I got as close as I could to the scene, then stopped at the insistence of Fire Chief Max Teller. He, too, was on foot, and I vaguely remembered that he had a couple of kids. The devil ears on his head reinforced my belief that he had been on the drag, and that he, like me, had rushed to the scene with the intent of helping anyone who needed it.
But the body in the car was beyond help.
Together, we stood and stared at the carnage. Though we were a good thirty feet away, the heat from the explosion filled the air. I started to wipe at the tears that streamed down my face, then stopped, realizing it was useless.
I knew the tears would be falling for a long time to come.
Beside me, Teller leaned over, tried to catch his breath. He was pushing sixty and, though he was still trim and muscular, twenty years as the chief had left him more accustomed to sitting at a desk than responding, by foot no less, to an emergency callout.
After a few minutes, he straightened up and turned to me. That’s when he saw the tears.
“My God, do you know the vic?”
I nodded. “I think … it’s Caleb Montgomery. That’s his car, those are his law offices. I was with him less than twenty minutes ago. I need to help, need to do something…”
As I started once more to move toward the burning vehicle, Teller gently grabbed my shoulder. “I can’t let you go over there, Detective. There could be another explosion. Your department can process the scene as soon as we get that fire under control and secure the perimeter.”
“There must be something…” It was difficult to get the words out; my tongue felt swollen, my throat suddenly parched. I’d sat across from Caleb in a room filled with cold fear and told him that I could help. But he’d come to me too late.
Teller squeezed my shoulder, sympathetic. “My team will go in first. That’s the way it’s got to be.”
Frustrated, I watched as more fire personnel arrived. They moved in what seemed to be slow motion; it was apparent that word had spread: this was one victim who was beyond help. No ambulance would be needed, no sprint to the nearest hospital required. Half of the team set up a perimeter around the car while the other half ran another hose from the engine to put water on the flames. With a final warning that I should stay put, Teller jogged over to join his crew.
Behind the fire personnel came four Cedar Valley Police Department squad cars. It was my team, my second family, and I was immensely relieved to see them. I yanked off the cat ears I’d just realized were still on my head and furiously wiped at my eyes.
By the time Chief of Police Angel Chavez stepped out of the first squad car and met me in the middle of the now closed-off street, I was fully composed.
Chavez was a tall, serious man in a dark, serious suit. Though he dressed more like the president of a bank than a police officer, Chavez was a cop through and through. He was one of the best men I knew and at the moment, there was no one I’d rather see. At his side was our department’s new intern, a man a few years older than me, exploring a career change. His name was Jimmy and, though he’d only been with us a short time, he seemed to be working out okay.
And on their heels was my partner, Finn Nowlin. His black hair was slicked back and at the corner of his mouth, three long smears of blood trailed down from his lips into his five o’clock shadow. It was obvious that he, too, had been out enjoying the festivities.
Finn looked ill as he scanned the scene, took in the body and the car. “My God,” he muttered. “Explosion like that, there’s going to be evidence all over this damn street.”
Chavez jammed his hands in his pants pockets. “The car belongs to Caleb Montgomery?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. My family and I, we visited him tonight. His car was parked in that very spot. It’s hard to tell if it’s the same car, of course, but it appears to be.”
“I’m sorry, I know your families are close.” Chavez exhaled, a troubled look in his eyes. “Someone is behind this. Cars don’t blow up by themselves.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Chief. Caleb had been receiving death threats for the last six months.” I quoted one of the terrible letters from memory: “‘I am coming for you. Gutting you will be the most glorious moment of my life. Death will be a slow dance, you bleeding out, me swaying to the music of your moans. And there will be laughter. So much laughter.’”
“Gruesome.” Finn looked at the body again, watched the firefighters douse more water on the now-smoldering flames. “Maybe the person who sent the threats saw you two meet and figured Caleb was spilling the beans, so he took him out.”
The chief asked, “Did the threats specifically instruct Caleb not to speak to the police?”
“No, nothing like that. And unless the perp has the law offices bugged, there’s no way he could have known what Caleb and I talked about. I arrived with Brody, with Grace. We were in costume.” I bent over, a terrible bout of nausea suddenly clenching my stomach. Thoughts of what could have been, what could have happened if we’d left Caleb’s office just a few minutes later, made me want to vomit.
My family could have been the ones burnt, melted like wax dolls.
