Flashpoint (3 page)

“Yes ma'am.”

“Thank God for you.”

Sonora headed back toward the ER to double-check with Gracie. It would be unkind to break the bad news to Keaton Daniels if his brother had been revived.

The door to the consultation room was shut. Sonora paused to put a fresh tape in her recorder, then pushed the door open gently.

Keaton Daniels sat on the edge of the easy chair. He'd put the raincoat back on, though it was hot in the tiny room.

“Mr. Daniels?”

“Yes?” His look managed to be both wary and stunned.

“Sorry, didn't mean to leave you quite so long.”

“How's Mark? Any chance of me getting to see him?”

The vinyl love seat made squeaking noises as Sonora sat down. Her knees touched Daniels's, and she moved to one side. She checked his left hand. Wedding band.

“Is there someone I can Call to be with you? Your wife?”

Keaton Daniels looked away suddenly, his eyes on the floor. “No, thank you.”

“A friend maybe?”

Keaton looked at her. “My wife and I are separated. I can call a friend later.”

Sonora nodded and leaned toward him.

“Are you a detective?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes.”

“I thought my brother was in a car accident. You—when you introduced yourself, you said specialist.”

“Specialist is the current jargon—a union thing. I'm a homicide detective, Mr. Daniels. They call me for any suspicious dea—circumstances.”

He swallowed. “Suspicious—”

“I'm very sorry to have to tell you that your brother Mark is dead.”

He had known it was coming, but still he was stunned. His shoulders sagged, and he cleared his throat. He fought it, but the tears would come. Sonora knew it. He knew it.

“Tell me.” The words were an effort. He caught his lip between his teeth. “Tell me what happened.”

“We're still trying to piece it together. The police and the fire department were dispatched to a burning vehicle. Your brother was inside. We think the fire was deliberately set.”

Keaton Daniels looked at her. A peculiar, puzzled look. The tears came, coursing down his rough, unshaven cheeks, his eyes going puffy and red.

Sonora touched his hand. “Would you like some time? Can I call that friend?”

He shook his head slowly, and Sonora was reminded of Mark Daniels's white sluglike head trailing fluid across the sheet. She wondered what he'd looked like before—if he'd been handsome, like his brother.

“I need to ask you a few quick questions, the sooner the better. But if you need—”

“Go ahead.”

“You're sure?”

“Go ahead.”

A moment passed. Sonora fiddled with the recorder.

“Mr. Daniels, did you talk to Mark today? See him today?”

He clutched the knees of his pants. “Yes. He's up visiting. We had supper. Then he dropped me off, and went back out.”

“Any idea where he went?”

“A place called Cujo's. Cujo's Café-Bar.”

“Up in the Mount Adams area?”

“Yes.”

Sonora nodded. “I know it. You didn't go with him?”

“I had to get some things put together for work. A lot of cutting and pasting stuff. Not hard, but time-consuming. I offered to let Mark help me with it but he was … bored. And I was going to go to bed early anyway. I teach. I'm a teacher. So we had some supper and he decided to go on to Cujo's and get a beer or something.”

“By himself?”

“Yes.”

“In your car?”

“He came up with a friend, someone from school. He's a student at the University of Kentucky. The friend dropped him off, and I was going to drive him home on the weekend. We were going to stop and see our mother.” He looked at the floor, then back up to Sonora. “I need to call her, or should I wait till morning? Let her sleep?”

“Call her tonight. Otherwise she'll feel slighted. Unless—is she unwell?”

“Not exactly.”

Sonora was mildly interested, made a mental note to pursue it. “This bar, this Cujo's. Is it more a bar or more a café?”

“More bar.”

“You go there yourself?”

“Sometimes. For a while I was going there a lot. Then I stopped.”

“I'm not sure I follow.”

Daniels grimaced. “My wife and I are separated. For a while, I was going out a lot at night. Bars and stuff. Cujo's a lot. But that gets old. Plus, I really had to buckle down to my work. Hard to face the kids with a hangover every morning. Not to mention the expense, on a teacher's salary.”

“What age do you teach?”

