Jamie Garrett - Riley Reid 02 - Fire and Lies Page 4

  “Yeah, I just saw it on the new this morning. What about them?”

  “Well, I’m working with the Stone Harbor Police Department. We’re investigating the incidents as possible arsons.” I paused to gauge Mr. Grant’s reaction.

  The chemistry teacher looked surprised. “Jesus… you think someone set the fires on purpose?”

  “That’s right. We think that there might’ve been thermite used.”

  “Thermite! That’s a pretty sophisticated way to start a fire. Why do you think they used thermite?”

  “The metal pipes in the church that was burnt. They were melted. I figured that a regular fire couldn’t get that hot. My research determined that thermite can burn hot enough to melt metals.”

  “Well, you figured right. Thermite can get hot enough to melt metals like iron or copper. The only other thing I could think of off the top of my head is jet fuel. But it’s even more unlikely that someone would be able to get their hands on jet fuel than thermite.”

  “Where could someone get thermite?”

  “Unless you’re a welder or something, I don’t see you ordering thermite. No, you’d have to order the different ingredients separately.”

  I played dumb. “Ingredients?”

  “Yeah, let me see…” Mr. Grant held out his fist, upside down. With each ingredient, one of his fingers unraveled. “There’s iron oxide. That comes in a powder. Same goes for the aluminum. Lastly, you’d need magnesium. Those come in strips.”

  “Where would you get those?”

  “Well, we get our supplies from Chesapeake Chemicals.”

  I took out my notepad, wanting to look official. “Chesapeake Chemicals? Where’s that?”

  “It’s near Richmond, by the airport.”

  I wrote down what Mr. Grant said. “So, if someone was to try and use thermite to set a fire; how would they do it?”

  “They could just mix up the thermite powder and light it with a flare or something like that. Or they could build a bomb with thermite in it. It would act like napalm and light up whatever it touches. The thing is, you can’t put it out. You just have to let it burn itself out.”

  “Thank you for your help, Mr. Grant,” I held out my hand for the chemistry teacher to shake. He did.

  When I left Jefferson High School, I started towards the Metal Works. The Works had started five years earlier when a group of local artists wanted somewhere to create. An old factory in Stone Harbor that once made steel pencil sharpeners was being sold for a fraction of its worth. Those artists had gotten together and bought it.

  It took over a year of renovations to bring the building up to code. But when they were done, the beauty of the Works was worth it. The artists decided to not only make art but sell it at the Works. That included making furniture and sculptures out of metal. Working with metal like that required the use of thermite welding torches.

  By the time I reached the large Metal Works building, it had begun to rain. It was overcast when I had woken up earlier but it took nearly a whole afternoon to produce a shower. The building was a hulking grey goliath among empty buildings and some train tracks that harbored weeds instead of passengers.

  I pulled into the gravel driveway. Since I had forgotten my umbrella, I jogged to the front door. Even the handles on the doors were pieces of art. They looked like forearms with hands in fists on the top.

  Upon stepping inside, the first two things I noticed were the heat and the smell. There was an odor that I can only describe as smelling like pennies. The heat was from the various ovens and torches being used.

  One reason why I enjoyed the Metal Works so much was because of the unique way it was laid out. There wasn’t a single showroom for all the pieces. Instead, the artists sold their work right next to where they were working. It was nice that there was no barrier between the artwork and the person who made it.

  “Can I help you?” A heavily tattooed woman in her late twenties came up behind me. She had blonde and hot pink hair and a t-shirt with some band’s logo on the front. She was smiling through pierced lips and hotrod red lipstick.

  I had to think fast. Since I wanted to see if they had thermite on the premises and who had access to it, I couldn’t admit to being a PI. The nice young woman would most likely get suspicious and paranoid. And my investigation there would hit a wall.

  “My name is Stacey Moore with the Newport News Times,” I lied as I held out my hand for the young woman to shake.

  As she shook my hand, the tattooed woman introduced herself. “I’m Kimberly Rose, the manager.”

  Kimberly Rose? I somehow doubted that was her birth name, but I went with it. Maybe her parents were hippies.

  “I was doing a story on local artists and was told that this was the first place to go.”

  “You were told right. We have some of the best artists here, not only in the state but in all of the country.” Kimberly motioned for me to follow her through the maze of metal working equipment and sweaty artists. “Here at the Metal Works, we work with everything from bronze to ceramic. We make furniture, statues and even kitchenware.”

  “You work with metals?”

  “Hence the name,” said Kimberly with a smile.

  “How do you do that? I mean… how do you manipulate the metals?” I took out my notepad.

  “Well, there are several ways. We use welding torches, benders, smelters and we even have the capacity to melt them down to molten form.”

  “Torches, huh? How does that work?”

