CalFire. We rely on them to determine cause and origin, and he’s pretty sure this here lighter is what was used to start it. That and gasoline. Found a can back behind the building. We’ll know more by morning, once we’ve had a chance to run it all through the lab.”

“Arson,” Vail said.
Jesus Christ. What have I gotten myself into?

“Looks that way. When so much fire spreads that quickly, the cause is automatically suspicious.” Gordon handed the evidence bags to a nearby assistant. “Building was a freestanding structure, so no one else was at risk. All the other renters got out without a problem. So the question begging to be asked is, Any idea who’d want to kill you?”

“We just got to town a couple days ago,” Robby said. “Not enough time for anyone to get to know us, let alone want to kill us.”

Vail rose from the bumper. “I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

Robby gave her a pleading look. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Dixon shoved her cell back into her pocket. To Vail, she said, “We’re good for the search. You were right.” She looked up at Robby. “As to any . . . disputes Karen may have had, they would’ve been with law enforcement officers. None of them would’ve done this.”

Vail nodded slowly. “I’ve pushed some buttons, but Roxxann’s right.”

“We talking about people
here
, on-site?”

Vail nodded. “The task force. Brix, mostly. I said some things the mayor, board of supervisors president, and Congressman Church’s District Director took offense to.”

“Again,” Dixon said, “not the kind of people who’d be involved with something like this.”

Gordon sucked on his teeth, then nodded slowly. “Okay, here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m going to meet with each one of these people, on-site, right now. Get alibis, statements from each of them—”

“Mayor Prisco, Supervisor Zimbroski, and Tim Nance aren’t here,” Dixon said.

“Then I’ll send someone to go find them. This is serious goddamn shit, Investigator Dixon. And I take my job seriously. Which means I gotta ask you, where were you tonight?”

Dixon set her jaw, then said, “I went home after dropping Karen off here.”

“Anyone who can corroborate that?”

“My dog. He’s a standard poodle. He’s very smart.”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed.

“But,” Dixon said, “I suggest a recorded statement. His handwriting’s paw. I mean,
poor
.”

Gordon stared at her. “I’ll get you a pad and pen and you can give me your statement. I suggest you leave out that bullshit about your dog.” He hobbled off toward the now doused but still simmering structure.

Dixon watched him until he walked sufficiently out of range, then said, “What kind of bullshit is that? Thinking I had something to do with this. He pissed me off.”

Robby rubbed his eyes. “Not your fault. Karen’s got a way of rubbing off on people.”