“I teach a primary program. Grades one and two.”

“Elementary school?”

Her surprise annoyed him. “That's where they teach grades one and two.”

Sonora let it pass. “Where'd you go for dinner?”

“LaRosa's. We split a pizza.”

“Beer at dinner?”

Daniels narrowed his eyes. “I had a Sprite. Mark had Dr. Pepper.”

“Any chance Mark was meeting up with some friends?”

“I don't think so. He didn't know anybody here.”

“How about the one that dropped him off?”

“On his way to Dayton, far as I know.”

“His? Male?”

“Yeah. Caldwell, Carter Caldwell.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Look, I don't understand this. Did something happen at the bar?”

“Mr. Daniels, at this point I just don't know. I know it sounds trite, but does you brother have any enemies? Bad enemies?”

“Enemies? Mark? He's a college kid, Detective. And a nice one. No drugs, no steroids. He liked to party—”

“Drink a lot?”

He shrugged. “It's a stage. A lot of kids go through it.”

Sonora nodded, keeping her face noncommittal, notching possible alcohol problem in her mind.

“He was just a kid.” The tears flowed freely now. “Twenty-two. He was too young and too sweet to have enemies.”

“Lot of girlfriends?”

“He has a girlfriend in Lexington. They've been steady now for two years.”

“She the only one?”

“Pretty much. Lots of friend girls, if you see what I mean. But not to date.”

“Popular?” Sonora asked.

Keaton Daniels nodded.

“Have you ever known him to pick up a girl in a bar?”

“No.”

“Come on, think about it.”

“I don't think so. Not here, in a strange town. He was twenty-two. And young for his age.”

“Your brother ever talk about going to a prostitute? Maybe joke about it? Ask your advice?”

The tears dried. Daniels sat forward in his seat.

“Just what's going on here?”

Sonora leaned back. “Mr. Daniels, your brother was murdered tonight. I have to cover every angle, every possibility. Help me out on it.”

“How could he burn up in the car? Did it wreck or something? Was he unconscious?”

“Like I said, Mr. Daniels, we're still—”

“For God's sake, Detective.” His grip on her arm was firm to the point of being painful. He stood up and leaned over her, hands clenching the arms of the love seat. “What exactly did they … whoever this was. What did they do to him?”

“Mr.—”

“
Please
. Tell me something.”

She stood up, forcing him backward. He stayed close, his face no more than an inch from hers. Not going to give ground.

“Mr. Daniels, sit down, okay?”

She could smell the powdery scent of his bath soap, the coffee on his breath. They stayed eye to eye for a long moment.

“Please sit down, Mr. Daniels. I'll tell you everything that I can. I have a brother, okay?”

He sat back down, coat tightening across the broad shoulders.

Sonora sat across from him, laid a hand on his arm, felt him tremble. “I don't have the details, I haven't been to the scene. Mark was found in your car in Mount Airy Forest, handcuffed to the steering wheel. He'd been deliberately doused with accelerant and set on fire.”

“Sweet Jesus God.”

“Put your head between your knees.”

“I don't—”

“Humor me. Please.”

He resisted, just for a moment, then let her guide his head down.

Good going, Blair, she thought. Please explain to the sergeant how you managed to kill off the victim's brother.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He sat up slowly, leaned back in his seat. She looked at his face, chalk white.

“I need some time.”

“Of course.”

“Can I … Can I go home, to my wife's? For a while?”

“I'll have someone drive you.”

“Thanks.”

“Stay put. I'll get—”

Daniels got up slowly, hand against the wall for support.

“Steady,” Sonora said, and took his arm.

4

It was daylight when Sonora left the hospital. The sky was still grimy, but the rain had stopped. She was driving too fast, and the tires on her Nissan sprayed water. She tapped the brakes as the car picked up speed moving down the steep hill. Sonora was vaguely aware she'd just squeaked through on a yellow light.

In her mind, she saw Mark Daniels under the harsh lights and torturous ministrations of the ER.

It was foggy, and Sonora snapped on the headlights. Her radio sputtered the usual comforting background of static. She was never quite alone. She glanced at her watch, thinking that the kids would be waking up now, getting ready for school.

