Murder on the Lake of Fire Read online

  Jeff asked, “Can anyone access it?”

  Victor nodded. “An old stone wall lines the property, just two feet high in most places.”

  “Did Britt have a boyfriend?” asked Emory.

  “School and skating expended her time.”

  “Does your daughter have any enemies?” Jeff asked.

  “Who has enemies at seventeen, for Christ’s sake! She’s a beautiful girl.” Victor looked at his watch. “Your time is up, gentlemen.”

  In silence, the two investigators left Victor’s office. Once in the hallway, Jeff told Emory, “I have a proposition for you.”

  “What do you want?” Emory asked, being more polite than curious.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to interfere with your investigation. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “But it’s a two-way street. You don’t interfere with my investigation either.”

  Emory hesitated before answering. “Fine. Why do I feel a contingency’s on the way?”

  “Listen, I really need this money, and since you can’t collect it, I want to offer you a mutually beneficial deal.” When Emory said nothing, Jeff explained, “If I solve it first, I’ll let you take credit.”

  Emory crossed his arms. “What do you get out of that?”

  “I’ll let you take credit officially – in whatever paperwork you have to file. That way, no matter what, you’ll look good to your superiors. What I want in return is for Victor to be told the truth so that I can collect the reward.”

  Emory tried not to show his amusement at the notion. “And if I solve it before you?”

  “Same thing. You take official credit, but Victor is told that I’m the one who cracked the case. Agreed?” Jeff put out his hand and turned on his killer smile.

  Emory knew there was no chance in hell of a PI solving the case first, so he saw no harm in a truce since it would ensure the PI stayed out of his way. He nodded, half-smiling in return. “Agreed.” He shook his hand to seal the deal.

  The two started walking again, but Jeff’s pace quickened so he could be the first out the front door. Emory hastened his stride to match, but when he reached Scot’s desk, the assistant called out to him. “Agent Emory, could I speak to you?”

  Perturbed at having to stop, Emory told him, “Rome.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. What is it?”

  “I wanted to tell you something before you leave – something I couldn’t put in the document. It might be helpful in your investigation.”

  “What is it?” Emory asked, but his tone was saying, “Spit it out!”

  “Britt was never going to make it to the Olympics.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Scot crinkled his nose. “I’ve seen her skate.”

  CHAPTER 4

  EMORY DROVE DOWN Black Bear Lane, along the stone wall that bordered the property around Cicada Lake. The metal pole fence that kept people from driving down the property’s narrow, gravel road remained unlocked and open. As he turned off the main road, he saw Wayne standing with the sheriff near the lake, their breath rising in the cold air as they spoke. Emory parked behind the sheriff’s truck and stepped out just as Jeff drove up behind him.

  While he waited for Jeff, he pulled the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and retrieved gloves from his jacket pocket to cover his numbing fingers. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you. Investigating the case. How’d you beat me here anyway? My map app lost the signal.”

  “My partner’s going to have a fit when he sees you. He’s not as understanding as I am.”

  Jeff chuckled. “Is that what you’ve been? I had another word for it all together. Look, I give you my word, I will not in any way hinder your investigation.” He held up his right hand. “I swear it. Just please let me do mine too. I really need this job.”

  With Wayne following, the sheriff hurried up the gentle slope toward the parked cars. “Emory!” A fit fifty, he gave Emory a powerful hug. “It’s so good to see you, Son.”

  Wayne stopped a few feet away. “The sheriff is your father?”

  “Lula Mae’s going to be over the moon when she sees you.” The sheriff released his hold but kept his grin.

  “It’s great to see you too.” Blushing, Emory changed the subject. “Can you point out exactly where the body was found?”

  Dressed in black galoshes, a green utility uniform with a seven-pointed-star badge and a campaign hat, Sheriff Rome started back toward the lake. “I’ll show you.”

  “Whoa.” Wayne threw his palm to Jeff’s chest. “Are you a deputy?”

  “He’s not one of mine. I thought he was one of yours.”

