Burn You Twice - Mary Burton Page 0,39
wasn’t. He seemed perfectly at peace.”
Elijah had never mentioned Clarke’s visit in any of his letters. It was a subtle reminder that there was a lot Elijah was not telling.
“Did he ever write you?” Joan asked.
“Hell no,” Clarke said. “Why would he?”
“He wrote Joan,” Gideon said. “And she wrote him back.”
Irritation gnawed. She was not ashamed of the correspondence, but that did not mean she wanted it made public knowledge.
“I bet you didn’t learn a damn thing,” Clarke said.
“Not about the College Fire,” she conceded.
“Is Elijah still insisting he’s innocent?” Clarke asked.
“Yeah.”
Clarke worked his mouth, like he might if he’d taken a bite of a sour apple. “Any word yet on the body we found in the blaze?”
“None yet,” Gideon said.
Clarke shook his head. “My money is on Lana Long. Leaving the purse in the alley suggests she planned to burn the place down but didn’t realize her fire was like a wild dog ready to maul her.”
Gideon did not respond.
Joan understood he wanted the strangulation detail on Lana’s neck kept quiet. She had worked enough investigations to know that certain facts were best kept secret, even from the other professionals working the scene. Cops and fire crews talked to each other, and information got leaked.
“Was anything found on Jane Doe’s body?” Clarke asked.
“It was all pretty well destroyed,” Gideon said.
“When will the docs get the DNA back?” Clarke asked.
“That’s hard to say. They fast-tracked it to the lab in Helena.”
A dark-green Jeep parked behind her rental. The driver’s side door opened to a tall bleached blonde wearing snug jeans and a fitted sweater that set off a silver-and-turquoise necklace dangling over full breasts that Joan would bet were a plastic surgeon’s work. The hair was shoulder length and teased and sprayed enough to resist the Missoula wind.
Her gaze settled on what had been the beauty shop. She blinked, cursed, and blinked again. Custom boots clicked against the asphalt as she neglected to look before crossing the street. “Detective Bailey. I’m Jessica Halpern. What the hell happened? Jesus H. Christ.” She walked toward the blackened rubble, stopping just short of the yellow tape.
“We’re still investigating,” Gideon said.
She turned and faced them, blue eyes glistening in a pool of unshed tears. “This was my life. I sunk my entire life into this place.”
“We’re very sorry,” Gideon said. “And we’re doing all we can to get to the bottom of this. Have you heard from Lana Long?”
“No, but I’ve spoken to all the girls except her.” Mrs. Halpern then challenged, “Did she do this?”
“Too early to say,” Gideon said.
“Where’s your husband?” Joan asked.
Jessica leveled her gaze on Joan as she absently rubbed the naked ring finger on her left hand. “Who are you?”
“Detective Joan Mason.”
“I make enough donations to the police funds to stay in tune with the hires and fires. I don’t remember your name.”
“She’s from Philadelphia,” Gideon said. “Visiting and lending her expertise.”
“You need help from a tourist, Detective?” Jessica asked. “That doesn’t instill confidence.”
Gideon did not rise to the bait.
“Can you tell me the cause of the fire?” Jessica asked. “My insurance company is already asking. I told them it had to be electrical. The building is nearly a century old, and my girls were always overloading the sockets with their curling irons and hair dryers.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Clarke said.
“So it was negligence,” Jessica countered.
“Where is your husband?” Joan asked. “You’re not wearing your wedding band.”
Jessica turned to Gideon. “Shouldn’t you be asking the questions, Detective?”
“Please answer Detective Mason’s question,” Gideon said. “Where is Darren?”
“My husband is at the doctor’s office. All this really freaked him out, and he’s having chest pains. And I was so rattled, I left my rings on my dresser this morning.”
Gideon’s expression did not change, but Joan sensed frustration simmering. “I want to see him as soon as he’s cleared by his doctor.”
“Why? He was in Chicago with me when all this happened,” she said, waving white-tipped french-manicured fingers. “We’re the victims here. We did not burn down our business. Why would we?” Her voice rose, high pitched and sharp. “This is our livelihood!”
“Your insurance company would expect it, and I owe it to you to see that the investigation is done right.”
That seemed to appease her. “The sooner this can be wrapped up, the better. I want to rebuild. I can’t make money until then.” Her fingers slid into the tight pocket of her jeans. “All the girls who work for me have said they’re going to have to find other jobs.