She turned right onto Colerain. A dark wall of trees lined the left-hand side of the road—Mount Airy Forest. Sonora noted pedestrian entrances, streetlights on Colerain, none in the forest. She passed Saint Anthony's shrine. The main entrance to the forest was blocked by police cars. Sonora showed her ID and was waved past. The narrow two-lane road had dried in patches, giving the asphalt a speckled look.

Three wooden signs, the bottom one crooked, let her know that the speed limit was twenty-five, wheeled vehicles were restricted to paved roads, and park hours were from 6
A.M
. to 10
P.M
. She was cautioned to watch for bicycles, warned not to park off the roadway, informed that the dog leash law was enforced.

Have fun, kids, Sonora thought.

She passed a battered trailer that was labeled
TOOL SHED
. The trees here were black oak, birch, and béech. She saw a sign for Oak Ridge Lodge and knew she was getting close.

The Crime Scene Unit's van was half on the grass, half on the road. The guys—wearing blue jumpsuits,
POLICE
stenciled on the back, heavy fire boots on their feet—were giving it the once-over. She parked behind the bronze department-issue Ford Taurus that she shared with her partner, fished in the glove compartment for new cassette tapes, notebook, investigation reports.

She liked to approach the scene on foot. Move in and focus. She wandered past the fire chief's wagon, the patrol cars. She thought of Mark Daniels. Why had he come out here? It was a long way from Cujo's and trendy Mount Adams. A longer way from Kentucky.

She put a new tape in the recorder as she walked, crumpling the cellophane wrapper and stuffing it into her jacket pocket.

How had the killer left the scene? On foot? Had she planned it well enough to have a car waiting? Did she have an accomplice? Where did she get the accelerant? What kind of woman handcuffed a twenty-two-year-old boy to a steering wheel and lit a match?

The CS technicians were well into, the work, and Sonora, usually an hour ahead of the van, had the depressed feeling of someone who's missed the party.

She counted heads. Sergeant. Coroner. A lot of uniforms.

“Sonora?”

She climbed indelicately over the band of yellow tape and headed for a broad-shouldered, solidly built man with dark, fine brown hair, side-parted, that fell into his eyes. The eyes were blue, with crinkles around the edges, caused in equal parts by laughter and worry. His complexion was swarthy, and he had a boyish look about him. People always thought he was younger than he was, and women tried to feed him.

He was the kind of guy who watched football games, the kind of guy you'd call if you heard a noise late at night—breathtakingly normal in a world full of nuts. He and Sonora had been partners for five years.

“Hey, Sam.”

“'Bout time you got out here, girl.”

“You smell like smoke.”

“You look like hell. How is he?”

Sonora grimaced.

“Dead, huh?”

She nodded. “Twenty-two-year-old college kid from Kentucky. Your neck of the woods. Probably one of your cousins. You're all related down there, aren't you?”

“He talk to you?”

“Had to do it around a respirator. Yes or no questions.”

Sam nodded. Looking grim.

“Killer was a woman,” Sonora said!

“
No
shit?”

“Blond, I think brown eyes, but he died on me there, so I'm not sure. Young, between twenty-five and thirty.”

“Prostitute?”

“Said not. If I got this straight, he met her last night. Probably in a bar. The brother said he was on his way to Gujo's when they split.”

Sam frowned. “Why'd they separate?”

“Brother had to go to work early.”

“Cujo's, huh?”

“Place in Mount Adams.”

“La-di-da.”

“Hey. Not every bar has to be full of cowboys.”

“Don't let your brother hear you say that.”

Sonora gave him a half smile.

“Here, Mickey, give her the grand tour.”

A short man, arms thickly muscled, came out from under the blackened hood of the car. Sonora looked in the side window at the gutted interior of what used to be a Cutlass.

“Rolling firetrap, otherwise known as an automobile.” Mickey wore a blue jacket that said
ARSON
on the back, heavy fire boots on his feet.

Sonora took a speculative sniff. “Know what the accelerant was?”