“Dynamite.” The fire chief told Turner, flatly, shortly after Elliot had tracked him down on scene. Turner just stood, staring at the flames as they ate the home he had built for himself. Elliot ran over the particulars with the chief. “Unless you’ve been landscaping the hard way, the fire will be listed as arson.”
“Send the details to Jake MacNamara and Daniel McKellen,” Elliot gave the order. He kept one eye on Turner, who just stood staring at what remained of the house he had taken such pride in. All the Barratt men built homes in the county somewhere. Mel had told him once that it was a matter of pride.
That Barratts built Finley Creek and Barratt County. It was a matter of family honor.
That Turner’s home had just been destroyed told him one thing—this was getting far too damned personal. Someone wasn’t just targeting the mayor—they were striking Turner personally.
Someone who knew him well enough to know just where to strike.
Attempted murder. Arson. What was next? Elliot’s mind ran over the possibilities. The who.
Dennis Lee Arnold would have had the connections to do this. And his people would have the know-how.
Elliot fought the sense of unease, as he looked at Turner. “Who would have a personal vendetta against you? Would it be Dennis Lee?”
Turner shook his head. “We’ve had a few arguments, but nothing substantial. I’ve fought with Jennifer Henedy more than I’ve fought with him.”
Jake MacNamara jogged up behind them. “I came as soon as I heard what happened. Where’s Annie?”
“She’s with Carl,” Turner answered. “I…figured that was the safest option tonight. She’s going to stay with Carl until someone goes and gets her.”
“Just where exactly does Carl Buchanan live?” Jake asked. “I’ll go get her myself. Keep her with me.”
“9694 Farm Road 450,” Turner said distractedly. Elliot got it. The flames—there would be nothing left for Turner. Nothing. “Three miles from here.”
“Doesn’t Arnold live out near there?” Jake asked, sending Elliot a significant look.
“Close.”
“I think we need to go have a talk with every council member out there tonight,” Elliot said, an idea forming. “How do you feel about dying for a few hours, Barratt?”
Turner tuned back in to look at him. “What do you have in mind?”
“Easy. We’re going to see who has the most joy out of your demise.” Elliot shot the younger man a look. Turner Barratt had balls of steel. The last few months had proven that and won Turner Elliot’s respect. Turner hadn’t backed down from anything—including Mother Nature.
Much like his cousins Houghton and Clay, there was nothing soft about this Barratt. Nor was there anything soft about his brother, who stood nearby, offering a solid wall of support. But Turner had taken more hits than a man needed to in one night. “Go get your girl. Take her back to the Barratt Ranch, or to Mel and Houghton’s. Get some rest. See that she gets some rest. We’ll let you know what we find out tonight. There is nothing more you can do here. Time to let the TSP do the job it was meant to.”
Elliot sent Jake a look. “You’ll give him a ride, won’t you?”
It wasn’t a request. All three men knew it.