  Wayne growled, “Get out of here! This is a restricted area.”

  Jeff grimaced at him. “Restricted to who?”

  “To authorized personnel. It’s a crime scene.”

  Jeff pushed his hand away. “I am authorized. I’m a private investigator hired by the victim’s father to find her killer.”

  “Wayne!” Emory yelled. He glanced at Jeff and tried not to notice how the sunlight reflecting from the snow made his green eyes shine even brighter. “Jeff, you can watch as we investigate.”

  “Why the hell are you defending him?” Wayne asked. “You don’t like dicks any more than I do.”

  Trying to ignore Jeff’s laughter, Emory could feel his face flush again. “I’m not defending him, but we all want the same thing. Rather than fighting and blocking each other, let’s expend our energy on working together to bring Britt’s killer to justice as quickly as possible.”

  “Okay then,” Sheriff Rome said. “Let’s go.”

  They walked in pairs from the gravel road toward the lake. As his galoshes squeaked through the slushy path trampled in the snow, the sheriff asked about his son’s well-being. Meanwhile, Wayne barked a list of “don’ts” at the PI, in essence telling him to stay quiet and not touch anything, and he ended with a question. “Understand?”

  Reaching the water’s edge, Jeff turned a blank face to him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

  Wayne gritted his teeth. “Asshole.”

  Emory snapped photos of the ground, counting at least six different sets of shoeprints in the two inches of snow. Although none seemed distinctive enough for identification at this point, he could distinguish prints from four pairs of larger shoes, likely male, and two smaller sets of prints. He told himself one of the small pairs must have been the victim’s, and he had a hunch about who was responsible for the other. “Is Sharon Marcel still on your team?”

  “She’s my lead deputy now,” the sheriff answered. “She’s married and has a kid.”

  Hands on his hips, Jeff scanned the scenery. “What a beautiful spot for a murder.” The others looked at him as if he had just sworn in church. “If you’re given a choice about where you’re going to die, wouldn’t you choose somewhere like this?”

  Sheriff Rome nodded. “There’s always something special about the first snowfall of the season. Just seems to come later and later each year. Cuts into tourist season. Sure grateful for it, though.”

  Emory examined the condition of the lake. Two thirds of it was covered with a thick layer of ice, but on the third of the lake nearest them, broken sheets of ice floated on the water’s surface.

  Sheriff Rome pointed to an uncovered section of the lake about twelve feet away. “We pulled her out from right about there. I got here after her dad spotted her.” The sheriff shook his head and looked as his boots. “God a’mighty, not a sight anyone should see, much less when it’s someone you love. Victor was just bawling.” He again faced the water. “I had to call one of my deputies to bring a raft so we could get her. I asked Victor to go home so he wouldn’t have to see, but he refused. She was so badly burned, I think he was looking for something recognizable to make sure it really was her.”

  “Did you take pictures before moving the body?” Wayne asked.

  The sheriff jerked his head
back. “Heavens no! That’s corpse desecration.”

  Wayne’s mouth opened seconds before he spoke. “That’s documenting—”

  Sheriff Rome pointed at the ground. “We follow the letter of the law in this town.”

  Emory could tell Wayne wanted to argue about the sheriff’s misconception of the law, so he grabbed his partner’s arm and signaled him with a slight shake of the head. Wayne sighed and walked away.

  Emory asked his father, “What did you do with the body?”

  “The deputies took her up to the road and loaded her into the ambulance when it came.”

  “I had the body transferred to Knoxville for an autopsy,” Wayne told Emory, who nodded his approval.

  The sheriff continued, “I tell you, if it wasn’t for that scarf sticking to the ice, we might not have found her – not right away. I don’t think what was left of her would’ve floated.”

  Wayne scratched his scalp inside the U-shaped row of hair lingering just above his ears. “Someone must’ve had a boat of some kind to dump her that far in.”

  “Why go to all that trouble?” asked Emory. “If someone wanted to dump her in the deep part, why not walk on the frozen section over there and throw her in?”

