Gayle Wilson - The Suicide Club

“Something weird happened this morning,” Lindsey began.

Shannon straightened, her eyes interested. “In class?”

“Before. Melanie told me when I signed in that Dave wanted to see me. Some detective with the sheriff’s department was in his office. He said the FBI has developed a profile of the arsonists in the church fires.” She hesitated, wanting to see if Shannon reached the same conclusion she had.

“And they wanted to talk to you? They think your kids are involved?”

“Apparently. I’ve been thinking about it all day, getting more and more pissed.”

Shannon didn’t respond, but Lindsey could almost track the thoughts moving behind her green eyes. She knew the counselor was running through the individuals in the gifted program, just as Lindsey had been all day. The fact that she had been was a large part of her building anger.

“He give you any idea who?”

“He wanted me to give him ideas.”

“Well, that sucks. You think…?”

Lindsey shook her head. “But I admit it ate at me. I kept trying to think of anyone who might be involved, but…You know them. Who the hell would do something like that?”

“I told you. Little darlings. They aren’t any different from the others except they’re probably smart enough not to get caught.”

That, too, was a thought that had occurred to Lindsey at some point. She had wondered if that’s why the profilers had zeroed in on the students in her gifted program—simply because of the lack of evidence, something law enforcement officials had openly acknowledged.

“I think that might be exactly what they’re thinking.”

“That they must be geniuses because the cops can’t catch ’em?” Shannon asked. “Isn’t that convenient.”

“They can’t admit that some dumb, redneck yahoo can outsmart them, burn three black churches, and get away with it. So, stands to reason, this has got to be somebody else.”

“Who was the detective? Anybody I know?”

Shannon had dated a sheriff’s deputy a couple of years ago. Surprisingly, they’d managed to maintain a friendship after the romantic relationship had ended. If, Lindsey amended, knowing her friend too well not to have wondered if all aspects of that particular relationship had come to an end.

“Jace Nolan.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I don’t think he’s from around here.”

“Want me to ask Rick why they’re looking at your kids?”

“Would it get back to Nolan if you did?”

“Not if I tell Rick to keep his mouth shut.”

“Would he?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Why not, indeed, Lindsey thought. And as Shannon said, what could it hurt?

So I hear you got finally somethin’ on the fires.”

Jace raised his eyes to find one of the county deputies looking down at the papers spread out over on his desk. He resisted the impulse to push them together. After all, the man was a fellow law enforcement officer.

“A profile. From the Bureau. We’re working from that.”

“Yeah? I always thought those were pretty general. You think this one’s helpful, then?”

“A place to start.” The words echoed inside Jace’s head. Exactly what he’d told the two at the high school yesterday.

The transition from that realization to the next was almost instantaneous. Before today, few of the deputies had bothered to speak to him, not even when passing him in the halls, much less visit his desk to ask questions. Not that he gave a damn whether they did are not. Still…

A glance at the name bar above the man’s shirt pocket provided the name. Had Deputy Carlisle attended Randolph-Lowen? And if so, did he have ties to any of the people Jace had talked to there yesterday?

Like maybe the redhead who’d been so determined to question the validity of his interest in her kids?

He didn’t blame Ms. Sloan for her skepticism. She had every right to question why he suspected the students in her gifted program might be involved.

“So who are we looking for?”

“Thrill seekers,” Jace said, watching for reaction as he rolled out the now-familiar list of characteristics the Bureau had given him. “Young. White. Male.”

“How young?”

“Probably teens. Possibly early twenties. The profile isn’t that precise.”

“College age. Like those others.”

“Maybe. But since there isn’t a college in this area—”

“Junior college over in Carroll. Another near Bedford. Hell, thanks to old George Wallace and Lurleen, we got a junior college or trade school on about every other corner.”

“And neither of those is in the geographic center of the arsons. This community, and its high school, are.”

“Sounds like you got your mind made up.”

Despite the beginnings of what would soon became a paunch, Deputy Carlisle looked as if he might be a few years younger than Jace. Early thirties or so.

Old enough to know better.

As he waited for Jace to respond to that accusation, the deputy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, displaying what might be a hint of nervousness. The movement was accompanied by the creak of his utility belt, reminding Jace that whatever else he was, the man was a fellow officer.

“Like I said,” he said softly. “It’s a place to start.”

“I heard you were out at the high school yesterday.”

At least this approach was more honest than the previous one. Maybe he could even work it to his advantage.

“That’s right. Since I didn’t talk to many people there, I’d be curious as to who shared that information with you.”

The deputy grinned. “In a town this size, all information’s shared. Half the department probably knew you’d been over there before you got back in your car.”

“I’ll remember that. I thought maybe you had a friend who’d asked you to see if you could find out why I was there.”

The grin wavered so that Jace knew he’d struck a nerve. It hadn’t taken a lot of deductive reasoning to figure out the reason “Deputy Dawg” here had stopped by to chat, no matter how subtle Carlisle thought he was being.

“So you’re a friend of Ms. Sloan’s,” Jace went on before the man had a chance to think up an excuse.

“Sorry.” Carlisle shook his head. “Don’t believe I know her. That the teacher you talked to?”

“The gifted coordinator. I’m not totally clear what that means, but I’ll find out.”

“Yeah? Me, either. They didn’t have one of them when I was in school.”

“You go there?”

“Everybody around here did.”

“Know anybody there now?”

“I might. You looking to talk to people? Unofficially?”

“Something like that.”

“Kids?”

“I don’t care. Just somebody who’ll be candid.”

“I’ll think about who I know. You believe whoever’s doing this is a genius.”

“They burned down three churches without leaving physical evidence. Does that make them a genius?”

“Might just make ’em lucky.” Carlisle’s grin was back.

“That’s what I figure.”

“’Course my daddy always said it’s better to be lucky than good.”

“Eventually luck runs out.”

On Jace’s orders, the remaining black churches in this county and the adjacent ones had been under patrol since the last fire. So far it had worked, but if he was right…

If he was right, something else was going to happen. Sooner rather than later. And he intended to be on top of it when it did.

The slight headache Lindsey had been conscious of when she’d awakened this morning, after another night of less-than-restful sleep, had become full blown. It was the Friday afternoon pep rally, and the entire student population was crammed into a gym that had been too small to hold it for at least three years. The band blasted away on the fight song, the sound of the drums throbbing through the prefabricated building like a toothache.