Fire Born (Firehouse 343) (17 page)

“Stop, drop, and roll, they taught us,” he said with a smile.

Lucille swatted his hand. “You’re lucky you didn’t break a hip—mine or yours.”

Martie had chuckled at the banter, as it was clear that the couple, who’d been married for 53 years, were still very much in love. Her heart squeezed a little, wondering if she would ever have that kind of lasting relationship with a man.

If it was possible she could have one with Chris.

Tuning back into the Wilsons’ story, Herman said that after pushing his wife down, he’d swatted at the flames and that’s when his shirt had caught fire, burning his arm. He managed to put it out by rolling on the floor,
then
he and Lucille had hurried as fast as they could into the bathroom, because it was farthest from the fire.

“By that point, the dang
fire’d
already spread to the door. I didn’t want to risk taking Lucille through it, so I just headed for the bathroom and prayed to God the fire department would hurry up and get there.”

“Strangely enough, young lady, the bathroom in our apartment is on the outside of the building,” Lucille said then, “meaning an outside wall. Like, if we had a window in it, we’d be looking out onto the street.”

Mart
ie nodded. “I know, I visited
the building this morning,” she said. “The bathroom in each of the A apartments is on the outside wall.
It’s a little strange, sure, but then what do I know about early 1960s architecture?” she said with a smile.

“That young lady on the third floor, the
one with that cute little girl
, she sometimes comes to help me clean,” Lucille said. “And she’s done some shopping
for us too. I really hope that Jessica’s going to
be all right.”

“I’m actually going to see them next. I’ll let Miss Thompson know you were asking
about her.”

“Oh, please do, will you?”

Martie smiled and nodded again.
Sensing that they had no more they could tell her, she nevertheless handed Lucille her card when she stood to leave, instructing them to call anytime if they happened to think of anything else that might come to mind about the fire. Thanking them for their time, she left and headed for the chil
dren’s wing, where Veronica Thomp
son was watching over her daughter Jessica.

After stopping at the nurses’ station to show her badge and inquire as to Jessica Thompson’s room number, Martie headed in search of it. Locating room 309, she knocked lightly on the partially open door, through which she
could
see a plainly dressed, light brown-haired woman stroking the hair of a little girl who was curled up in the bed.

“Excuse me, Miss Thompson?”

Veronica Thompson turned sharply at the sound of her voice. “Who are you?”

Martie held up her badge. “I’m Lt. Martine
Liotta
of the Montana Bureau of Fire Safety. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you some questions about the night of the fire.”

Veronica visibly paled, but she nonetheless nodded. Turning back to her daughter, she bent and kissed the girl’s temple. “I’ll be right outside the door, okay? You’ll be able to see me the whole time.”

Rising slowly, she paused a moment to take a breath, then walked toward the door. Martie could see right away that the woman was worn out, and possibly a little frightened. She might be worried that she would lose Jessica to Child
Protective
Services since she hadn’t been home when the fire started
, and Jessica was just ten
.

Moving to stand in the hall just outside the door, Martie waited for Veronica to join her, then offered the younger woman a reassuring smile. “Please don’t be nervous about anything, okay Veronica? I’m just here to ask you what you remember about that night.”

“It’s Ronnie, actually. At least that’s what my mama always called me,” Veronica said.

She grinned wider. “And I’m Martie, for pretty much the same reason. Say, Ronnie, do you mind if I record this conversation?” she asked, pulling out her voice recorder. “I’ve just found using a recorder easier than trying to lug a notebook around and scribbling notes. My hand certainly cramps less.”

Her light tone and self-deprecating words did as she’d hoped; Ronnie appeared to relax measurably, though she continued to cast furtive glances into the room toward her daughter.

Martie followed her glance. “Is Jessica all right?” she asked softly.

Ronnie visibly fought a sob and wiped hastily at tears. “She hasn’t spoken a word since that night. Just lays there curled up in the bed in a tight ball. I’d take her home to see if it helped, but we got no home to go to now.”

“Do you have any family that you might be able to stay with?”

“No. My mama was a single mother too; raised three kids all on her own.
But she died of cancer before Jess was born.
My brother is in the military—the Navy, to be more
specific—and he’s out on maneuvers somewhere. He lives on base or I would ask if I can go stay at his house. And my sister lives in France with her hoity-toity French husband. I hardly ever speak to her.”

Ronnie sighed and squared her shoulders. “Go ahead and record whatever you want.
I
ain’t
got
nothin
’ to hide.”

“One
more quick
question before we get to that,” Martie began. Whether it was her own latent motherly instincts or simple human compassion, she felt terrible that this woman had nowhere to go, just as the Wilsons had nowhere to go.

“I don’t mean to pry into your personal business, but what about asking Jessica’s father for help?” she asked.

Ronnie scoffed. “Please. Don’t get me started on that asshole. Like I don’t feel fool enough for having slept with a married man.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—”

A thin hand was raised to wave off her apology.
“Nah, it
ain’t
nothin
’ you said.
I just do my best not to think about him. That affair
ain’t
a time in my life I’m proud of, certainly, but I also wouldn’t trade it for anything, ‘
cause
I got Jessica. That baby girl is my life. And maybe we struggle, but we make it alright. Not that Kenny would know anything about that. When I told him I was pregnant, he
told me to get an abortion, because
me
having his baby would ruin his life. I refused to have the abortion, so he cut me off.”

Martie frowned. “Cut you off? What do you mean?” she asked.