  Jeff nodded. “A better question – why isn’t the lake frozen all the way across?”

  Emory gave him an approving glance before turning his attention to the pieces of ice floating nearby. Some were still covered with snow, and under the snow on one piece, he spotted a thin black layer. “What is that?” Squatting, he stretched out the full length of his arm to retrieve the ice. With a gloved hand, he skimmed away the snow above the black layer. “There’s some kind of powdery substance on the ice. It looks like it was here before that snowfall you mentioned, Dad.”

  Jeff knelt beside him and pointed at the ice. “May I?”

  Emory shook his head. “It could be evidence.”

  “Fine. Then can you pick some up so I can get a closer look?”

  Emory frowned and hesitated before pinching some of the powder, holding it up to for both of them to inspect.

  “What is it?” asked Jeff.

  Wayne laughed at the question. “It’s called dirt, Einstein.”

  Detecting a faint odor, Jeff brought his nose closer to Emory’s fingers. “It smells like…garlic.”

  Emory sniffed it too. “You’re right.” Removing his right glove, he scooped up some snow and held it above the ice so the snow melted onto the powder. The mystery substance started to dissolve. “Dad, do you have a light?”

  Sheriff Rome pulled a tiny cardboard box from his pocket. “Will matches work?”

  Emory tossed the remaining snow and reached for the box. “Sure.”

  Wayne crossed his arms. “You do realize you don’t cook mud pies?”

  Emory ignored the remark, as he often did with words from Wayne. He stood, as did Jeff, before he lit a match and threw it at the wet powder. The air popped into flames before the match even hit the ice. Wayne and Sheriff Rome both jumped back. As the fire melted more ice, the flames spread to the rest of the powder on the sheet.

  Jeff sneered at Wayne. “Some dirt.”

  Emory nodded at the flaming ice. “There’s our murder weapon. It’s calcium carbide.”

  Wayne furrowed his brow at his partner. “How in the hell would you know that?”

  Sheriff Rome answered for him. “Emory was supposed to be a doctor.”

  “Actually, I always wanted to be in law enforcement, but I went against my better instincts. Double-majored in biology and chemistry.”

  “Now your mama and me never made you do that.”

  “I know you didn’t, Dad.” Emory forced a smile for his father’s benefit.

  “What else don’t I know about you, partner?”

  Emory nodded toward the lake. “Can we get back to the case?”

  Jeff crouched beside the dwindling flame. “Britt Algarotti wasn’t dumped here.”

  The sheriff took off his hat and waved from one side to the other. “Someone threw this stuff on the ice as she skated?”

  Emory shook his head. “It was under the snow, and she came here the morning after the snow fell. Calcium carbide can lie inert on ice. It reacts with water to form acetylene gas. Highly flammable.”

  “I see where you’re going,” Jeff said. “I remember this from physics class. Ice skaters skate on water, not ice.”

  Emory looked at Jeff as if he had read his mind. “The skater’s weight on the blade pinpoints so much pressure on the ice—”

  Jeff finished his sentence. “That it turns the ice beneath the blade into a thin layer of water.”

  “Exactly. The water dissolved the calcium carbide, releasing the acetylene gas.”

  Wayne shook his head. “You’d still need a match or something to ignite it, so the killer must’ve been here when it happened.”

  Emory held up an index finger. “Unless he knew Britt herself would ignite it.”

  “Why would she do that?” asked Sheriff Rome.

  Emory responded, “One little spark from the blades scraping each other—”

  Jeff finished his thought, “Fire.”

  Wayne frowned at them both. “Have you two rehearsed this?”

  Emory told his partner, “We should bag some of the powder for evidence.”

  Wayne produced a baggie from his pocket and walked between Emory and Jeff, grazing their shoulders. “I’ll get it.” He pulled another sheet of floating ice to the bank and scraped some of the powder from it.

  Emory noticed his father’s wide grin. “What?”

  “I made the right call,” Sheriff Rome answered. “I don’t think there’s any way in the world I would’ve seen that on the ice.”

