Arsonist

CHAPTER 37

It was six in the morning when Stanton woke on his balcony. He got up and went back to bed and didn’t wake again until nearly noon. Then he dressed in a wetsuit with shorts and had a light breakfast of cereal and a grapefruit before heading out the door and to the storage room that held his board.

The beach was packed with teenagers cutting school, mothers with their kids, tourists, and the self-employed that didn’t feel like working today. He held his board vertical to minimize the space it took up and avoid hitting anyone with it. The sand was hot under his feet and he realized he’d forgotten to wear his sandals.

The water was cold, much colder than the heat of the day let on. He paddled out as far as he could before running into the three other surfers out on the water.

“Too fucking cold, bro,” one of the surfers said.

The three paddled back to shore together but Stanton lay on his board, letting the waves lift and drop him. He felt the rhythm of the ocean, its heartbeat, and he could’ve sworn that it matched his own. He felt that he could get lost here and no one could find him. For a brief moment, he envied those that were lost at sea for days or weeks. It was ridiculous, he knew, but for that moment he would’ve given anything to feel that silence and isolation.

He didn’t notice he was shivering until his teeth began to chatter and he headed back.

Stanton walked into the precinct around one in the afternoon and headed to his office. There were dozens of messages and he went through them and returned some calls before having Holly make copies of the arsonist copies he had made and email them to Emma. The first home, the Brichards, had been cleared and declared an accident. It was no longer a crime scene and Emma could visit it as much as she needed to. The second scene was still under investigation and Stanton would have to be there with her for that one.

When he had finished returning his calls, he went down to the scene of the second fire and parked two blocks away and left his car on. He could see the burnt-out shell of the Humbolts’ home but he ignored it and turned on NPR. It was a segment about the meaning of having a dog and he turned it off and put in a Yanni CD instead.

Every car that passed, he eyed the driver and the passengers. He was looking for someone specific. The cars were mostly full of young teenagers returning home from school and they were speeding through the stop sign at the intersection so Stanton had to keep his eyes on the road to catch a good glimpse of them.

A red Camaro pulled to a rolling stop and turned the corner toward the house. In the driver seat was a young man with red hair and a tight gray T-shirt. The passenger was Tabitha Richardson. Stanton pulled away and followed the car until it stopped in front of the Richardsons’ home. He got out and walked to the passenger side window.

The window was rolled up as Tabitha was making out with the boy. Stanton knocked on the glass and she jumped. He suppressed a smile; she probably thought it was her mother.

“What do you want?” she said.

“I take it you remember me?”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’d like to speak to you for a minute.”

“I’m busy.”

“It won’t take more than a minute. Please, step out.”

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“Then I may have to investigate why a boy that is clearly over eighteen is dating a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old girl.”

“Who is this fag?” the boy said.

“A cop,” she said.

The boy’s eyes went wide. “Um, maybe you better go with him.”

She sighed and opened the door, shutting it behind her. “So, what do you want?”

“I’d like to know who it was you saw at the Humbolts’ home the night of the fire.”

“I told you, I didn’t see anything.”

“Tabitha, most of my job is trying to tell if someone is telling me the truth or lying and you’re lying to me. I don’t want to ruin your life or get you in trouble or any of that. I just want the truth. Don’t you care about the Humbolts? I hear they were very good to their neighbors.”

She looked down to her shoes. “I used to babysit for them.”

“I just want your help in finding who did this to them.”

“My mom said that some of the cops were sayin’ this was just an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident. They were killed. And the person who did it is still out there, free to do it again. Tell me what you saw that night and help me catch him. Please.”

She glanced back at the car to see what the boy was doing before folding her arms and leaning against the door.

“You can’t tell my mom.”

“You have my word.”

“I was out with some friends. Some friends my mom don’t want me to hang out with. I snuck out with them and we came back at like five in the morning. I went in the house and then remembered I forgot my phone at a house we were at so I got back in the car with them and left.”

“And what’d you see when you came back?”

“Some guy. He was standing in front of their house. He started walking away and I didn’t think it was weird or anything. But then after…”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I told you, I snuck out. My mom would kill me. I already failed math and was grounded forever. I didn’t want to do that again.”

“Do you remember what this man looked like?”

“Kind of.”

“I need you to come down to the police station with me.”

“Why?”

“I want you to spend some time with a sketch artist and give him a description of the man you saw. It usually takes just a little over an hour. You’ll be back before dinner.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I thought it was gonna be all this extra work.”

“It won’t take long, I promise. You can ride with your boyfriend and just follow behind me.”

“Fine,” she said, opening the door and climbing back inside.

Stanton leaned down and looked at the boy. “You’re going to be following me to the police station. If you lose me, I’ll assume Tabitha has decided not to help me and I’m going to need to know how old you are since you’re dating a minor. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded.

On the way back to the precinct, Stanton considered turning the boy in for what was clearly a sexual relationship with an underage girl. But he appeared no older than eighteen or nineteen; the difference in their ages was minimal. He decided that if Tabitha gave him a working sketch, he would let this slide.