“When I met Kenny, I was waitressing in a cocktail bar
in a hotel
. I knew right away he was married because he didn’t bother to hide it. But I was lonely and he was paying attention to me, not that such is an excuse for stupidity. Anyway, after we started seeing each other, he started buying me gifts.
Giving me money.
I didn’t have to work as much as I had been. But when I told him I wasn’t killing my baby, he took it all away, except for a few things I’d hidden. He got me fired from my job. Had to pawn the jewelry I’d managed to keep and clear out my bank account to g
et out of Billings
.
I’ve moved around with Jess a few times, but came here about a year ago because
I’d heard Gracechurch was a nice, quiet place to live.”

She huffed, and squared her shoulders. Looking back at Martie squarely, she said, “You go ahead and turn that thing on. Ask your questions.”

Nodding, Martie switched the recorder on
. After saying her usual intro, she asked Ronnie, “What can you tell me about the night of the fire?”

Ronnie shrugged. “Not much. I don’t remember seeing or hearing anything unusual.”

“Lt. Paytah and Firefighter
Kilbride
said that you mentioned you’d gone out for sodas?” Martie prompted.

At this, Ronnie colored. She looked away for a moment, glancing in at Jessica once again, and said, “I bet you’re wondering why I was gone so long. Speedway’s just three blocks from the apartment, I
shoulda
been able to walk there, choose and pay for two sodas, and walk back in ten or fifteen minutes.” She looked back at Martie. “Am I right?”

“I’m curious, yes—because if, as you say, you neither saw nor heard anything
unusual, then the fire must have started either right before or right after you left the building,” Martie said frankly. “As you’re aware by now, it spread really fast.”

“The building is old,” Ronnie said with another shrug. “Wiring isn’t great, either. I’m always replacing light bulbs. Was thinking it
mighta
been fixed whe
n the electrician came the day before this happened
.”

Martie raised an eyebrow. “Electrician?” she asked, careful not to let her
sudden
excitement show.

Ronnie nodded. “I’d called the manager’s answering service a bunch of times about the light bulb issue. I’ve probably spent over a hundred dollars in bulbs this year alone, and I was tired of replacing the
m. An electrician was finally sent
to look at the wiring
in our apartment
.”

“What rooms did he visit?” she asked, fairly certain that Jessica’s room would be one of them.

“All of them,” Ronnie replied. “He hooked some kind of tester thing up to each
ceiling fixture, checked all the outlets. Told me at one point he needed to get up into the attic space over the apartment, and would I mind re
moving the clothes from Jessica’s
closet, because he didn’t want to get any dust on them. I thought it was awfully considerate of him, so I took them out and laid them on her bed.
”

“The attic access was in Jessica’s closet?” Martie asked.

Ronnie nodded.
“We only have the one bedroom, and I gave it to her—I sleep on the couch
.
Anyway, the access is j
ust a little wooden plate over a hole. Wasn’t sure the guy would fit through it with that tool belt on.”

Her blood began to race
f
uriously through her veins
as Martie listened to Ronnie’s story. Given the fire and the damage that had occurred in little Jessica’s room, the man who’d visited her a
partment the day before
was no electrician—and he’d climbed up into the attic not to repair or replace any wiring but to saw that ceiling beam so that it would be weak enough to collapse during the fire. Whoever it was had wanted someone to get hurt, but was his target Veronica Thom
p
son or her daughter? Was the target one of the firefighters?

And did it mean that, at least this time, Trevor
Breckon
wasn’t
responsible?

Martie
forced herself to stop that train of thought. Truth be told, she had yet to prove he’d been negligent in the case of the first two fires on properties he held, and there was also the possibility that he’d hired the fake electrician.
Either way,
Graham was going to go apoplectic on heari
ng this
. It might well de
rail their case against
Breckon
if he wasn’t responsible for the apartment fire
,
but as much as she disliked the cocky bastard
, Martie certainly wasn’t about to put the man in jail for something he hadn’t done. She’d rather bust his ass for a crime she could prove he’d committed.

Thanking Ronnie, she turned off the recorder and started to walk away, intending to get back to the fire station to start typing up her notes before the long drive back to Billings. She also needed to
locate the college kids and
talk to Graham.

She’d taken just a few steps, however, when a thought occurred to her, and she turned back. “Ronnie, why
were
you gone so long?” she asked.

Color rose in the other woman’s cheeks, but she kept her head held high as she
said,
“I don’t often leave my daughter alone, because of her condition. Her autism’s not
too
bad but she do
es
n’t do well with strangers
,
and when she gets attached to someone who ends up leaving, she’ll spend hours at a time hiding in her closet like she does when she’s scared.
Makes hiring a sitter real difficult.
”

“Why does she hide in her closet?” Martie wondered aloud, curious as to the reason.

Ronnie smiled, and glanced back at Jessica yet again before she turned back and replied, “Unlike most kids, Jessica’s not afraid of the dark. She embraces it, and believes
that it protects her. I
f bad things can’t see her, they can’t hurt her.
”

Martie nodded. “That
actually
makes sense.”

“The reason I was gone longer than I’d planned to be is that I’ve met someone,” Ronnie went on.
“
He works at the gas station. He’s real nice, at least he seems to be, and I just want to be sure he’s
gonna
be good for Jess
. I’ve had a few boyfriends in the last ten years, and it breaks her little heart every time she gets used to a man being around only for him to up and leave again. I don’t want to put her through that anymore. So I’ve been lingering whenever I go to the Speedway
to get a drink or what have you
and he’s working,
spending a little time getting to know him.”