Arsonist

CHAPTER 19

Ocean Beach Park was nearly empty this early in the morning as the sun came up and roasted the sky a bright orange and pink. A couple of joggers were out, a few people walking dogs, but the majority of the dozen or so people out there were surfers. They were like a primitive tribe. With their own language, their own customs, and violently opposed to outsiders. In the fifties and sixties, even the police tolerated assaults against tourists in known local surfing spots. For the surfers, there was a spiritual aspect to surfing that made it different from all other, not just sports, but activities. It was communing with nature by submitting to its will. You were at the mercy of the ocean and if it chose to do so that day, it would show you the majesty of creation. And if it chose to that day, it would take your life as payment for your trespass.

Many of the surfers were rebellious youth. Religion and regular church attendance were not part of their lives. This-enveloping oneself in nature-was their form of worship. Nature demanded respect and nothing but the highest standards, from both the surfers and those on the beach observing. But like everything else, standards had deteriorated.

Of the new generation of surfers, half were drug addicts and half were maniacs. Fights were common and drug use on the beach followed by near-drowning in the sea as much so. Despite this, there were still those that, like descendants of some great ancestors from long ago, had faith in the ocean and saw surfing as those early surfers had. They were fewer, and didn’t come out when the beaches were packed to the brim with valley youth and tourists, but they were there.

Jon Stanton belonged to this latter group.

He waxed his board and zipped up his wetsuit. The sand was just warming and it felt silky as it ran through his toes. He stood and listened to the waves crackle against the shore for a long time before picking up his board and going in.

The water was cool, almost to the point of being cold. He sat quietly and adjusted and then began paddling out. When he was far enough, he turned toward shore, and waited for his set.

The waves were low at first but as time went on they grew. Eventually, all the surfers that were asleep in their cars or lying on beach towels waiting for their set filled the water. They dotted the massive waves like seals fleeing some predator, zipping back and forth and taking massive falls as their boards flew in one direction and they flew in another.

Stanton hit his stride on one wave in particular. It was a smooth ride and he was steady on it. He pointed his toes over the board and stood straight, as if the wave was a regal caravan carrying him back to shore. It lasted only thirty or so seconds, but it felt like years. He thought of his children, his two sons that he hadn’t seen in months, and wondered whether they thought about him anymore. He tried so hard to see them and be their father, but he knew his ex-wife was pouring poison in their ears. His sons saw him out of an obligation, some duty they’d learned at school, but they had turned to their stepfather for the guidance and love he was supposed to provide.

When he got back to shore after a good hour, he went to his towel and lay down. The sun was bright now and hot and it felt good against his face. There was a shadow nearby and he looked to see Billy Sakamoto zipping up his suit.

“You’re still wearing your badge,” Stanton shouted.

“Oh,” Billy said, noticing the detective shield around his neck. “You goin’ back in?”

“Not for a while. I’ll hold it.”

Billy tossed it to him, finished zipping up, and then walked over with the board under his arm.

“I’m actually glad I ran into you, Jon. I wanted to ask you how you and your new partner are doing.”

“Fine.”

“Stephen’s been treating you good?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Any reason they put you two together? At least any reason they told you?”

“No. They just said it was a random pairing.”

“Hm, it could be I guess. Did you know his last three partners asked for transfers or new assignments?”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Stephen’s got a reputation. He’s kinda crazy, Jon. One of his partners was Jensen over in Missing Persons. You should talk to him. He told me Stephen once beat the shit outta this perp they were interrogating ‘cause he wouldn’t tell them where the kid he’d snatched was. It was a bad enough beating that the guy had to go to the hospital afterwards. He’d broken several bones and fractured his skull.”

Stanton shrugged. “Sounds like a product of the rumor mill.”

“Maybe. Just watch your back is all I’m saying. Partnerships are like marriages. What happens to him happens to you and what he does you do.”

“I appreciate it, Billy. Thanks.”

Billy nodded and then headed for the sea as Stanton lay back, letting the sun cook his face and dry his wet skin.

It was nearly an hour later when Billy came out and got his badge and said goodbye. Stanton had fallen asleep. Though he’d been out here two hours he wasn’t worried about a sunburn; for some reason, he never burned.

He rose and stretched before gathering up his towel. A message was on his cell phone; it was from Childs.

Call me back, bye.

Stanton dialed his number.

“Jon, where you at?”

“Heading in after a shower. What’s up?”

“We got something for you and Gunn. Another arson.”

“What about Sell and Wharton. They just cleared two of their cases.”

“You too busy?”

“No, it’s just that arsons aren’t really my thing. I think Wharton used to be a firefighter.”

“This is…this is something else. I want you on it. Drop everything else and come down. Gunn’s already on his way.”

“All right, text me the address.”

As Stanton got into his car, he received a text message. He thought it was the address but then he received another one. When he opened his texts, there was the address from Childs and then a text from Gunn:

Already down here. Pretty bad. Sick fuck killed whole family.