After a moment, I stood, moved past the images darkening my mind.
Chavez said, “That letter, it doesn’t sound like fan mail from your average felon. In fact, there’s something almost poetic about it.”
“I don’t think we can assume the threats were sent by someone Caleb put away. They could be from anyone—a felon … a peer … a rival. Or some crackpot who’s become obsessed with Caleb for a reason that has nothing to do with Caleb’s career.” I thought about the sense of fear I’d experienced in Caleb’s office. “I think he knew who sent them.”
“A spurned lover, maybe?” Finn offered.
I shook my head. “Caleb and Edith have been happily married for years.”
“Word on the street used to be that Caleb liked to have a good time.” Finn shrugged. “Maybe there’s no truth to it. What do I know.”
“I never heard any of that,” I said.
“What I don’t understand is why Caleb waited so long to bring these threats to our attention. Retired or not, he was still a public figure.” The chief rubbed his chin, then added, “And now someone’s gotten to him.”
I managed a brief nod of agreement as I blinked back another rush of sudden, hot tears. Grief would have to wait; within the next hour or so, the fire department would turn the scene over to us, and I couldn’t start an investigation—arguably the most important moments in a case, the first couple of hours—with my head clouded with sadness. For if the explosion was found to be a criminal act, then my interest in the case would be personal as well as professional.
In silence, we waited and watched as the firefighters continued their work. As the last of the flames died down, it was easier to make out more of the car itself. It was a four-door sedan, large pieces of which had been blown to bits. The frame was mostly intact, though warped and twisted by the heat. The exterior was blackened, charred, but a few inches of gleaming white paint shone through brightly against the burnt edges.
In a stroke of luck, two characters on the front license plate were still visible.
Jimmy, showing impressive initiative, offered to run the partial plate and the make and model. It would be the quickest way to confirm that the car was in fact Caleb’s and not someone else’s. As the intern raced back to the squad car with its laptop and wireless connection, Finn said under his breath, “Teacher’s pet.”
“Huh?”
“You haven’t noticed? Jimmy will do anything for you … for the chief … even for Moriarty. Me? I’m chopped liver. He barely acknowledges my existence. Not that I care. It’s just interesting, is all.” Finn shrugged. “Anyway … check out that beautiful creature.”
I followed his gaze and watched as two of the fire personnel gathered at the driver’s side of the car. At their heels was a gorgeous yellow Lab in an orange reflective safety vest.
“The dog? Yeah, beautiful.”
We continued watching until finally, one of the fire personnel, a female, stepped away from the car and joined Fire Chief Teller near the perimeter. The dog stayed within a foot of her the whole time. The firefighter removed her breathing apparatus and I quickly walked over, catching the last of her words.
“—body, Chief, burned beyond recognition.”
I inched close to the pair. “Excuse me, can you tell if it’s a man or woman?”
The firefighter shot me an annoyed look. “Honey, you need to back off. This is a crime scene. Please stay behind the perimeter with the rest of the civilians.”
Even the dog gave me a nudge on the knees, as if to reiterate his master’s words.
Chief Teller jumped in as I raised my eyebrows, indignation flaring in my chest. “Fire Investigator Olivia Ramirez, meet Detective Gemma Monroe. Gemma, Liv is new in town. And this little guy is her pooch, Fuego.”
“Detective? Sorry, no disrespect meant.” Ramirez lifted her hands in an appeal. Her words came easy and quickly, though there was still an element of challenge in her eyes, in her tone. She smiled briefly. “Back in L.A., we’d get a lot of civilians, sometimes reporters, messing up our crime scenes. You know how it is. As I was saying, Chief, there’s a body. The damage is, uh, extensive. Couldn’t tell you if it’s a man or woman, though the height would indicate a man.”
Ramirez paused, ran a hand over her forehead. She was in her midforties, with bronze skin and intense hazel-green eyes. She was clearly in excellent shape, and while I had five inches on her, she was more muscular, stronger looking.
“We’re lucky more people weren’t hurt,” Ramirez continued. “I’ll tell you one thing: whoever did this is sick. Sick, and talented. This took some skills.”
“So it was an intentional explosion?”
Ramirez shot me another look that I had trouble deciphering. “Yes. This was murder, plain and simple, though it will be up to you, Detective, to prove it.”
