should have a pear shape running uphill like this. But if you’ll notice, it’s flipped upside down. Since when does fire run downhill ?”
“That is or isn’t significant?” Walt asked. “You didn’t mention that when I asked.”
“It’s different, that’s all. Significant? It’s not like I can put down a lightning strike to arson. Right? But it’s unusual. In case you care. That’s all.”
“Of course I care,” Walt said a little too defensively.
“Not something we see very often, if at all.”
“I got it,” Walt said.
“Okay. Okay.” The guy huffed, turned, and swung his pickax into the ground, spraying ash and soil. Walt couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard him say something under his breath: “Asshole.”
Worst of all, he thought he probably deserved it.
“Sheriff?” Deputy Linda Chalmers called out from the front door of the main house. Deputy Blompier stood just inside the house in silhouette.
It took Walt a moment to see the person wedged between them, the shorter girl, her arm clasped tightly in Linda’s hand. Took him yet another fraction of a second to process that it was Kira Tulivich. His mind made the identification, and then his eyes tracked over to Fiona, whose surprise appeared too genuine to be anything but. Barefoot, Fiona walked half on tiptoe as she crossed the driveway. She looked up the hill to Walt and back to Kira, mirroring him.
“Found her in a room off the wine cellar,” Chalmers explained as Walt reached them.
“A safe room. Hot plate. Chemical toilet. The works,” Blompier supplied.
“What safe room?” Fiona said, reaching them.
“Blompier, your jacket,” Walt instructed. The deputy peeled off his jacket and Walt placed it around Fiona’s shoulders. She tugged it around herself tightly and seemed to shrink.
Kira, looking tired, could not take her eyes off Fiona. It was this heated, locked stare of hers that interested Walt. It wasn’t a look of daughter to mother, or friend to friend, but one of incredulity, concern. That was it, he thought, the girl was afraid for her, projecting sympathy. Had Kira overheard them talking at the garden? Had she lit the fire? Had she killed Martel Gale, as the evidence suggested? Walt had no choice but to act upon the evidence.
“Kira,” he said, his voice subdued, “I’d like you to come down to my office with me for a talk.”
“Now?” Fiona complained. She tried to win Kira’s attention.
Walt spoke up immediately. “Yes. Now. For the time being I’m asking, but it can get more complicated than that.”
Kira’s focus remained on the sheriff. “Sure. I can do that.”
42
Walt wouldn’t have offered any visitor a personal explanation; any one of his deputies or the desk sergeant could convey the procedures and practices well enough. But the woman sitting alone in a row of chairs, separated by a table holding People magazine and copies of Western Sheriffs’ Association, was not just any visitor.
“Since when don’t you video an interview?” Fiona said angrily.
“We are videoing the interview,” Walt said calmly. “It wouldn’t be approp—”
“Oh, bull.”
“—for you to be in the room.”
“It’s one in the morning.”
“It is.”
“You should do this tomorrow.”
“Let’s not get into this, okay? I’m doing what I have to do. Kira is here voluntarily.”
“So what? You think it’s a conspiracy?” she choked out. “Really, Walt!”
“Of all people, you’ve been around this enough to know the way it works.”
“You try not to judge,” she said.
“That’s right.”
“That’s a pile of crap.”
“It’s voluntary. Exploratory. You think I’m incapable of keeping an open mind?”
“I’m like her guardian or something. I need to be in there with her.”
“She’s not a minor.”
“You notified her parents?”
“That’s up to her. I don’t believe she has.”
“An attorney?”
This was a sticking point. A matter of investigative leverage. “She has not requested a lawyer, and there’s no reason she should. She has not been charged with anything. This is exploratory.”
“Walt,” she chided.
“I’m sorry you came all the way down here. I don’t mean to shut you out. Please know that.” He remained on his feet, avoiding the chairs. He did not want to get into this with her.
“You can’t conduct this interview without an attorney present. She doesn’t know any better. Why won’t you look at me? Look at me please.” He turned. “Oh, Jesus,” she said. “You’d actually do something like this?”
“Like what? It’s voluntary. It’s necessary.”
She stood and lowered her voice, taking his forearm in hand and squeezing. “You think you’re helping me somehow? Is that it? I can see it in your eyes.”
How was that possible? How could she nail his thoughts so perfectly?