  Wayne sealed the baggie of calcium carbide and told them all, “We hold this information close to the vest.”

  The sheriff asked, “What do you mean?”

  Emory explained, “We try to keep some information that only the killer would know from public knowledge. It could be a key to a conviction.”

  Wayne glared at Jeff. “You understand that, amateur? Not a word about this to anyone.”

  “I heard you the first time,” responded Jeff. “No need to reiterate.”

  Wayne told Emory, “That’s why we shouldn’t have people outside law enforcement at a crime scene.”

  “I can keep a secret.” Jeff turned his attention to the encroaching mist sifting through the distant trees. “It’s getting late, and I have a last stop to make before heading back to Knoxville.”

  “Your office is in Knoxville?” asked Emory.

  “You didn’t think I lived here, did you? Nice to meet you, sir.” Jeff shook hands with the sheriff and smiled once more at Emory before leaving.

  “We should probably be heading back too,” Emory told Wayne.

  “Agreed.” His partner started toward Emory’s car.

  The sheriff frowned at his son. “So soon? Why don’t you have dinner with us and spend the night?”

  “I can’t. I’m Wayne’s ride, and I don’t trust him enough to drive my car.”

  Still in hearing range, Wayne yelled back, “Hey, I’m a great driver, granny!”

  “I drive the speed limit!” Emory responded.

  Sheriff Rome asked, “You’ll be back tomorrow?” When Emory nodded, he said, “Well, make him drive his own car so you can stay.”

  “Okay, maybe—”

  Sheriff Rome placed his hands on Emory’s shoulders. “Son, I know how you feel about this town, but don’t take it out on us. We miss you.”

  “I’m not. Seriously. It’s just finding the time.” Emory grabbed the strap of his wool satchel like it was a rip cord he couldn’t wait to pull. “Hey, how about after this is over, y’all come to Knoxville and spend the weekend?”

  Sheriff Rome released him and clicked his tongue in the corner of his mouth. “Well, you know Lula Mae doesn’t like to travel.”

  CHAPTER 5

  AS EMORY DROVE back to Knox
ville, Wayne called the medical examiner’s office from the passenger seat. Once he hung up, he informed his partner, “She’ll have a report on Britt Algarotti for us at ten o’clock tomorrow.”

  As trees blurred past his periphery, Emory grimaced at the news. “Crap. That means we’ll be late getting back here.”

  “So? Why are you so anxious to finish with this case? I don’t think you’re going to have any news cameras waiting for you at the end of this one.”

  Wayne’s dig referenced a big drug bust the two oversaw four months earlier – the largest ever in the southeast. At the time, he was very vocal with his opinion that the press coverage focused too much on his younger partner, although an instigative special agent had pointed out that Wayne’s arm was visible in the doorway behind Emory in a now-famous newspaper photo.

  “I’m not anxious. No more than with any other case. I just want to solve it and move on to the next.” Emory didn’t give his partner time to retort before changing the subject. “So what did you find out today?”

  Wayne thumbed through a small notepad with tattered edges to debrief Emory. “The sheriff…Your dad must be the town historian. He can tell you the story on anyone, and he knows all these details. He filled me in on all the scoop about the Algarottis. The father, Victor Algarotti, might seem to be rich, but he’s not.”

  Emory tilted up his right ear. “What do you mean?”

  “His first wife, Meredith, was the one with family money. Victor dropped out of college to serve in the Navy, and then he came back to Barter Ridge. He was working as a projectionist at the town’s theatre when he knocked up Meredith. I wonder if he did her up in the booth while a movie was playing.” Wayne made an obscene gesture with his hands and laughed alone. “Anyway, they got married, and her dad gave him a job at the water bottling factory. Victor started at the very bottom, emptying trash cans, filing paperwork – stuff like that – and he had to work his way up. By the time Meredith’s dad died nine years ago, Victor was the vice president, and he took over running the company. It used to be called Barter Ridge Water—”