“How did it happen?” Mercy asked again. The young man seemed flustered and wouldn’t meet her gaze as he handed her a sheet of paper from the printer.
“Fooling around. It was stupid.”
Truman chose that moment to step in the office and greet her. An overwhelming need to touch him and greet him with a kiss filled her, but she stayed still. They’d agreed to keep it professional around both their coworkers. She tried to transmit her affection through her gaze. The smile in his eyes told her it’d been received.
“Jeez. Get a room or something,” Lucas ordered. “I swear the temperature just rose ten degrees in here.”
“Send Clyde back when he gets here,” Truman said as he led her to his office.
“What happened to Lucas’s foot?” Mercy asked as she took one of the wooden chairs across from his desk.
Truman relaxed into his big office chair and leaned so far back she expected it to tip over. “He didn’t tell you?”
“He seemed too embarrassed to tell me.”
“I had to get the story out of Royce. I guess Lucas and some buddies built a bike ramp and were trying to launch themselves over someone’s shed. Lucas didn’t make it.”
“How’s the shed?” asked Mercy, thinking of the muscular bulk of the former high school football player.
“Not a total loss.”
“Isn’t that the sort of stunt kids do in middle school?”
“Yep. No wonder he didn’t want to tell anyone. I often forget he’s only nineteen.”
Someone paused in the doorway, drawing their attention.
“Morning, Chief.”
Mercy assumed the older man clutching a cowboy hat was Clyde Jenkins. Truman made introductions, and Clyde shook her hand as if it were made of glass. He had the eye bags and lined face of Tommy Lee Jones, but that was where the similarities ended. He was taller than Truman and incredibly skinny, with a yellow cast to his skin that made her wonder about his health. His smile was warm, and he flashed perfect movie star teeth.
“Pleased to meet you. I didn’t realize the FBI would be here.” Caution filled Clyde’s tone.
“We’re taking an interest in all the recent arson cases in light of the deputies’ murders,” Mercy told him.
His face fell and the impossibly deep lines around his mouth grew deeper. “I knew Ralph Long well enough to say howdy. I can’t believe he’s dead.”
“It’s a horrible situation that’s shaken everyone.” Mercy gestured at the chair adjacent to hers, and they all took their seats. “Tell me what happened at your place.”
“When I heard about Ralph, I knew I needed to come forward.” Clyde stared at the hat in his hands. “I heard there’d been some problems with small fires around town, but . . . I didn’t think mine was worth mentioning. My neighbor told me two men were killed the other day, so I figured I should at least let someone know what I saw.”
He shifted in his seat and crossed and uncrossed an ankle over his knee. Mercy frowned. “Wouldn’t most people report an arson started on their property?”
Clyde fingered the brim of his hat. “I didn’t want any trouble.”
Mercy exchanged a glance with Truman. “How can reporting a fire cause you trouble?” she asked.
The witness set his hat on his knee and gave Truman a pleading look.
Truman twisted his lips. “Did you scare them off with a little gunfire?”
“Am I going to be arrested again?”
Mercy understood, remembering Lucas’s story about how Clyde had scared religious folks off his property. “No, Clyde. I don’t think that’s going to be a concern. Obviously the people you fired at last week never filed a report. We’re simply interested in what you saw.”
He exhaled and slumped back in his chair. “That’s a relief. It took me two years to pay off that fine last time.” His demeanor perked up. “This was Wednesday of last week. I spotted two people—possibly three—dashing through my orchard. I stepped out of the house and I could hear them laughing as they ran. I didn’t think much of it . . . I’m not far from the highway, and people have been known to park along it and cut through my orchard to the creek. Doesn’t matter how many No Trespassing signs I put up. But then a few minutes later I saw a light coming from the area of my burn pile. I’d been waiting for some wet weather before lighting it myself. It was just plain stupid to light anything last week.”
“I agree,” said Truman.
Clyde nodded vehemently. “It’s been dry for weeks. Anyway, I was all pissed as hell and maybe my temper got the best of me, so I let off one warning shot. Since the fire was where I usually burn, everything I needed to put it out was handy, and it was doused in a few minutes.”
“Where were the men when you fired?” Mercy asked.
“Heading back through the orchard toward the highway.”
“You didn’t try to get a look at their vehicle?” Truman leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk, his entire focus on Clyde.
“I had a fire to take care of,” Clyde pointed out. “This might be November, but with our dry spell it could have spread like crazy.”
“Not doubting your judgment,” Truman told him. “Just hoping you had a vehicle description for us. Did you hear it leave?”
Clyde thought for a moment. “No, all my attention was on the fire.”
“What did they do after you fired your gun?” Mercy asked.
“Ran faster.”
“Could you make out anything they said? Or see what they wore?” she continued.
The older man closed his eyes. “All I saw was silhouettes. No features. I’m not even certain about how many people. I think there were two or three of them. Could be others I didn’t see.”
Mercy thought of the large man from the early-morning fire. “Any of them heavyset? Super thin?”
“Average size. I feel like they were younger because they could move so fast, you know?” He opened his eyes and tipped his head in thought. “They ran as fast as they could once I fired. It’s been several decades since I was able to run like that.”
“If someone fired at you, you might surprise yourself,” Truman suggested.
“Good point.” He frowned and opened his mouth to speak but closed it. His thick brows came together, and he picked at a button on his coat.
“What is it?” asked Mercy.
“I could be wrong,” he started.
“We’re interested in anything you can suggest,” Mercy said.
“Well, I think one of them was a woman. I swear I heard a woman’s laugh that night.”
Mercy couldn’t get Clyde’s words out of her mind. A woman? A woman might have done these fires and shootings?
She and Truman had puzzled over it for a good ten minutes after Clyde left, getting nowhere in their theories except in realizing they needed to be more open-minded. They couldn’t assume the shooters and fire setters were all male.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you since I got back,” Mercy said to Truman as he drove them out to the site of the deputies’ murders. They’d grabbed a quick lunch after Clyde left and made plans to meet the fire marshal at the remains of Tilda Brass’s barn.
“I’m pretty sure we slept in the same bed last night.”
“Briefly. And you passed out within minutes.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Maybe a tiny bit.” She took a closer look at him, noting the bandages on his neck looked clean and fresh. “You still look exhausted, which doesn’t surprise me, since I think you’ve had five hours of sleep in the last two days. How do the burns feel?”
“Fine.”