A City Of Dread: Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 7 Read online

  “Guess I shouldn’t be giving you a ration of bull,” Sarah said. “I got out of the bath, sprawled out on the bed for what was supposed to be five minutes, and never woke up until the big bang.”

  “A good, hot bath will do---hold on. Is that my cell phone ringing?”

  “Sounds like it’s coming from your office.”

  “That can’t be good.”

  Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Got to be Detective James.”

  I hightailed it down the hall and into my office. Sarah was right. “Good morning, Detective.”

  “Sorry to wake you, Carter.”

  “You didn’t. The explosion did. We’re both awake over here. What happened?”

  “Condemned single family home. It was slated for a controlled burn a few hours from now. You know, practice for the local fire department. Anyway, it appears someone thought it would be a good idea to blow up a vehicle inside the attached garage. I haven’t arrived at the scene, but the description of the vehicle sounds an awful lot like the one we’ve been looking for.”

  “Robbie Kramer’s car?”

  “Looking that way.”

  “Wow. Would it make sense for us to head over?”

  “I’m going to say it probably would,” James replied. “Covington Lane, a quarter mile from Finlandik’s oil terminal.”

  “Got it. Be there in ten,” I said as I turned to give Sarah the news.

  “Someone torched Robbie Kramer’s car?” she asked.

  “You caught that, huh?”

  Unbelievable. Guess I’d better make myself semi presentable. I don’t want to scare anyone on the emergency crew.”

  “I’m guessing they’ll be too busy to notice.”

  * * *

  My cell phone rang just as we were slowing for the multi-colored road block authorities had set up roughly a half mile from the scene. “Looks like they’re not taking any chances,” I said as I answered the incoming call, Detective James’s name glowing on the screen.

  “They won’t even let me near the scene, yet,” James replied. “Whoever lit that car off wasn’t taking any chances. Fire chief said he believes the thing had to have been loaded with containers of accelerant. He estimates a dozen or so five-gallon totes were used. They were initially worried about the oil terminal, due to the prevailing winds, but it’s my understanding they’ve got the flames fairly well contained at this point.”

  “Doesn’t sound to me as though there’ll be much left to look at. You know, once the fire is out.”

  “Exactly what the chief said, but we’ll have eyewitness accounts of what our first responders saw. Good chance we’ll be able to verify whether it was Kramer’s vehicle or not.”

  “Want to give me a shout when they’re ready to let us near it?”

  “Count on it,” James said. “I’m thinking no more than twenty minutes.”

  “What did he say?” Sarah asked.

  “Fire chief says arson. We should be picking through the rubble in less than a half hour.”

  “OK,” Sarah responded. “I’ve got a one word answer to all of that.”

  “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Coffee, right?”

  Sarah slapped my arm. “No cobwebs hanging around on your brain matter. Not bad for five in the morning.”

  “Considering the fact this morning’s alarm clock was a car bomb, I’m inclined to agree. Anything open this early?”

  “The diner on the traffic circle opens at four-thirty. Their coffee isn’t about to win any major awards, but it is hot, and it contains caffeine, so…

  “You sold me,” I said as I initiated a three point turn and put the fiery scene in our rear view.

  “I guess someone really wanted to get rid of whatever evidence was left inside Robbie Kramer’s car,” Sarah said as we backtracked toward the highway.

  “Without question. Makes the discovery I made while you were in the tub last night a bit more compelling, too.”

  “Which is?”

  I found a photograph of Jackson Cole on one of his social media pages. Shows him all decked-out in full combat gear. The post was from the beginning of June, and said he was heading home due to a scheduled troop rotation in Afghanistan.”

  “Whoa. And, you waited until now to tell me this. Why?”

  “I didn’t want to ruin your bath. Telling you last night wouldn’t have changed anything at all.”

  “Guess you’re right, but … does James know, yet.”

  “He hasn’t heard it from me.”

  “Don’t you think we should clue him in?” she asked.

