“So it’s a male thing.”
“Well, when I did it, it was to meet a girl. So, I’d say it’s a fifty-fifty split.”
She sank into her seat. “I was a good girl. So were both of my sisters. That doesn’t mean I should overlook what Kaylie is doing now.”
“No, you shouldn’t. You need to make certain she’s not doing anything stupid.” He coughed. “Is she on birth control?” he asked weakly.
Mercy covered her eyes. “Oh sweet Jesus.” Her hands slid to her ears. “Stop talking.”
“I’ll take it that means you don’t know. Might be a discussion the two of you need to have, considering her age.”
I have to talk about sneaking out at night AND birth control?
“But my point about her sneaking out was to suggest that you don’t confront her in anger. A lot of kids do it, and I’m not saying it’s right, but you need to understand that it’s not unusual behavior for her age.”
“Next you’ll tell me the exact same thing about teens and sex.”
“Don’t put your head in the sand,” he advised. “Kaylie’s a smart girl and has a lot going for her. A little guidance from her aunt for her teen years could go a long way.”
“Noted.” She was relieved as they pulled into the drive that led to the burned barn. She spotted Bill Trek’s red pickup.
Truman parked and sat motionless in his seat, staring out the windshield at the destruction. He swallowed, and she noticed his hand shook slightly as he turned off the truck.
“Does it feel different in the daylight?” she asked.
“Very. It’s like looking at a sketch of a scene from a movie that I already experienced in 3-D. Still raises all the same feelings, though.”
She squeezed his hand and met his gaze. “It’s done and over. Nothing will change.”
He nodded, and she saw protective walls rise in his gaze as he prepared himself to face the remains of the hell he’d been in thirty-six hours before.
She didn’t blame him one bit.
They got out of the vehicle and headed to where Bill Trek dug through the debris. He used a snow shovel to move the piles of ash and wood chunks and was dressed in protective coveralls and a mask to keep the clouds of soot from getting into his lungs. As they approached he pulled off the mask and worked his way out of the pile. It was a contrast to the extreme care and precision Mercy had usually seen in evidence collection. Maybe arson was handled differently.
Fire investigation was a dirty job. Ash covered him from head to toe, but he grinned as they walked up and gestured that he didn’t want to shake hands. “Don’t touch me,” he warned, showing them his soot-stained gloves.
“Not a problem,” agreed Truman. “What’s with the shovel?”
“I need to see the floor,” Bill said, using his forearm to wipe away the sweat that ran through the ash on his forehead. “Can’t tell what happened without getting a look at it. It’s an important part of my map.”
“What have you found so far?” asked Truman.
“Basically I’ve found support for my original hypothesis. Someone soaked the outside walls with gasoline and did the same with everything inside. They were determined to make it burn big.” He gave them a serious look. “I spoke with the owner, asking her what was stored in the barn, and she claims that there wasn’t really anything that she was aware of, but I’d like to hear that from some of her friends or relatives too.”
“Why?” Truman asked. “I honestly don’t think she’s been to the barn in years.”
“If I get a relative that tells me there was a boat or expensive farm equipment stored inside, then we have a problem.” Bill looked pointedly at the burned remains. “Clearly there wasn’t anything like that left here.”
Mercy suddenly understood. “Someone would have moved things they wanted to protect if they’d set the fire themselves . . . if they were hoping to get the insurance payment for the structure they set on fire.”
“You’d be amazed at how many ‘accidental’ home fires are missing the big-screen TV the neighbor says was in the living room. Or the antique gun collection that just happened to be moved to storage the week before. They want the insurance payout for an accident, but they can’t help but first move their favorite belongings. A dead giveaway when a relative tells me the antique gun collection has had a place of honor in the den for twenty years.”
“I don’t think Tilda Brass set the fire,” Truman said.
“I agree. But I need to make certain all my t’s are crossed.”
“What else do you do outside of examining the actual scene?” Mercy asked with curiosity.
“Well.” Bill paused. “A lot. I’ll talk to the insurance company and the friends and neighbors. I’ll check with the hospital and clinics, looking for someone with burns or inhalation injuries. You’d be surprised how many get burns on their hands or their ankles. The fires always catch faster than they expect. Especially with the gasoline they used here.”
Mercy looked at the section of concrete pad Bill had cleared. The patterns meant nothing to her. “The gasoline was also dumped inside the barn? Not just around the outside?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“So they must have seen that there was a propane tank inside.”
“I assume so,” agreed Bill. “Either they didn’t care or saw it as a bonus. It wasn’t a big one.”
“Big enough to knock me a few feet and shoot burning debris onto me,” Truman pointed out.
“It was positioned against the wall you were closest to,” Bill agreed. “If it had been on the other side of the barn, you wouldn’t have felt the same strength of the blast.”
Truman turned away and walked over to the far side of the debris pile, staring at the ground. He stopped a few feet from where the two men had breathed their last breaths and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“How’s he doing?” Bill asked her in a low voice. “What he went through would send most men to their doctors begging for drugs to make their memories go away.”
“I suspect that’s crossed his mind,” Mercy admitted. “He’s been through a similar type of hell before. It nearly drove him out of law enforcement, but he seems well prepared to deal with the emotional aftermath this time. Sadly, it’s because he had to learn how the first time.”
“No one would blame him for stepping back.”
“That’s not who he is.”
“I can see that.” Bill met her gaze. “But he can still crash. He’s not Captain America.”
Truman often wore a Captain America T-shirt, and Mercy thought it suited him. “Actually, that’s a perfect description of him. Captain America has a mushy sentimental core; he’s very human. And yes, he can fall apart.” She glanced over at Truman. He stood motionless, and she knew he battled invisible demons. Her instincts told her to go to him, but she stood still. Truman would ask when he needed help.
She simply had to be available.
SEVEN
Mercy wrapped her hands around her hot coffee cup at the Bend FBI office but didn’t drink. She was coffeed out. Darby noticed and asked if she wanted some juice. Mercy turned down the intelligence analyst’s offer. She was tired of eating and drinking on the run. It was all she’d done at Quantico for the previous two weeks, and she hadn’t found time to grocery shop since she’d been back. Her body was rebelling against the unusual diet.