She put it from her head. That meant nothing. Nothing, she told herself again, looking at the third photo, of him disappearing into the window.
“So he broke in,” Sydney said.
“About four minutes before the first nine-one-one call. The rest of the surveillance photos show him leaving out the same window right after the call was made reporting the fire. And he has the burns on his hands in this photo, and there are no burns on the entry.”
She stared in disbelief. “There has to be a mistake. The time’s wrong. Something.”
“No mistake. He lied to you, Sydney. He didn’t walk in the front door like he told you. He climbed in through the window. This proves he was there when your father was killed. Wheeler killed him. There’s no other explanation.”
45
Sydney looked away from the photos, away from Scotty and Carillo, their looks of sympathy, unable to believe that she had let Wheeler dupe her. She’d believed him. Believed her father had asked him there, was trying to help him. “What about Jazmine Wheeler and what she said about the church organization?”
“Perhaps,” Carillo said, “it was just a coincidence. Your father really did search him out to help out the son of an old friend. But that son was too far gone, too into drugs. Couldn’t keep himself clean long enough.”
Sydney looked down at the photos again, tried to make sense of it, but a loud crash from upstairs startled her.
Maggie Winters had dropped her aluminum clipboard, and papers went flying. “Somebody grab that,” Maggie asked one of the other agents as she shone her flashlight on the window, then peered closer at it. “Looks like someone opened the window and dropped in some matches. There’s a stick here that he probably used to reach in and knock over the turpentine.”
“Great,” Sydney said.
“You okay?” Carillo asked.
She nodded, took a deep breath, as Scotty said, “I’d say it’s looking like a lot of ugly coincidences all the way around. It happens.”
She looked up at her apartment. “If Wheeler’s guilty, then who did this?” she asked, pointing. “And why?”
Carillo followed her gaze. “Assuming it wasn’t accidental-”
“With a sliced screen?”
“Rules out the accident theory,” he continued. “So unless some arsonist just picked you at random-and I think that’s taking this coincidence theory too far-I’d say that leaves whoever it is Scotty is investigating on our good senator.”
The only thing Sydney could concentrate on right then was that she’d unwittingly brought Angie into danger. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered to herself.
Carillo put his arm around her shoulder. “First things first,” he said. “You need somewhere to stay.”
“I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” Sydney said, trying not to watch Scotty as he moved off a few feet to make a call. A chasm had definitely opened between them. She told herself it didn’t matter. He hadn’t been completely open with her-and she ignored the thought that she most definitely hadn’t been open with him. This had been her father’s life. Her life. Not Scotty’s.
Carillo saw her watching Scotty. “As hard as it is, you gotta cut him some slack. You know he’s only worried about you.”
“Yeah, thanks,” she said, and Carillo drew her away, diverting her attention, his arm still around her, and she realized that she felt safe there. She could trust him.
They stood like that for several minutes, not talking, until he finally said, “Did I tell you Sheila called me today?”
“No.”
“Seems she wants to work things out.”
“Boyfriend dump her?”
“Probably. You know she’s got six letters in her first name? Say Sheila three times, it’s like saying six, six, six. Kinda fits. She-devil Sheila.”
She glanced at his face, but he was looking up at her apartment, not really seeing anything, if she had to hazard a guess. “So,” she said. “You tell her you’re getting used to the thought of paying alimony?”
“I should have. What I did say was that I’d have to think about it. Working it out, that is. Man, that fire really did a number on your kitchen.”
They stared up into the window, the burned interior brightly lit as Maggie worked her magic. “And did you?” Sydney finally asked. “Think about it?”
“Still thinking.” He flashed a grin. “I was getting used to the idea of living in my car.”
“Makes it convenient when you’re hungry. Drive right through the Taco Bells. Unless you end up getting transferred…”
“Speaking of transfers to out-of-the-way places, Dixon left you a voice mail.”
“I am not getting transferred,” she said, taking out her phone. Sydney flipped it open and punched in the code to access the voice mail. Two messages. “Syd? It’s Dixon. Just checking to see if you’re okay… if you need anything before I get out there. I’m sending a team to investigate. Just in case. Call me.”
“Nothing about a transfer,” Sydney said, deleting that call. Sydney put the phone to her ear to listen to the next message, and heard, “Things should be getting a little hot for you.” The same muffled, raspy voice as she’d heard on Dixon’s phone earlier. “Oh, by the way,” the voice continued, “ you’re next.”
And then nothing.
“What is it?” Carillo asked, no doubt seeing the look of shock on her face. Sydney couldn’t help but glance around, at everyone across the street, wondering if any of them had called while watching the fire, watching her.
“Someone who thinks I should be next,” she said, pressing the button to prompt a repeat, then handing the phone to Carillo.
He listened, eyed the crowd across the street just as she’d done. “Our Jane Doe killer?” he said, handing her the phone.
She checked the incoming number that showed up on her cell phone screen. Restricted. No number listed. Sydney showed the screen to Carillo. “What the hell is going on? How would he get my number?”
“One possibility,” Carillo said. “It isn’t the Jane Doe killer. Whoever this caller is, he already knew you. He’s the hit that Scotty is investigating.”
“Great. This can’t get any worse.”
Scotty asked, “What’s wrong?”
She repeated to him what the caller had said, just as Dixon pulled up. Scotty also looked across the street. “You see anyone who doesn’t belong?”
“I see a lot of people who don’t belong. It’s not like I know all my neighbors here.”
Scotty nodded to Carillo. “Let’s go take some names.”
They crossed the street just as Dixon walked over. He glanced up at her apartment and wasted no time saying, “This have anything to do with your unofficial investigation that you’re not investigating?”
“Depends on who you ask,” Sydney said, unable to deal with much more tonight. Sydney glanced at Rainie’s window, saw Angie glued to the glass, watching everything, Jake standing behind her, his arms crossed, clearly waiting for her to come in and discuss the situation with him. Her mother wasn’t with him, and she wondered where she was, what he’d told her. “Carillo can fill you in. I think my stepfather wants to see me.”
She left him and walked into Rainie’s house.
Angie barely spared her a glance, intent on watching Maggie walking down the steps. “She’s the one who collects all the evidence. That’s what I want to do!”
“College first,” Jake said, no doubt now, more than ever, dead set against her going into law enforcement. He wanted her to be a doctor.
“Where’s Rainie?” Sydney asked.
“In the kitchen,” Angie said. “Making coffee and hot chocolate.”
Sydney glanced at Jake, who nodded toward the kitchen, indicating he wanted to talk to her in there, alone.
They walked into the kitchen, and Rainie handed her a cup of coffee. The warm mug felt wonderful in her hands. “How’re you holding up?” she asked, stirring some chocolate on the stove.
“Not bad, considering.”
Rainie glanced behind her to Jake. “Would you like some coffee?”