  “I’ll show you.” Kimberly led me over to one of the artist’s work stations.

  There were several torches laid out on a table made of a door and sawhorses. They came in all different shapes and sizes. I didn’t know which one was a thermite torch, if any. Luckily Kimberly was more than willing to show me which each one was.

  “Right here is an Oxyacetylene torch, this one uses propane and this one right here is an electric welding torch.” Kimberly picked up the longest of all the torches. “This one right here we just got a couple of weeks ago. It’s a thermite torch. Pretty nice, huh?”

  Bingo, that was what I wanted to see. Now I needed to know who’d use it. “So, how many people here use those?”

  “Everyone who works with metals. So that’d be me,” Kimberly first pointed at herself then other artists. “Eduardo, Christian and Joanna. We all work with metal.”

  “Do you guys have business cards or could I get a list of the people who work here and what they do? I just want to be able to accurately identify anyone in my article.”

  Kimberly was a little hesitant but quickly gave in. They always do. “Yeah, come on back to my office.”

  I got everything. When I left, it was with phone numbers, emails and a list of exactly what every artist did. Sometimes the ends justify the means. At least that’s what I told myself.

  Homecoming

  Instead of going back to my apartment after the Metal Works, I stopped by Richard’s house. Knowing him, I figured he hadn’t cleaned up after the big Fourth of July barbeque.

  When I pulled up to the house, there was an extra car in the driveway. It was a car I recognized. Pastor Pritchard drove the same exact make and model. Why was he here?

  I stood at the front door with my keys in hand. On the other side, I could hear shouting and arguing. Even with my ear against the door, I couldn’t make out what was being said. All I knew was that it wasn’t anything pleasant.

  Instead of entering, curiosity led me to a window where I could get a good look. Pastor Pritchard was there. I’d never seen him so angry before. Richard did not seem bothered; he was lying back in his recliner. The pastor paced back and forth, exchanging heated words with Richard.

  I couldn’t make out what Pastor Pritchard and my father were saying to each other. The only way I would be able to get even a snippet of what was being said was to go in there, but I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation.

  Around the back of the house, there was a screen door that led
into the kitchen. Richard almost never locked it. He always claimed that no one would be stupid enough to break into a former cop’s home. It was horribly unsafe, and I told him as much every chance I got. But on that night, I was happy that he had left it open.

  Before I could get to the back door, I had to wade through all the garbage. There were red plastic cups, beer bottles and cans, paper plates and used napkins strewn about the yard. Just as I predicted, Richard hadn’t done any cleaning.

  I reached the screen door. From there, I could start to make out a little of what was being said.

  “It’s too much!” yelled Pastor Pritchard.

  “Relax already. We’re not done yet.”

  “Well, I am! I’m out, Ritchie. I’m done with this, with all of it!” Pastor Pritchard headed towards the front door.

  Richard got up and stopped him by grabbing the pastor’s arm. “What, you think you can wash your hands of this and walk off into the sunset!? No, you’re in this to the end, just like I am.” He let go of Pritchard’s arm. “A couple more days and all of this will be over. We can look at this like a bad dream.”

  Pastor Pritchard stormed out of the front door. He slammed it behind him. Richard sat back down in his recliner. I took that as my cue to come inside.

  “Hello?” I made sure to ask loud as I entered the house.

  “Riley? I’m in here,” said Richard. I could hear the television being turned on.

  Richard was in his chair. There was a bottle of amber-colored whiskey next to him. He hardly even acknowledged my presence.

  “Was that Pastor Pritchard?” I asked, standing over him.

  Richard didn’t answer.

  “What’d he want?”

  “Nothing.” Richard was lying.

  “Really? ‘Cause I heard some yelling. But if you don’t want t talk about it…”

  “I don’t. Can you move outta the way? I can’t see the TV.”

  Richard had put up his defensive wall. There was no penetrating it. But there was definitely something strange about their conversation. I’d have to try again later when he was in a better mood. I moved on. I did have something else I wanted to talk to him about.

  “I need to ask you something, Richard.” Just to make sure I got his attention I turned off the TV.

  “What the hell Riley?”

  I ignored his anger and annoyance. “I’ve been trying to remember my parents, my birth parents. Do you remember anything about them?”

  Richard was silent for a minute. Then after pouring himself a glass of his whiskey, he started talking. “I didn’t know either of them that well. I had a class or two with Dana Reid in high school. She was from a wealthy family, the Beaumont’s. They lived over on Bainbridge, I think. Or at least they did, for a little while. Anyway, I didn’t know her all that well.”

  I had asked the same question on numerous occasions before. On that night,, I had ulterior motives. “And my dad?”

