Darren Luo was a thin, intense man in his late forties, with a few threads of gray in his black hair. He and his family had once lived next door to the Patchetts in Lafayette. After repairing the damage from the fire that consumed their garage, they’d put the house on the market, moving to nearby Walnut Creek, where Luo worked for an investment firm. I’d used property tax and real estate transaction records to trace him. When I called his office, which was on North California Boulevard near the Lesher Center for the Arts, Luo had agreed to meet me at a Starbucks just down the street. It was midmorning, a warm and sunny spring day, so we took our coffee outside and found a table. Luo unbent sufficiently to remove his suit jacket and loosen his tie.
I asked him about the fire. “I understand it was no accident.”
He scowled at me over his cappuccino. “Of course not. It was set.” He took a sip of the coffee, as though collecting his thoughts. “You know, my wife and I never felt welcome, living next door to the Patchetts.”
I set my latte on the table. “Really? I haven’t met Byron but I spoke briefly with Millicent. She seems nice enough.”
“It wasn’t them,” he said. “They’re all right, no better or worse than any of the other people on that street. It was Millicent’s son, Eric. He was a mess. Probably still is. Him and that cousin of his. Marsh something or other. What a pair. I’m surprised the two of them aren’t in jail. The things they said—”
I leaned forward in my chair. “Such as?”
He sighed. “Sometimes it felt like that particular neighborhood was a bit too white, if you know what I mean.”
“I do, and I’m sorry to hear that.” The Luos were Chinese American. Though the Bay Area is quite diverse, there are some areas where that layer is quite thin. Racially motivated incidents happen, even here.
“So what happened? Racial slurs?”
He nodded. “Yes. Both Eric and his cousin. Directed at me, my wife, my kids. I kept my distance, as much as you can when you live next door to someone. I did mention it to Byron at one point and he said Eric was Millicent’s son and he’d certainly discuss it with her. It was like he was washing his hands of the whole thing. I got the impression there was no love lost between the two of them. There were other things, besides the nasty comments. Eric and his cousin were in some kind of band and they were always practicing, playing loud music. Then there was the issue of the pool. You see, our house had a swimming pool when we bought it. Later we put in a hot tub. Eric and his cousin would climb over the fence from the Patchetts’ backyard and they’d use our pool and hot tub. Not only that, they’d leave trash. Once they even took a dump in the hot tub.”
I made a face. “Oh, no.”
The look on Luo’s face mirrored my own. “Oh, yes, they did. I had to drain the tub and have it sanitized. I was sure it was them, but I didn’t have any proof. So I set up one of those motion-sensor cameras and caught them at it. I had videotape. I threatened to press charges for trespassing. I mean, they were both eighteen or older. Eric was about to graduate from high school, and the cousin, Marsh, he was older by a year or two. After that last incident, I had a serious talk with Millicent and Byron. I said if I caught Eric trespassing again, I’d call the police and let them deal with it.”
“How did the Patchetts react?”
“Millicent was very defensive,” Luo said. “She didn’t believe me at first. I showed them the video. Byron believed me from the start. He said they’d have a talk with Eric and that it wouldn’t happen again.” He gave a derisive snort. “Three days later, my garage goes up in flames. Eric and his cousin torched it, I’m sure of it, in retaliation for me catching them in my pool, and for talking to the Patchetts.”
“What did the investigators say?”
“Oh, they’d made it look like an accident, of course,” Luo said. “My wife and I had picked up a sideboard at an antique store. I was refinishing it in the garage. The whole neighborhood knew that. I had the garage door open, for ventilation. So yes, I had turpentine and linseed oil and all that stuff out there. But that fire did not start by accident, or my carelessness. Eric knew I was working on that piece of furniture. He’d seen me in the garage and he knew I had all these supplies.”
“What time did the fire start?”
“I’m not sure exactly. We weren’t home. My wife and I were at some school function for the children. The fire started while we were gone. One of the neighbors saw smoke and flames and called 911. Then he called me. It was after eight. I left my wife at the school and drove home immediately. By that time the fire department was there.” He paused and downed the rest of his cappuccino. “It was a mess, as you can imagine. Dealing with the investigation and the cleanup and the insurance company. It took a while to get the payout, I can tell you that.”
“So the official cause of the fire—up in the air?”
“They ruled it accidental,” he said with another scowl. “But it was set, I’m sure of it. Eric and his cousin set that fire and made it look like an accident. The fact that I had all those refinishing supplies in the garage just made it easier for them to get away with it. The cops didn’t seem inclined to believe me, even when I told them about the past incidents, with the trespassing. Eric and his cousin had alibis, of course. They were out eating pizza when the fire started, or so the story went. But they could have used some sort of timing device.”
It was possible, I thought. They could have waited until Luo and his wife left for the evening, kids in tow, then entered the garage. But there was no proof. And Luo was still angry about it nine years later.
