This time the neighbors came out to watch her house burn. Compared to the fire at Cheryl Madigan’s house, this one was a disappointment. A woman from across the street, who wore cat-eye glasses and a full-body Carhartt jumpsuit, asked if anyone was still inside in a way Georgie found too eager. Firefighters and police responded in under five minutes and then took another two minutes to knock down the flames. After that, the gawkers lost interest. For a long time she sat in a squad car with a female cop to keep warm. The cop had bleached hair and a CrossFit sticker on her notebook. She asked what Georgie had done that night, if she’d been drinking. Georgie said she had, and felt mad at herself for blushing. She kept turning to look out the cruiser’s rear window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Matthew in the glare of the streetlights.
Police taped off a five-foot corridor around the back of the house, shot pictures of the scene, and took down her statement. By the time Voelker showed up in his old Ford Bronco, it was just a couple of patrol officers milling around kicking snow and blowing into their hands. Voelker brought cups of coffee on a cardboard tray, and once they were sure the fire was completely out, he let Georgie go inside for a jacket and better shoes.
The house would stand, though the rear exterior wall was badly burned and would have to be replaced. The wooden siding was trashed, maybe the studs, too, but the flames hadn’t breached the thick, antique plaster inside. The landlord had already come and gone, rumbling up in a fully restored 1950s pickup. He asked Georgie again and again if she was sure she was okay, and touched her on the elbow so many times she had to ask him to stop. She told him she wasn’t paying a dime in rent until all the work was completed. If he wanted to test the state’s landlord-tenant laws in the middle of winter he was welcome to try. The landlord said of course that was fine, though the way he kept stroking his mustache said he wasn’t happy about it. He promised to call a contractor he knew, but added the weather could be a problem. If they had to pull off that whole wall, it would get awfully cold inside. “I could find you something else,” he said. “I’ve got some nice units open.”
He looked surprised when she said she wasn’t going anywhere. She could crash with her parents for a few days if it came to that. While his contractor friend was doing all that fixing, she suggested they check out the leak behind the bathroom sink, the wobbly cellar stairs, and the faux-linoleum tiles in the kitchen that kept peeling up from the floor. The landlord’s smile turned to wax. As he drove off in his fancy truck she turned around and saw Voelker crack a grin. If he’d been mad at her the day before, the cop was willing to let it drop for now.
“Ordinarily, I’d say we should get you somewhere safe,” he said. “But I know better than to try to change your mind.”
The two of them sat on the glassed-in porch and she did her best to answer his questions. The bitter stink of the fire was still heavy in the air. It had stopped snowing, at least, and the wind had calmed. Delicate color showed in the sky behind the mountains. They were going through the story a second time when a call came over the radio that rail-yard security had detained a man for trespassing. This got the cops moving again. A couple of cruisers rolled out in that direction, but she knew from the plummeting feeling in her stomach that it was Matthew. She had known as soon as she saw him running that he was going to do something stupid.
Forty minutes later, they brought him back in one of the cop cars. The sight of his scruffy head sent a mix of anger and relief rolling through her. She wanted to run over and pull him out of the car, either to wrap her arms around him or give him a shove, she couldn’t decide which. She sat while they got him out of the back of the squad car. When she saw that he was wearing handcuffs and that his face was bandaged on one side, she squeezed her fists tight beneath the blanket. Voelker met them at the gate, waiting while the patrol officers unlatched the cuffs. Matthew came the rest of the way without an escort, rubbing his wrists as if trying to restore the feeling in them. He sat next to her on the porch, close enough that their knees touched. After Voelker dismissed the uniforms he clapped Matthew on the shoulder like they had all been through a great adventure together.
“The good news,” he said, “is that they’re only charging him with misdemeanor trespass. If he makes his court date, he probably won’t get more than a fine.”
“That’ll scare him straight,” she said, too tired to do anything but make a joke.
Voelker grinned with half his mouth, the way a plumber might laugh and shake his head at a rat’s nest of pipes before lowering himself into a crawl space. “If you ask me,” he said, “he’s going to be just fine.”
“I can hear you,” Matthew said. “I’m right here.” His face was bruised and puffy around the bandage. It looked like he’d done the patch job himself. Bloody spots showed through the gauze.
“I didn’t know where you went,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do to find you.”
