this as low-key as possible.
As Gideon got out of his vehicle, the sunrise bathed the east side of the mountains, showing off brilliant reds and oranges. Within weeks, the entire mountain range would be in full fall colors.
Thermos and cups in hand, Gideon crossed the street, reaching Clarke as he tied off the last of the tape. “How’s it going?”
“You missed a local reporter. She shot footage of the fire and promised to have it on this morning’s news,” Clarke said.
“Not sorry I missed her.” Gideon handed him an empty cup.
Clarke sighed as he held it out. “No getting around it.”
Gideon filled Clarke’s cup. “What about the guys on the truck? They need a hit of java?”
“I made a run for them a half hour ago. They had the lion’s share of the coffee, so this is much appreciated.” He took a long sip. “Did you find the woman who owned the purse?”
“I visited Lana Long’s apartment, which was stripped bare except for a bed and packed suitcase.”
“She was planning on leaving town?”
“Looks like it. She also had a few books on arson.”
Clarke frowned as he regarded the rubble. “You really think she did this?”
“I can’t say yet, but it sure looks like it.”
“We’ll be on the lookout for the body you saw when we walk this place. So far, no one has spotted any remains, but there’s a lot of debris to sort through.”
Gideon nodded. “I spoke to Elijah yesterday evening.”
Clarke frowned as he sipped his coffee. “And he denies anything to do with the fire.”
“That’s right.”
“You believe him?”
“I’ll know better once I confirm his alibi, but he was cool as a cucumber.”
“He always was. Never could get a read on that guy.”
“I didn’t know him, really, until the fire. We were seniors and he was a freshman,” Gideon said.
“Smart as hell. Remember he was in Joan’s class when she was a teaching assistant,” Clarke said, studying Gideon’s expression.
Joan Mason. He had not heard that name in a while or seen her in ten years. To say he thought about her every day would be a stretch. Sometimes a few months went by without her trespassing on his thoughts, but she was always there in the shadows.
Though they had been ill matched from the beginning, Gideon and Joan had found something in each other that just fit. They dated all their senior year, and as deep as his roots were sunk into Montana, Joan had nearly coaxed both Gideon and his sister out to the East Coast. But when Elijah had set his fire, it had changed everything.
A week later, with her hands still bandaged, Joan had left without a word to him or any of them. Gideon had called her more times than he could count, and only when he threatened to drive to Philadelphia had she finally called him back.
“Why are you calling?” she had said. “We were over before the fire.”
“I made a mistake.” Memories of his night with Helen lingered close. “I want to come east with you.”
“You belong in Montana,” Joan said. “I see that now.”
Nothing he had said would convince her otherwise, and he’d finally hung up in frustration. A week later, Helen had told him she was pregnant. They were married July 1 in a courthouse wedding. By the time Kyle was born, they were fighting regularly.
Gideon sipped his coffee. “Elijah met Ann through Joan.”
It was Clarke’s turn to squirm. “I remember.”
“I’ve been through his police file a few times. He’s always denied setting the fire. He even petitioned the Innocence Project to have a look at his case five years ago, but they denied him.”
“Because they saw him for what he was,” Clarke said. “Psychopaths don’t confess.”
“Detective Jefferson interrogated him for a long stretch.” By Gideon’s standards, Jefferson had leaned on Elijah too hard. These days, a defense attorney would have a field day with that kind of law enforcement overreach. But Gideon also understood that Detective Jefferson, like many folks in town, was terrified an arsonist who had nearly killed two coeds would go free.
“Don’t forget all those brush fires that popped up that last winter before the College Fire. They stopped completely when Elijah was arrested.”
“The arsonist profiles for rural fires are very different from those who execute structural fires.”
“That’s true in some cases, but I would bet you those fires were meant to relieve stress and provide practice for the main event.” Clarke stared into the dark depths of his cup and then took a sip. “You know