  I handed her my phone. “Absolutely. Would have thought to do it myself if it weren’t so darn early. Lack of coffee isn’t helping much, either.”

  I maneuvered onto the ramp leading to 95 south as Sarah shared our latest findings with James. Hearing her relay what I’d just shared drove home a simple fact for me: Cole was likely an individual who wouldn’t shy away from doing something as cataclysmic as blowing up a vehicle.

  Just another day at the office for a soldier who saw the front lines on a regular basis.

  “James didn’t sound too happy about Luce dropping the ball. He wanted to know if you’d be willing to fill her position when he fires her.”

  “Ha. Yeah, right. I have no plans to wear a uniform ever again, but especially not while driving a desk.”

  “I kind of figured,” Sarah said as she gave me a couple pats on the cheek. “He’s better off with both of us helping him out in the field, anyway.”

  I signaled and took the exit for the diner, our need for coffee dire at this point. “Should we grab a bite while we’re here?”

  Sarah winced and shook her head. “Don’t let me stop you if you want to grab yourself some food, but my tummy isn’t ready, yet.”

  “No worries,” I said. “I’m happy to wait.”

  “I’ll run in and grab the coffees, then.”

  “Better grab one for James, too.”

  “That was already my plan, Mr. Mindreader,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone.

  Sarah wasn’t gone ten seconds when James called again. “Hey, Detective.”

  “Come on in,” he said. “Not that there’s much to see at this point. It was definitely Kramer’s car, though. We checked the VIN.”

  “See you in ten. We’re down at the diner grabbing coffees. Got you one.”

  “Bless you, my son,” he said and ended the call.

  I sat back, closed my eyes, and thought about the proximity of where the car was torched in relation to the map we’d plotted out. The site was on the northwest side of Bridgeport, within three miles of The Shallows, Jonesey’s Gym, and the old movie theater where Mark Cutter had been found.

  None of which boded well for Cole.

  A rush of air told me Sarah had returned with the goods. “I went with black coffee for all of us. Too many people milling around in there to do otherwise.”

  “That’ll work,” I said as I grabbed my cup. I pried the lid back and took a few sips before getting back on the road.

  “Oh, that’s much better,” Sarah said as she took her first few swallows. “I feel like I’m amongst the living again.”

  “No doubt. So, I was mulling over an interesting detail while you were inside,” I said as I backed out of our spot. “Think about where that car was found, in terms of the map we plotted.”

  It took her less than five seconds to realize what I was getting at. “Quite a convenient spot for a guy like Cole to get rid of some damning evidence.”

  “For sure,” I said after sacrificing my tongue to third degree burns in order to get my morning coffee buzz to kick in faster. “His involvement is looking more likely with each passing hour.”

  “Yet, you still have doubts he’s our guy?” Sarah asked, a tone of disbelief in her delivery.

  “We can’t assume a single thing right now. We haven’t spoken to this guy, nor do we have a concrete motive we can hang on him.”

  “Boy, I don’t know.”
r />   “What happened to being at a loss for a motive where Sprague is concerned? You said it, yourself.”

  “You’re right. It’s just---”

  “So convenient?” I asked.

  “A little too convenient, huh?”

  “Enough to give me pause. All circumstantial, at best.”

  “We, as a society, need to figure out a better way to make criminals accountable,” Sarah said as we approached the spot the roadblock had stood twenty minutes prior. “Look at all these emergency vehicles leaving this scene. For what? All because one or two people lost it and became completely unhinged. Look at the risk all these innocent people had to take just to clean up some evil individual’s mess.”

  “What if the perpetrator’s actions were set in motion by a condition they have no control over? An illness, maybe? Who do you make accountable then? The health care industry? Doctors? Family members?”

  “I know,” Sarah said. “There are no easy answers.”

  “Problem is, every situation is unique. There’s just no one-size-fits-all solution too any of it.”

  Sarah spent the remainder of the ride staring out the window while I did my best to find a reasonable place to park.