Chief Chavez was insistent. “Absolutely not. It’s a conflict of interest, Gemma. I know how close your family is to the Montgomerys. If the poor bastard in that car is Caleb, you’re off the case. Period.”
Though my face began to flush with anger and grief, I calmly stood my ground. “Chief, that’s the cost of doing business in a town this size. If every cop had to step aside because of the potential for clouded judgments, then we’d have a very small force, wouldn’t we? Put me on the case or fire me.”
“Excuse me?” Chavez stepped closer to me. “Did I hear you give me an ultimatum?”
“I have an idea.” Finn moved smoothly between the chief and me. “Monroe has a point, Chief. We all have conflicts, sooner or later. You know she’ll be a bulldog on this. How about if I take the lead? If I get the slightest sense that she’s going off the rails, I’ll put Moriarty on the case in her place.”
I started to speak. Finn gently stepped on my foot. With much effort, I bit my lip and swallowed my words. At the moment, if I wanted to stay on the case, he was my only hope.
Chavez exhaled. “Don’t make me regret this, Gemma.”
“You won’t, sir.”
He nodded. “All right. Get to it. Talk to that neighbor first, the one with the dog.”
Dog?
I turned to see a hysterical woman in a pair of overalls and a plumber’s tool belt, standing on the front porch of a house two doors down from Caleb’s law offices. In her arms was Cricket, still in his bee costume.
Finn and I went to the woman. A uniformed officer was attempting to calm her down, but the woman’s breaths came in great, gasping hitches. Cricket, picking up on her distress, was squirming, barking, and struggling to get down.
Speaking quietly, I asked the woman if the officer could hold the dog for a few minutes, maybe take it in the backyard. Something in my voice got through to her because after a moment, she sighed heavily, nodded, and handed Cricket to the officer.
He held the dog close and walked away, and though the woman was still crying, at least I could hear myself think.
“Ma’am? Are you hurt? Were you injured by the blast?” I stood close, lightly grasped her elbow.
“No … no. I … Mr. Montgomery brought Cricket over and we … we stood here and waved to him as he got in his car.” With each word, the woman settled down. “Then there was a noise and suddenly … the car was in flames.”
“You saw Caleb Montgomery enter that car?” I pointed to the wreckage, confirming that we were indeed talking about the same vehicle.
“You see any other burning Mercedes?” The woman fished in the pockets of her overalls, pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She lit one with a shaking hand. “Mr. Montgomery was a nice man.”
“Yes, he was. Have you seen anything suspicious in the neighborhood? Noticed any strange vehicles, maybe someone loitering around?” Finn asked, his voice matching the tone and volume of my own. The woman was still very much on the edge; one loud noise or harsh word could send her into hysterics again.
She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. This is a quiet street; at least, this end is.”
Finn said, “Okay. I’m going to have my officer take a statement from you—would that be all right? If you think of anything, be sure to give us a call. Here’s my card.”
The woman took the card, studied it a moment, then nodded and repeated, “He was a nice man.”
We left her in the hands of the officer who’d taken Cricket, who had calmed down and was actually nearly asleep in the officer’s arms. As we walked to the car, Finn gently took hold of my elbow and leaned in close. “I meant what I said. If I think your judgment is clouded, I’ll get Moriarty involved immediately.”
I pulled my arm free of his grasp and flashed him a cold grin. Finn was a good cop, a good partner, but the last few months had seen our relationship grow tense and I wasn’t sure what was at the root of it. We seemed to have good days and bad days, and it was clear today was turning into a bad day, for a number of reasons.
Some part of me knew this case was the sort to make or break careers. I wondered if there was more to Finn’s concern than my emotional investment. In the heat of the moment, grief welling up in me, I snapped. “Don’t worry about me. I wouldn’t dream of standing between you and New York.”
Finn froze and stared at me, his bright blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What did you hear about New York?”
“Word gets around. Everyone knows you’re suddenly itching to get out of the valley.” I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Come on, it’s no big deal. This town isn’t for everyone. You’ve put in a good stint. I can see how the action in a larger city would appeal to you.”
Finn clenched his jaw and resumed walking. I paced myself with his long strides.
“Does the chief know?”
“I don’t think so.” I didn’t add that it was probably a matter of weeks, though, before Chavez heard the rumors. Secrets never last in a town, or a police department, our size.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way. There’s a lot of unknowns at this time, including a firm job offer.” Finn shot me a look, relaxed his jaw. “Have you ever been to New York? Restaurants like you wouldn’t believe.”
