Dana Stabenow - A Grave Denied

They turned as one to look at the wreckage, and the smoke had cleared enough now to see the handle of the old-fashioned water pump that had once presided over the sink sticking up out of the rubble like a forlorn sentinel. The loft was pretty much intact, having fallen almost as one piece as the walls below had burned. Jim suspected that the falling loft had had something to do with smothering some or all of the fire, and wondered when it had come down. Probably right about the time Kate decided to rescue her “things.”

The rage started hammering at the locked door. Never had self-control seemed more elusive. One of the first things taught in trooper school was how to establish authority at a crime scene. If he’d had to take that test this morning he would have failed miserably. For the first time in his career, he wished he had someone else he could hand off a case to.

Thinking out loud, he said, “Log cabin, sixty-odd years old. Probably would go up like tinder once it was torched. Small, too, so it wouldn’t take long.” He looked around the clearing. The outbuildings were intact, although the roofs of shop and outhouse had some scorch marks. The wooden stand beneath the half dozen fifty-five-gallon drums of fuel oil stacked in a neat pyramid had burned and collapsed, and the drums had broken free of their strapping and rolled into a haphazard scatter into the brush.

Billy cast a wary eye over his shoulder. “This have something to do with Dreyer’s death?”

Jim hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the red pickup. “She thinks so,” he said.

Bobby grinned again. “Feeling guilty?” he said, entirely without sympathy. Dinah nudged him, and Jim saw it, which was the only thing that saved Bobby from instant annihilation.

He walked over to the cabin. The heat from the still-smoldering embers was warm on his face. He walked around the perimeter, looking for the line of copper tubing leading from the fuel oil into the cabin. It was still there, and as near as he could figure by eyeballing it, it hadn’t been tampered with.

He heard a footstep and turned to see Kate. “Did you lock your door last night?” He saw the answer on her face. “Of course you didn’t. Who does, in the Park? So it was probably just a matter of someone opening it and pitching a lit firestarter inside. Probably knew you sleep in the loft. Probably knew hot air rises. Probably figured you’d be dead of smoke inhalation before you woke up enough to get to the ladder. Do you get it, Shugak? Somebody tried to kill you last night.”

“I got it, Chopin,” she said tightly. “I’ve had longer to think about it than you have.”

For the first time he was able to look beyond his own fear and rage and see hers, and the sight only exacerbated his own. “You’re fired,” he said tightly.

She looked confused. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re fired!” he bellowed. “Canned, sacked, riffed, laid off! I don’t want you anywhere near this case from now on! You will talk to no more people about Len Dreyer, do you hear me! Not one! You will collect no more evidence! If the murderer kneels at your feet and offers you a signed confession sealed by a notary public, I want you to walk away! Walk away, do you hear me?”

“I think they can hear you in Canada,” Bobby said.

“Shut the fuck up!” Jim said furiously, rounding on him.

“Okay,” Bobby said, hands patting the air. Billy, Annie, and Dinah backed up a step in unison.

“And stay the fuck out of police business!”

“Anything you say, buddy,” Bobby said. Billy, Annie, and Dinah backed up another step, and Bobby lowered his hands just long enough to roll the tires on his chair back, just so he wouldn’t be hanging it out in front all alone. None of them could remember seeing Jim angry. Jim Chopin didn’t get angry; in fact, they had thought that he couldn’t, that maybe he didn’t know how or that it had been trained out of him in trooper school and on the job. Their mistake.

Their reaction went a long way toward restoring Jim’s composure. “Okay,” he said more calmly. He turned back to Kate. She had something big and square clamped beneath an elbow. “What’s that?”

“My photograph album,” she said. “The one I put together from the pictures in Emaa’s kitchen.”

Another wave of fury almost swamped him. He battled it back, and managed to ask in a reasonable tone of voice, “That what you went back for?”

“Yes. And the otter.” She pulled out the little ivory carving with two fingers, wincing. She nodded at the pickup. “And the guitar. Johnny wants to learn to play.”

As she spoke they heard the sound of a four-wheeler, and Mutt came arrowing into the clearing. She saw Kate and in the same smooth motion knocked her flat on her back. Front paws on Kate’s shoulders, crooning a constant anxious whine, she licked Kate’s face, hands, every part of her she could get to, and then nosed her over on her face like she was flipping a pancake and examined her backside with the same attention to detail.

“I’m all right, Mutt,” Kate said, exasperated, and got to her feet just in time to see Vanessa and Johnny drive into the clearing on their four-wheelers. Johnny vaulted off his before it stopped moving and headed for Kate. “What happened? Are you all right? Mutt was worried this morning, she woke me up and wouldn’t let me go back to sleep. She made us come home early.” He looked at the cabin and his face went white. “What happened to the cabin?”

“It’s okay,” Kate said.

“No, it’s not, your cabin’s burned down!” He rounded on her, his face dark with suspicion. “Did she do this?”

“What? Who? Oh.” Kate pulled herself together. “No. No, I don’t think so, Johnny, I don’t think it had anything to do with her. We don’t know if it was deliberate, anyway, it could have been an accident.”

“Yeah, right,” Johnny said, “like I’ve ever, ever seen you leave the fire door open on the stove, or not turn the lamps off when you were going to be gone. Give me a break.”

“Her who?” Jim said.

Kate scowled at him. “It’s not important.”

“It is, too,” Johnny said hotly, and looked at Jim. “My mother could have done this.”

“Jane?” Jim said.

Johnny nodded vigorously. “It’s just the kind of thing she would do if she was smart enough to think of it. Kate has to prove she can provide shelter for me, doesn’t she? So I can live with her?”

Jim looked at Kate. “Yes. She does.”

“Well?” Johnny pointed at the rubble. “Now we don’t have a place to live. What’s some judge going to say about that?”

The boy could have a point, Jim thought, and tried to ignore how much he’d like to believe it was Jane who had tried to burn Kate alive and not Len Dreyer’s killer. “I don’t think so, Johnny,” he said gentiy. “She knows you’re living here, too, and I don’t care how bad things are between you, I don’t think she’d try to burn down a house you were sleeping in.”

That rocked Johnny back. Vanessa dismounted, paused at Johnny’s four-wheeler to kill the engine, and came to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, staring at the remains of Kate’s cabin with wide eyes.

Her eyes got wider when yet another four-wheeler shouldered its way into the clearing, ridden by Virgil Hagberg. Virgil had a hard, anxious look on his face. He spotted Jim first, towering over the other heads, and started forward. “Oh god. Oh god, Officer Chopin, what…” His voice trailed away when he looked beyond Jim to the smoldering ruin that was once Kate’s cabin. “What… oh my god.” He looked as if he might throw up right there. “What happened?”

“Somebody burned down Kate’s cabin,” Jim said.