  A rookie Bridgeport officer gave me a stern look as he threw a hand signal in our direction. “I need you to keep moving, sir,” he said as I rolled my window down.

  “We’re working the scene with Detective James.”

  He looked back and forth between Sarah and me, trying to decide what our deal was. “What’s your name?”

  “Carter Peterson. James is expecting us.”

  “Sit tight,” he said then turned and spoke into his radio. After a few crackles and pops he turned back toward us. “Sorry, sir. I cleared you right up to the edge of the scene. Drive on ahead. Have a good morning.”

  “That’s more like it,” Sarah said under her breath, a tone of authority thrown in for effect.

  “Kid’s just doing his job,” I said as we began rolling.

  “Right. And, now he knows … so are we.”

  “You’re tough at this hour,” I teased. “No wonder I stay in bed until six every morning.”

  “Ha-ha,” Sarah responded. “Careful, or I’ll move my timetable up just for you.”

  I smiled at her response, but my joviality was short lived. “Uh-oh. Someone from the coroner’s office is here.”

  “Not good,” Sarah said. “I wonder if---look, I think that’s James over there. Near the red pickup.”

  I drove in the direction she pointed out. “Good eyes,” I said as James spotted us and waved us over.

  “Park off to the side then come back over here, would you, please?” James asked.

  “You got it.”

  The smoke still hung heavy in the air as a pair of engines continued to douse the charred remnants that once served as someone’s dwelling.

  “Should have brought a couple inhalers,” Sarah said between her fits of coughing.

  James began walking toward us, with an individual carrying a clipboard in tow.

  “You recognize that guy?” I asked Sarah.

  “Never seen him before.”

  “Carter, Sarah, I’ve got to run,” James said. “Fire chief needs me to sign off on a few details before he can leave. Say hello to Wayne Sophia. He’s Bridgeport’s interim code enforcement officer. Tell them exactly what you told me, Wayne. Everything.”

  I extended my hand to Sophia as James jogged off. “Name’s Carter Peterson, Mr. Sophia. Please say hello to my partner, Sarah Woods.”

  “Wayne Sophia,” he said as he shook hands with each of us, his attention seemingly focused on anything and everything but our presence. I noticed a peculiarity about him within the first few seconds, Sarah’s multiple side glances telling me the man’s tics weren’t lost on her, either. At first I thought he was caught up in the bustling activity surrounding us, but it became apparent, due to the timing of his twitching head, that he was disturbed by the incessant noise. “I told Detective James the security gate was tampered with sometime after---” he began, then whipped his head around as one of the fire department’s engines began making a screeching racket. He turned back toward us, looking confused.

  “The security gate,” Sarah coaxed.

  “It was tampered with after dark,” he continued. “The state fire marshal spent an hour with me while---” Again, Sophia was distracted, the chattering axle of an emergency vehicle tracking over uneven ground making a staccato banging sound.

  “Would you like to get out of this smoke and noise?” I asked. “We can go sit in my car and go over the details. It’ll be a lot less noisy in there.”

  Yes. Yes, please. Can we do that?” he asked and began looking around.

  “Our vehicle is over there,” Sarah said to him as she pointed, then gave me a strange look as Sophia ventured forth ahead of us. “This guy is an odd dude,” she communicated as we walked behind him, me reading her lips more than hearing her words.

  Sophia arrived at the car a full five steps ahead of us, his grey mop of a haircut lifting and bouncing from the center of his scalp every time he turned---which was often. The fifty-something’s entire hair deal reminded me of the old Flying Scooter carnival ride I used to gravitate toward when I was a kid.

  “Go ahead and get in the front,” Sarah called out to him. “It’s unlocked. I’ll climb in the back.”

  Most men would have insisted she take the front seat, out of respect. Not this guy. He wasted no time climbing in and slamming the door before either of us had the opportunity to reach for a handle.

  Sarah looked at me and shook her head.

