carefully set down a stolen purse. It was also zipped closed. Again, that did not fit the profile of a stolen item.
He searched around the purse and then grabbed his phone and took several pictures.
“Why the careful handling?” Clarke asked.
“It just doesn’t look right to me.” He unzipped the top and noted the wallet inside. He removed it, unfastened the clasp, and discovered three credit cards and thirty-six dollars in cash.
He glanced at the driver’s license. It had been issued to Lana Long and listed a Denver address.
“You think she might be the woman you saw inside the shop?” Clarke asked.
Gideon rose and looked at the burned-out structure. “If she was, she’s dead now.”
Confessions of an Arsonist
Each time I stare at one of my fires, I feel in control.
When I hear the flames roar, I feel power. When I see the black smoke rise toward the heavens, I believe I can accomplish anything. However, when the fire finally dies out, as they all do, that control, power, and optimism vanish.
CHAPTER FIVE
Missoula, Montana
Saturday, September 5, 2020
9:55 p.m.
As Gideon parked, his headlights swept the front of the three-hundred-unit apartment complex located on the outskirts of Missoula. Each of the buildings had three floors, with weathered wood siding and a pitched roof that mimicked a ski resort. Age and too many harsh winters had taken a toll on the buildings, which now looked worn and dated. But because housing in Missoula was not easy to come by, he knew the rents here would have been steep.
He had made a few calls and discovered that Lana Long had held a beautician’s license in the states of Colorado and Montana. And it was her Montana beautician’s license that had given him her current address. He’d placed calls to Jessica and Darren Halpern, hoping to get background information on Lana Long and to discuss the fire, but so far, his calls had landed in voicemail.
Out of his vehicle, he pushed back his jacket to clear his sidearm for easy access as he strode toward the manager’s first-floor apartment.
The curtains were drawn in the front display window, but a television’s wavy light leaked out around the edges, suggesting the manager was up and ready for him. He’d called ahead but had not shared specifics of his visit. For all he knew, Lana Long’s purse had been stolen, and he was not ready to raise questions about the woman until he had all the facts.
He pounded on the door and stood to the side. The call appeared to be straightforward, but too many cops had been shot or attacked on calls just like this.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. A security chain scraped out of its latch, and the dead bolt turned seconds before the door opened. The man standing in the doorway was midsize and stocky, with a full black beard and thinning long hair tied back at the nape of his neck. A plaid shirt skimmed over a full belly and was tucked into worn jeans. In the background, the television light glowed from a back bedroom and softly broadcast what sounded like an old western.
“Mr. Victor Oswald?” Gideon asked.
“That’s right.” His gaze settled on the seven-pointed gold star pinned to his brown overcoat. “Detective Bailey?”
“That’s right. Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Oswald.”
What should have been the living room of his apartment had been set up as a leasing office. A pizza box, a couple of dirty blue ceramic plates, and a few beer cans lined the breakfast bar attached to the kitchen.
Following Gideon’s line of sight, Mr. Oswald cleared his throat as he moved toward the kitchen and gathered the beer cans and dumped them into the trash.
He sniffed as he tucked in his shirt more securely. “You had a question about one of my residents?”
“That’s right. Her name is Lana Long?”
“Long.” He shook his head. “I know Lana. She moved in about nine months ago. We don’t get that many move-ins in the winter, so I remember her. Pretty little thing. She all right?”
“Her purse was found in town. This is more of a wellness visit to make sure she is.”
“The ladies do not like being separated from their purses.”
“No, sir, they do not. That’s why I’m concerned.”
“Did you call her?”
“I was hoping you could give me her phone number.”
“Sure. Let me check her records.”
The manager went to a computer resting on a desk shoved in a corner and typed several keys. “Ready?”
Gideon opened his phone. “Shoot.”
The manager rattled