Luo checked his watch and pushed back his chair. “I’ve got to get back to work. If whatever you’re investigating involves Eric and his cousin, I hope you nail those two. A pair of criminals. One of these days both of them are going to wind up in jail. Or dead.”
Before meeting Luo, I’d done some research on Marshall Spencer, using various online tools available to private investigators. Marsh was eighteen months older than his cousin Eric. After graduating from high school he had taken some classes at Diablo Valley College. His employment history was spotty. He lived in Oakland and from what I could find out, he wasn’t employed at the moment. He must be getting money from somewhere. I wondered if his mother was supporting him, the way Slade’s mother had been subsidizing him. Or was he getting his money under the table, from some dubious source? He had some financial resources, that was clear. And Slade had said Marsh was holding some funds for him.
If Marsh had run afoul of the authorities as a juvenile, that would have been sealed. He had, however, been questioned by the police for several crimes, from breaking and entering to petty theft. In other words, he’d been caught a time or two. But he’d never wound up in jail. The worst thing I could find on his rap sheet was a fine and a spell of probation for a bar fight several years ago, when he was twenty-one. In other words, if he was walking on the criminal side of the street, he was slick.
The one that made me sit up and take notice was the fact that Marsh had been questioned by the police in Oakland four years ago. A former girlfriend had filed a complaint against him. She had broken up with him and in retaliation, she said, he’d torched her car.
Slade wasn’t the only one who liked to set fires.
* *
Carrie Redeker was in graduate school at the University of California, Los Angeles. The university had an online directory for faculty, staff and students. However, it came with a disclaimer stating that it only included those who chose to be listed. Further, the listings included only the information that people wished to make public. Hers was an unusual name, so when I typed in “Redeker, C,” Carrie was the only Redeker who came up. She’d chosen to list an email address, nothing else. I sent an email, explaining why I wanted to talk with her, and added my contact information.
She responded quickly, asking me when it would be a good time to call. “How about now?” I wrote.
The phone rang a few minutes later. “You said in your email you wanted to ask me some questions about Eric Slade,” Carrie said. “Is there something more specific I should know about? And this is strictly confidential, right?”
“Absolutely confidential. I’m just trying to get some background information on the guy. I spoke with your mother and she mentioned that you and Eric were in the same high school class. I thought you could give me some insights. As for anything specific, I’m interested in a fire that happened a few weeks before you graduated. A fire in the garage of a house belonging to a man named Darren Luo.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I remember the fire,” she said finally. “I told my mother at the time I would bet that Eric and Marsh had something to do with it.”
“Why is that?”
“I knew what they were doing, climbing over the fence and using the Luos’ swimming pool and hot tub late at night, after the Luos had gone to bed. Or times when they weren’t home. Mr. Luo was touchy about it. Especially after Eric and Marsh caused some damage. Not that I blame him. At the time I thought he was overreacting. Now that I’m older, well, I get it. Anyway, next thing, I heard that he’d set up some cameras and caught them in the hot tub. He went over and read the riot act to Mr. and Mrs. Patchett, threatened to call the police, all that stuff. Eric’s mom was always making excuses for him. But his stepfather—whew! He was livid. Very angry, that’s what I heard. And I did hear part of it. They were out in the front yard arguing. Eric got into his car and just peeled away.”
She paused, then went on. “It was a few days after that when the garage caught on fire. I think it was around eight o’clock in the evening, maybe later. Getting dark, anyway. I was outside with a friend of mine and we heard some sort of bang, like an explosion. I saw smoke coming from under the garage door. There was another neighbor, he ran across the street. He had his cell phone, he’s the one who called it in. Then he grabbed the hose from the front of the Luos’ house and started spraying water. The fire engines arrived not too long after that. Then Mr. Luo. He and his wife and kids were out that night and the neighbor with the hose called him. He was really upset. Who could blame him? It was a scary fire, lots of smoke and flames.”
“Any idea how it started?”
“He had been refinishing this big piece of furniture. I heard that it was an accident but then Mr. Luo was telling everyone that Eric and Marsh started the fire. I told my mother I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they had.”
“Why is that?”
“They liked to get even,” she said. “If something happened at school, with Eric, you had to watch your back. He might shove you or leave some nasty surprise in your locker. I know there was this guy, when we were juniors, he and Eric had some sort of disagreement. Eric booby-trapped his locker. With a firecracker.”
Fire again, I thought.
“What about Marsh?”
“I didn’t know Eric all that well,” Carrie said. “Just enough to steer clear of him. And Marsh even less. They were together a lot. Eric didn’t have any friends. Even the worst loners usually have someone, but he didn’t. The only person he palled around with was Marsh. And get those two together, you just didn’t want to mess with them. Eric getting even with anyone who crossed him was bad enough, but add Marsh to the mix, and it was worse. Marsh was, well, he’s kind of a loose cannon.”
She didn’t have much more to say. I thanked her and ended the call.