  I could tell she was already a big fan.

  Sophia picked up where he left off, continuing to spew information before we’d even closed the doors. “Detective James has the lock this guy cut off the chain link fence.”

  “This guy?” I asked as I pulled out my notebook.

  “You know, whoever drove that automobile into our restricted area and torched it,” he clarified.

  “Got it. What time did you and the fire marshal lock down the site last night?”

  “We pulled out of here at exactly eight-thirty. Says so on our paperwork.”

  “This paperwork you’re referring to. Something you’re required to file with the State of New Hampshire?”

  “Correct. It’s a certification that says we deem the site to be free of occupants, and ready for a controlled burn.”

  “What time was this burn scheduled for?” I asked.

  “Five-thirty this morning.”

  “I know this is going to sound like a dumb question, Mr. Sophia, but I have to ask. You checked the garage before locking up? In other words, the car wasn’t in there when you left, correct?”

  “It was not,” Sophia said. “The fire marshal can confirm that.”

  “Who had the key to the lock?”

  “The lock was cut. The guy didn’t use a key.”

  “So you said, but that’s not what I’m---”

  “The fire marshal took the key with him when he left last night, and said he’d drop it off to the Bridgeport fire chief on his way home.”

  “Anything else you can tell us?” I asked as I jotted the information down.

  “That’s all I have,” Sophia replied, his body language telling me he was done with us.

  “Fair enough. Thank you for your time.”

  Sophia nodded, swung the car door open, and he was gone.

  “Mr. Personality,” Sarah said as she swung the back door open to swap seats.

  I grabbed my phone and called James.

  “All set with Wayne?” he asked as I set the phone down on the dash and hit speaker.

  “We are. Where are you?”

  “Poking around the charred remains,” James replied. “Come on over.”

  “Be right there,” I said and swung my door open. I was about to climb out when I felt a yank on my arm.

  “Would you mind terribly if I stayed here in the
car?” Sarah asked. “I don’t think I can handle all that smoke and ash.”

  “Yep, that’s fine. A fire that hot … we’re not going to find anything, anyway.”

  “Here. Don’t forget to give James his coffee.”

  “Hope he likes it cold,” I said as I stood up and closed the door. I began making my way over toward ground zero and could see James standing with a pair of firefighters, as well as the chief medical examiner.

  James looked my way and broke off from the huddle. “We lost a man in the fire,” he said as I got closer. “Young probie. Chief thinks the kid’s radio failed and he panicked.”

  “That sucks,” I said as I handed him his cup.

  “Oh, thanks,” he said. “Yeah, well, whoever torched this car is facing involuntary manslaughter, in addition to a long list of other charges.”

  “What are your thoughts?”

  “I’m assuming you’re asking if I think Cole is our guy.”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s hard not to, but I know better than to make that call, just yet. It sure isn’t a done deal, considering what we have, so far.”

  “I said the same to Sarah. There’s no real evidence. I haven’t figured out a motive for why he’d take the life of a homeless war veteran, either.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks for reminding me how far we have to go on this one,” James said.

  “Sorry. Hey, what’s Wayne Sophia’s story? He’s a real piece of work.”

  “Poor son-of-a-gun,” James said. “Get this. Two years ago his wife gets a stack of lottery tickets for her birthday. Some friend gave them to her in a card. Doesn’t Sophia’s wife hit for six mil.”

  “What’s so bad about that?” I asked.

  “She passed six months later.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. She’d given the friend who purchased the tickets half the money right up front, leaving three million to play with. Guess Wayne and his wife had a ball while she was still around. Spent with reckless abandon. Apparently, he’s got enough cash left to live on, so he doesn’t really have to work, but told me he got bored and needed something to do.”

  “Why code enforcement?” I asked.

  “Guy used to be a builder, so he has the required background. Bridgeport chose him over the other candidates because he wasn’t looking for a big paycheck. My understanding is that they got him for pennies on the dollar.”