  “Troy Reid?” Richard quickly downed his whiskey then refilled the glass. “As an officer I saw a lot of Troy. He was always getting into some kind of trouble. There were countless calls for breaking and entering, shoplifting and assaults. Every other time, I’d arrive at the scene and there was your dad.

  “The kid was no good, and he got even worse as he got older. By the time I was a detective, he had graduated to more serious crimes. I put him in Greensville Prison for stealing cars. I’ve told you all of this before.” Richard took a couple of sips instead of taking down the rest of his whiskey in one big gulp. “Why the sudden interest in your birth parents again?”

  “I started the search again.”

  “Again? Why put yourself through that, Riley?” What Richard was referring to were the numerous times I had tried to track down my parents before with very little success. The first time, I had still technically been a teenager. I had just graduated from Jefferson High School. All I wanted for a graduation present was enough money to hire a private investigator.

  The private investigator I hired failed to find anything. And I was devastated. But I did discover what I wanted to do for a vocation. It seemed like a cool job. You’d get to do all the fun things a real detective did, without any of the paperwork or time as a beat cop.

  “I think I’ve found a new way to find them.”

  Richard looked apprehensive. “How?”

  “By finding out what happened to his car. He had a Trans Am. I remember it because of the gold firebird on the hood. I’ll never forget that damn car. So, if I can find a way to track the car, I figure I’ll eventually find him. Or at least there is a chance I could.”

  Richard sighed. “Well, I know some people at the DMV. Maybe if I asked they could at tell me if his car ever got registered again. It would be a good place to start.”

  I hugged my surrogate father. “Thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  “Just … promise me you’ll be careful. And I don’t mean physically. Don’t get your hopes up too much.”

  I gave Richard a smile. His concern was genuine. Anyone could see that. “I won’t. Now, get some sleep.” There was a blanket on the couch. After retrieving it, I draped it over him, and then let myself out.

  Sun Burnt

  The next day, there was a long conversation between me and Lisa about going to the Fresh Horizons Rehab Center. I was convinced that the building was the next to be burned. It was pretty obvious.

  First, Sister Mary’s church was burnt down. Addicts and the desperate often went to Sister Mary’s and Pastor Pritchard for help. He didn’t know about Fresh Horizon’s shady operations. Otherwise, he’d never have sent them there.

  Next to be set on fire was the abandoned marina. I knew from what I saw with my own eyes and heard with my own ears that it played a central role in the drug ring. So the arsonists made it their second target.

  In order to clean up their tracks, Fresh Horizons had to be taken care of. Even though it had already been raided and searched from top to bottom, I knew for a fact that the cabinets full of patient files were still in the building. When I had asked Sam about them, he explained that there was simply nowhere to put all of them, outside of the Norfolk Police storage lockup. And they weren’t scheduled to move them for three more days, on July 9.

  Rather than let the bureaucracy of police operations bumble finding what could be a major lead, I wanted to break in and find it myself. And I wanted Lisa to come with me, but she was hesitant.

  “I don’t know, Riley. It sounds pretty dangerous, not to mention illegal.” I couldn’t blame her for having reservations about going. It wasn’t that long ago that she was in the hospital because of the drug ring. She still had to take painkillers sometimes just to stand up straight.

  “Don’t worry about that.” I got up from the table in the second floor of my office that we were sitting at.

  “Don’t worry about it? How can I not worry about it? More importantly, how can you not? It just isn’t worth it, honey.”

  “To me, it is. I need to end this, Lisa. Plus, we’re going to have some help.”

  Lisa got up and leaned against one of the walls. She sighed. “Who, Sam?”

  “No, he doesn’t know I’m planning on going. If he did, he’d probably try to talk me out of it, or worse, want to come.”

  “Then, who?”

  “Amy.”

  “Amy Paxton? How in the hell did you manage to convince her to go along with this?”

  We both heard a car horn from outside.

  “Speak of the devil.” I walked over to the window and saw her police cruiser outside.

  “And she shall appear.” Lisa walked over to the window, looking over my shoulder and down to the street.

  I left the window and went towards the stairs. After descending one step, I turned to Lisa who was still looking out the window. “You coming?”

  Lisa took a moment to think it over. Or maybe she just wanted to make me doubt. Then she gave me a pretty grin and answered, “Don’t I a
lways?”

  We went out front and met Amy, who was fully uniformed in her car. Both Lisa and I got inside.

  “Why are you in your uniform?” I asked. It was a little strange. She had told me she was off duty that night.

  “Just in case anyone decides to start some shit with us, this might make them think twice,” she explained as she drove down Main Street.

  “It’s not exactly inconspicuous,” I added.

  “I think that’s the point, Riley. And for the record, I’m happy she’s wearing that and driving this.” Lisa piped up from the back seat. I turned around and gave her a dirty look.