I started to respond, but we’d reached the car and Investigator Ramirez stood there, near the trunk, watching our approach. At her side, Fuego stared at us with big, watchful amber-colored eyes.
I introduced her and Finn.
“First-timers to the party?” she asked us. She noted our confusion and clarified, “First time up close? To a burn vic?”
Finn said, “I worked a homicide a few years back where the perp tried to cover the murder by torching the victim’s apartment. It was a mess.”
Ramirez sniffed. “Yeah … this is probably a little fresher.”
“That’s my friend in the car that you’re talking about.” Might as well get everything on the table now, before she said something that really offended me.
Ramirez turned to me. “I’m sorry. You may want to take a minute to prepare yourself. It’s … well, it’s visceral. There’s no other way to put it.”
“Sure.” I took a moment, then moved to the driver’s side of the sedan. Leaning down, I stared in at the charred mass in the driver’s seat. The smell was indescribable. I tried to breathe slowly, shallowly, through my mouth; tried to maintain a professional composure.
It was no use; I stepped away, turning from what remained of the body of the man who’d been my friend.
A breeze from the south drifted through and I gagged as the stench of still-smoldering human fat blossomed in the air. Beside me, Finn looked equally nauseous. “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything so terrible in my life.” He turned away and dry-heaved, then spat.
Ramirez leaned in next to me. In a hushed voice, she said, “I did three tours in Iraq as a medic. You never do get used to it. One burnt body’s bad enough. Just imagine dozens. It was unbelievable.”
Finn straightened. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. “Where were you stationed?”
“Fallujah, mostly.” Ramirez looked away. “Anyway, my hope is that the initial explosion rendered the victim unconscious. At least that way, when the flames got to him, he didn’t suffer.”
I turned from Caleb’s remains and glanced at the crowd gathered on the far side of the street. If this was an intentional act of murder, was the perpetrator somewhere close by? Was he standing there, among the bystanders and witnesses, watching us attempt to start unraveling the damage he’d done?
Someone in the group shifted and I caught a glimpse of a man at the back of the crowd. At least, I thought it was a man. He wore a burlap sack pulled over his head, with two black slits for eyes, and a hooded sweatshirt, worn with the hood pulled up over the top of the sack.
Many in the crowd wore costumes, including a handful dressed as famous dead celebrities, but there was something unsettling, even disturbing about the man’s ramrod posture, his body turned in my direction.
The man slowly raised a finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence and shook his head back and forth. Then he turned tail and took off, north along Main Street.
“Finn,” I gasped and began pursuit of the individual. Finn stayed on my heels and I shouted to him what I’d seen. Up ahead, we saw the masked man duck right, down a long alley that I knew came to a dead end at a chain-link fence.
We stopped short of the alley. In between deep breaths, I managed to get out, “He’s trapped. Unless he’s Spider-Man. That fence goes twenty feet high; it backs up to the hospital.”
“He’s not trapped at all. There’s half a dozen doors that open onto the alley.” Finn turned around, looked backward. “We need a third man, to cover us.”
“We don’t have time. You cover the street, don’t let him backtrack. I’m going in.”
I entered the alley before Finn could say a word. Behind me, ten, now twelve feet, I heard him swear. The alley was dark, the light from the streetlamps barely penetrating the gloomy darkness. Slowly, I pulled my flashlight from my jacket pocket and clicked it on. The light played low on the ground and then I raised it, swiveling the beam in front of and to the sides of me as I moved down the alley. Every couple of feet, I stopped to listen and check the doors; all were locked. Aside from a steady drip of water from a pipe somewhere, and the occasional rumble of a car passing by on Main Street, the alley was quiet.
Too quiet, in fact.
There should have been the rustle of mice, rats maybe, or a breath of wind.
But there was nothing, and finally I stopped, nearly three-quarters of the way down the alley, and turned around. At the entrance, illuminated by a streetlamp, Finn’s silhouette provided some, though not much, reassurance. I took a deep breath, turned around, and walked the last twenty feet of the alley and reached the chain-link fence.
Mystified, I ran the beam of my flashlight all over the fence, looking for a cutout, a section where the links had been broken. An escape. Finding none, I sighed. The man, whoever he was, had somehow eluded us.