He could drop her off at the rental car terminal now and get on with his investigation, but it would be only an hour before she showed up at the crime scene and started poking around. Better to keep her close.
“Wondering if I’ll show up at the fire scene by myself?” she asked.
“I am.”
“Good guess. I will. I need to see it.”
“You think this person left a calling card?”
“Very few arsonists have signatures, but they leave clues about themselves,” she said. “It’s just a matter of identifying the patterns.” When Gideon did not acquiesce to her request, she challenged, “How many fires have you investigated in the last ten years?”
“On this scale? Only one, and that was ruled an accident.”
“You’ve had other fires in town?” she asked.
“A dumpster fire last year and a few brush fires outside of town over the summer. None of them was particularly destructive.” He passed the turn to the rental car place and continued on to the arson scene.
“That’s a no to a large-scale arson investigation, isn’t it?” she said, glancing up from the map on her phone.
It was, but admitting to shortcomings was not always wise. “You’re strictly there as an adviser, Joan. I don’t care how much experience you have. Don’t touch anything.”
A slight smile curled the edges of her lips. “I’ll be as good as gold.”
He shook his head, fearing he was losing control of this case right out of the gate. “I’m holding you to it.”
“When did the fire start?” she asked.
“Last night. The first call came to the police station as I was finishing up my shift. I was less than a mile away, so I took the call. I rolled up on the scene at six fifty-five p.m. The building was fully engulfed. Fire crews arrived within a few minutes, but the building was a total loss.”
“They shifted to containing the fire.”
“Correct.”
“Were there any fatalities?”
Count on Joan to get right to the heart of the case. “Yes.”
“Do you have an identity yet?” she asked.
“No.”
“Does the evidence suggest the victim was the arsonist?”
“Unsure.”
When he pulled up behind Becca’s vehicle, he noted a television news crew filming the site. A fire this size in a small city was not going to go unnoticed, and he accepted their presence, even though he did not like it.
Joan visibly tensed when she watched a reporter station herself in front of a news camera. “They’re everywhere.”
“The press follows the news.”
“And when there’s no news, they dig up unnecessary dirt to muddy the waters.”
“Sounds like personal experience talking.” He’d followed her career for a couple of years, but when his marriage had really faltered, he’d had to let his preoccupation with Joan go in order to convince his wife and himself that he was working on their marriage.
“It’s a long story,” she said.
“I bet it’s a good one.”
“Not for me.” She flexed her fingers. “Do you have gloves?”
He fished black protective gloves from his pocket and handed them to her. “Stick close to me. You’re here as my guest.”
“Sure.”
Out of the vehicle, they crossed the street to where Becca stood watching two firefighters walking the rubble.
“Detective Becca Sullivan, I would like you to meet Joan Mason. She’s visiting Ann and is also a detective in Philadelphia.”
Becca thrust out her hand. “Good to meet you. You both just missed the medical examiner’s team. They transported the remains. The medical examiner on call has been contacted.”
“Where was the body found?” Joan asked.
Becca pointed to the front of the building near the display window. “Over there. There used to be a window and exterior door there.”
Joan drew in a deep breath as her gaze settled on the site.
Becca’s eyes narrowed as she studied Joan. “Do I know you?”
“Not sure.”
Becca snapped her fingers as if a memory had materialized. She glanced at Gideon, and he knew she had just assembled the puzzle pieces and connected Joan to him. “Glad to have you, Detective Mason.”
“Thank you.” Joan worked her hands into the gloves. “May I have a look, Detective Bailey?”
“Follow the flags designating the path.”
“Understood.”
“I should have updates on the victim later this evening,” Becca said.
“Good.” As he readied to follow Becca and Joan, his phone rang. “Detective Bailey.”
“Detective, this is Jessica Halpern. I understand you’ve been trying to reach me.”
“That’s right, Mrs. Halpern.” He watched as Joan and Becca stepped over black ash and collapsed timbers. “I have some bad news about your beauty salon. It caught fire last night and is a total loss.”
Silence crackled over the line before she stammered, “H-how? I don’t understand.”
“Still trying to determine the cause of the fire, ma’am. Can you come to the scene?”
“Easier said than done. I’m in Chicago with my husband. He’s out for a run now, but when he gets back, I’ll tell him.” Another sigh. “A total loss? Everything?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Jesus,” she whispered. “What the hell happened?”
“We’re working on that.”
Mrs. Halpern took a ragged breath. “We put all our money into that place.”
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Halpern, did you employ a Lana Long?”
“Yes, why?”
“Her purse was found near the scene.”
“I don’t know why. She was supposed to be back in Denver by now. What does this have to do with Lana?”
“Can’t say right now. I also need a list of current employees who worked at the shop.”
“Of course. Darren and I will try to get a flight out tonight, but I might not get back until Monday. You know how the flights can be on a holiday.”
“I understand.”
The call ended, and a second later, he had a lengthy text including a list of the other salon employees. He went down the list of employees and left messages with two of them and spoke to three others. He heard a mixture of shock over the fire, complaints about where some would work next, and pledges to get in touch with Jessica Halpern. All knew of Lana, but none had spent any real time with her.
Joan stepped over the debris and stripped off her gloves as she approached him. “I want to see Elijah.”
“What makes you think Elijah will even talk to you?” he asked.
She looked at him. “Nine years ago, I wrote to him. And he responded. We’ve been corresponding ever since.”
“You’re shitting me!” he said, louder than he intended. “Why would you reach out to him?”
She shrugged but did not look away. “I wanted to know why he wanted to burn me alive.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask. Did he tell you anything that was of value?”
“No.”
“What a surprise.”
“I thought a look inside the mind of someone like him would be informative. He started following my cases. He also offered a few interesting insights that helped me solve a couple of cases.”
It was a kick in the balls to know she had reached out to Elijah and not him. “So you two are best pals?”
“Hardly. When the parole board asked me three years ago if he should be released, I said no in as many ways as I could think of. But he has now served his full term.” She ran her hand through her short hair. “You remember the scorpion and the frog fable?”
“Trusting a predator never ends well.”
“Exactly.”
“Just make sure you don’t forget that.”
She rubbed her fingertips over the ribbed white scar on her palm. “I never do.”
They got into his car and he started the engine. They drove in silence for a half dozen blocks before he pulled up in front of the boardinghouse.
“It is within walking distance to the fire,” Joan remarked.
“Yes, it is.”
The two got out of the car and walked up the cracked, freshly scrubbed sidewalk to the front porch. All the faded traces of the graffiti were gone. He rang the bell, and Mr. Pickett answered it. His eyes were bloodshot, but he had shaved, and his shirt looked to be clean. The monthly six-pack appeared to have left him a little hungover.
“Mr. Pickett, could I speak with Elijah?” Gideon asked.
“He’s in the kitchen. He’s offered to cook up lunch. Making a tomato sauce. And for the record, he was here when that fire started.”
“Are you sure?” Gideon asked.
“Very,” Mr. Pickett said emphatically.
The scents of oregano and garlic reached out to him as he and Joan moved toward the kitchen. The aroma had a warm, comforting effect, and it surprised him that Elijah could cook.
“He’s a great cook,” Joan said, as if reading his thoughts again. “He worked in the prison kitchen and decided to improve the culinary standard. He even organized the prisoners to grow herbs in a greenhouse.”