Emma did one more walk through of what had been the Brichards’ home and then went to her car. There was a cat near the driver’s side tire and she knelt down and ran her hand along his back as he arched and began to purr.
She glanced back to the house. Her gut told her this was purposeful fire setting, but the evidence didn’t add up. It didn’t help that most of the evidence she could have used was either buried in the ground or had been washed away with a direct spray of a hose. Inexperienced firemen rarely can spot the difference between arson and accident upon coming to a fire, and many times most or even all the evidence of arson is washed away before a fire investigator is notified of the scene.
Witnesses could tell her if there was an odor or if the fire took an unusual pattern, indications of the use of an accelerant. As was yellow fire with dark, black smoke. One of the easiest ways to recognize an accelerant were flames that burned directly from the floor, which most witnesses had no trouble identifying. She regretted that there were no witnesses here to give her a clear answer.
She rubbed the cat’s head for a moment before getting into her car and starting the engine. She placed the plastic container containing the samples on the seat next to her and stared at it. It was nearly eleven o’clock and she had an 8:00 a.m. class in the morning. But excitement tingled in her belly. It was so rare that a genuine puzzle present itself in her world. She pulled away, careful to avoid the cat, and sped down to the freeway heading back to UCLA.
CHAPTER 42
Jon Stanton hung around the hospital lobby after he had left Gunn’s room. He didn’t know what exactly he was expecting to happen, but it felt like the place he needed to be right now. He got a Diet Coke out of the vending machines and sat at a table, slowly sipping out of the cold can and listening to the conversations around him.
One woman, older and grossly overweight, was describing the stroke she had suffered. She sat in a wheel chair, her friend next to her, and they laughed about it over ice cream as if she had slipped on a banana peel and hurt her backside. Another table was filled with young girls in their late teens discussing the gunshot wound their friend was being treated for. Speaking in hushed tones, one of them mentioned that she knew where the girl lived that had shot at them.
Stanton ignored them and sipped his drink. He took a good half hour to finish and then rose and walked back to the emergency room. The Richardsons were still there but they were packing up to leave. He was going to stop in and ask them questions about the man that had assaulted them but the uniform came up before he had a chance.
“Detective, I’m takin’ the mom and the kids to a hotel. Dad’s not doin’ so good. He’s got brain damage. Doc said he might have permanent blindness.”
Stanton glanced into the room. The young children sat with blank stares directed at the walls or floors. Only Tabitha had her eyes fixated on her father who was lying back asleep on the hospital bed. Her eyes were rimmed red from crying and he could see the spots on her skirt where the tears had fallen. She looked like she still wanted to cry, but there was nothing left.
“I need to interview them,” Stanton said. “I won’t do it now, though. Tell them I’m coming by in the morning to speak with them. What hotel are you going to?”
“They ain’t got much money with ‘em. I was just thinking the Highway Lodge over there off Friar’s Road.”
“No,” Stanton said. He pulled out his wallet and handed him a credit card. “Take them to the Marriott downtown. Stop at the grocery store first and make sure they have everything they need.”
“You got it.”
Stanton watched them leave without saying goodbye. He headed out to his car and got halfway down the corridor when his cell phone rang. He recognized the number as coming from the UCLA campus.
“Hello?”
“Jon, it’s Emma.”
“What’re you doing up?”
“Nice to hear from you too.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just late, that’s all.”
“I know you didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Look I’m calling about the Brichards’ house. I went down and took some samples from the baseboards and the surface of the flooring. I tested it for accelerants.”
“And?”
“Nothing. I was about to call it a night when I decided to run it through one more battery of tests in the spectrometer. Some compounds get burned off so efficiently that they’re difficult to detect so I had to analyze the wood itself rather than looking for accelerant on the surface. I found something.”
“What?”
“It’s not much and I can only give you a range of probability as to the likelihood of its use, but I saw a trace amount of naphtha.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a somewhat broad term and the exact composite varies by manufacturing, but I think I saw a base of thinner. It would have to be nearly odorless and colorless. Something unique. Possibly something made to order.”
“Who could make an accelerant like that for private use?”
“Well, if he’s a chemist, he could make it at home. So we shouldn’t rule that out. He could also just know somebody or have access to some laboratories that contain the compound. There is one other possibility: he could be with the fire department. They would have access to accelerants for training purposes.”
“Let’s hope that’s not it.” Stanton paused. “Is this something Benny should have picked up?”
“It was more difficult to find than other accelerants, but he didn’t even test multiple samples. He took one and didn’t find anything and declared it good. He needs to be fired, Jon.”
Stanton walked outside to his car and leaned against it, watching the front entrance of the hospital as a man helped a woman in a wheelchair out. “Can you get me the lab results and a brief report?”
“Sure, I can email that to you right now.”
“Thanks.” He paused and then said, “I’m sorry about dinner last time.”
“It’s okay. It’s…you didn’t know.”
“I’d like to make it up to you sometime.”
“Sure, any time. You have my number.”
“Thanks, Emma. I’ll get back to you about this.”
“Sure thing. Bye.”
Stanton hung up and got into his car. He began to drive home and made a quick stop at the beach to watch the moon reflect off the water. After a long while, he went back to his apartment and changed into shorts and a T-shirt and tried to sleep. As he drifted off, he pictured the final moments of the Brichards and Humbolts. He felt his throat tighten up and he swallowed hard, and turned to his side. He knew it would be another night without sleep.
CHAPTER 43
It was nine in the morning when Stanton came into Northern and walked by the front desk with a quick nod hello to the receptionist, a manila folder under his arm. He found Slim Jim with his feet up and an iPod on, flipping through some reports in a brown file. Stanton lifted his earphones away from his ears.
“I’m meeting with Childs. I need you on this too.”
“What is it?”
“Arson cases.”
Slim Jim rose and followed him to Daniel Childs’ office. It was spacious but scarcely decorated. The only thing up on the walls were a few medals and his Marine Corps drill sergeant hat that was framed in a plastic case. Childs was reading over some documents on his computer and said, “Shut the door,” without looking up.
Stanton shut the door as Slim Jim collapsed onto the old couch in the corner. He pulled a sucker out of his jacket pocket and unwrapped it, thrusting it into his mouth and folding his hands on his chest.
“So,” Slim Jim said, “what’s up?”
Stanton took out some papers from the file under his arm and put them on the desk. Childs’ eyes went to them and he began reading through him. Stanton didn’t say anything until Childs pushed them away and then looked up at him.