camera. But security could have been as low-tech as a piece of tape on the front door or a back window to have alerted Clarke.
He moved to the bedroom overlooking the patio and tried the window. On the dresser was a framed picture of Clarke, Ann, and Nate. Beside it was a picture of Ann that had been taken the same day the other image of Joan, Ann, and Gideon had. If Clarke had taken these pictures, he was likely the source of the picture Lana had had in her suitcase.
As he searched Clarke’s face in the first picture, he wanted to see signs of the evil in the man. But there was nothing that appeared to lurk behind the smiling eyes.
He turned to the window and studied the lock. On the top sash was a clear piece of tape that had been dislodged. If this was how Joan had accessed the house, Clarke would have discovered it. “You were made in seconds, Joan.”
He looked around the bedroom, taking in the unmade bed and the scattered clothes. He moved to the closet, where Clarke had lined up a collection of books next to a small cabinet secured with a combination lock.
Given that Clarke had been caught trying to commit murder, Gideon’s search warrant allowed him access to every corner and drawer in this house. He spoke to the forensic tech, who retrieved a pair of bolt cutters. Wrapping the sharp ends around the lock, Gideon shoved the handles together. The lock snapped open.
As the tech filmed the process, Gideon opened the cabinet door. Inside was a collection of DVDs, and each was marked in Clarke’s neat, bold handwriting. Gideon selected the first recording, identified with the description “Practice fire #1.”
When Joan woke up in a hospital bed, she was aware of the beep of a monitor, the IV in her arm, and the bright sunshine. When she raised her hand to shield her eyes, she noted that both her palms were bandaged.
As she shoved through the haze in her brain, she struggled to remember the day and then the year. Her throat was raw, and her skin felt tender, as if she had a bad sunburn.
“Welcome back.”
She turned to see Elijah sitting in the corner of her room. He carefully closed a large textbook already filled with multicolored tabs.
He set the book aside, rose, and walked gingerly up to her bed. As she had done for him yesterday, he held up a cup of water and a straw so she could drink. The water scraped against her raw throat, but her body was greedy for the hydration. She drank the entire glass.
“Aren’t you the good little patient,” he said.
“I aim to please.” Her voice sounded ragged, as if she were recovering from a cold. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“A few hours,” he said. “The good detective was here for a while, but duty called. Ann was also here for a time. When they both left, I decided to visit.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Not long.” He grinned. “And for the record, you don’t drool or snore when you’re asleep.”
“Good to know,” she said.
“I owe you my thanks.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Clarke.”
“He’s dead?”
“Very. From what I’m hearing from the nurses, Detective Bailey shot him, but that was before he burned up.”
Memories of last night emerged from the fog. “Yep, I was there, unfortunately. You said Gideon got called away.”
“My sources tell me he and his team are searching Clarke’s house.”
She remembered her own search of the house. Nothing she had found would have been admissible, and Gideon could never have legally acted on her discoveries if Clarke had not attacked her. And even still, Gideon was a stickler for the rules.
“It’s been a productive twenty-four hours for you. Dan and now Clarke are dead,” Elijah said.
“Pretty busy for a small town.”
Joan understood why Clarke had come after her, but why would he go after Dan? If anything, Dan would have been the perfect fall guy for eliminating Elijah. “Where were you when Dan died?”
“Always the cop,” he said carefully.
She wanted to sit up and reach for the controls on the side of the bed. Elijah brushed her fingers away and pressed the button until she signaled for him to stop.
“I was taking a walk,” Elijah said. “The doctor said I would heal faster if I moved.”
“Where did you walk?”
“Around. And I have no witnesses to prove or disprove that statement. Am I still the go-to suspect in this town?”
“No, the cops are