“I tried to catch him,” Matthew said, flexing his hands one after the other. “I almost did, but he got away.”
“Somebody tried to burn down my house,” she said, “and you just left me here.”
“I know that—” he said, but stopped himself from going on.
Voelker rocked on his heels, his eyes drifting into the open doorway of the house. He seemed uncomfortable in the silence. “Well,” he said, “I should probably let you two talk.”
“It was him,” Matthew said. “The long-haired guy. I saw him running and I followed him. I lost him in the dark but then I saw him after they tackled me. He was riding a train, going east, just like I told you.”
Voelker squinted a bit, weighing this. “You think you could identify him?”
Matthew shook his head. “I didn’t see his face. But I know it was the guy.”
“Didn’t see his face,” Voelker repeated, nodding as if to say: That figures. “You see what he was wearing? Or notice if he had anything with him? Anything in his hands?”
“Just that long coat again,” Matthew said. “It was dark and he was a long way off.”
“Did you tell the security people at the railroad about this?”
Matthew ran a hand over the bandage on his face. “They weren’t in a listening kind of mood when they caught up with me.”
“How far away would you say he was when you saw him?”
“Half a block? A little more maybe.”
“You sure it was the guy who did this?” Voelker said, nodding at the house.
“It wasn’t a jogger,” Matthew said. “Not some guy out walking his dog.”
Voelker pooched his lips, thinking. “All right,” he said. “All right. I’ll check it out. They’ve got to have some kind of surveillance system down there. Maybe somebody got a look at him.”
A minute later, the cop was gone, driving off in the Bronco, its engine rat-a-tatting like a set of drums. Georgie sat for a few seconds, not knowing what to say before Matthew mumbled, “He’s just trying to scare us.”
“What?” she said, surprised that was the first thing out of his mouth.
“This is different than the Abbie Green fire,” he said. “Different from the candy store, too. This is sloppy, spur-of-the-moment. Like shooting Detective Phan. He didn’t come into the house. He just threw gas on the back wall and lit it up. The guy is spooked. He knows we’re getting closer.”
“Voelker said it might not even be the same guy,” she said. “Just a copycat job.”
He laughed at that, but there was no joy in it. “Anybody ever try to burn your house down before?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Me neither,” he said. “At least I don’t think so.”
She stopped cold as a thought seized her. Had the killer been watching them the night before? Had he lurked outside, peering at them through binoculars or huddling in the shadows to study them through the windows? She thought about someone trying to scare her and turned angry again when she realized how well it had worked.
“You left me out there,” she said again. “With my house on fire. You just ran off.”
When he finally looked at her, his face was as bright and red as if she’d slapped him. “He was right here, Georgie. The guy who killed those two people.”
“It could have been anybody out there,” she said. “How could you know it was him?”
“Just a feeling, I guess. An instinct. I mean, who else could it be?”
“It’s a lot to risk on an instinct,” she said. “Leaving me alone with someone maybe creeping around out there. Maybe a killer.”
He flinched, blowing out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he said, “but instinct is sort of all I’ve got right now.”
His gaze was flat, so different from the earnest, hyperactive kid she’d known growing up. Maybe it had been that way since he’d come home. Maybe the rest of it had just been her projecting. Maybe she had been superimposing the boy she used to know on top of this man, forcing it to fit. She didn’t know if the person Matthew was now was the finished, forever version. She just knew he was in a fight, struggling to get back the things he’d lost. She was heartbroken for him, but now understood that it didn’t have anything to do with her. His journey to rediscover himself was something he had to do on his own.
“Maybe we should slow down with this,” she said.
“With what?”
“With all this talk about you moving back here,” she said. “With you and me having dates and stuff.”
“Was this a date?” he asked.
“You know what I mean,” she said.
“Is that really what you want?”
“I don’t know how to help you right now,” she said. “I’m glad you’re talking to my mom, glad you’re thinking about that place in New Mexico. But I think you’ve still got a lot to figure out.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to do since I’ve been here,” he said. “I know it’s been strange, but I can feel it working.”
“You’re still in pain,” she said. “You’re still all mixed up. I can see it.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am. Will I see you before I go?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “You’ve still got a couple days, right? Let’s play it by ear.”
She squeezed his hand, shocked at how cold it was, and then waited in the yard while he went inside to get his coat.