Page 11 of The Smart Killer (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #4)
D aylight offered few clues.
It was unusual for an investigation. Every crime scene eventually yielded some inkling of a breadcrumb that could be followed: DNA, video footage, footprints, tire tracks, fingerprints, blood and other bodily fluids, hair, or fibers.
Here, they had far less.
All they really had was a statement from a drugged-up teen with a history of arson and the account from Adam and some surveillance footage.
“Alibi checked out,” Ray said from across the table in a conference room at the High Peaks Police Station.
“Adam couldn’t have been there at the time of the blaze.
Our video canvass of the neighborhood and the security gate have him leaving around the same time as Jason said.
We verified through receipts and CCTV that he collected gasoline from the local Exxon, stopped by Price Chopper, bought alcohol from the liquor store, and then arrived at his boat at the marina.
Unless he had some kind of timer set to start the fire, there is no concrete evidence that would suggest Adam Johnson caused the fire. ”
“And Jason?”
“It’s possible. Jason was seen on camera but nowhere near the home.
The thing about that neighborhood is it’s all high-tech.
All the homes have front and rear-facing cameras.
Streetlights have them, too. You are not prowling that neighborhood without someone capturing you on video.
It’s one of the smart home communities geared toward tech heads.
One of the marketing pitches for selling the homes was peace of mind through top-of-the-line security. ”
“And the home before this. The family that suffered from gas poisoning. Anything from those?”
“Nothing. The same. The company that owns these neighborhoods cooperated, and the fire chief Ansel Carlton said everything works in neighboring homes.”
“So local PD is going with the possibility of faulty tech?” Noah said.
“It seems so. It’s new tech.”
“It’s to be expected,” Porter muttered.
“What?” Noah asked.
“Growing pains. Every manufacturer experiences it while they work out the kinks.”
Ray cocked his head. “I’m no lawyer, but I’d say there will be some pain when a class action lawsuit eventually hits.”
“I doubt it will get to that. The source of the fire was classed as undetermined. The home before that it was gas poisoning. There is no way for a lawyer to prove they are connected beyond the homes being built by the same company. No one can pin the blame as they don’t know who or what caused it. It could have been an accident.”
“That’s not what the fire chief thinks.”
“What anyone thinks and what is truth can be worlds apart.”
Ray chuckled. “I agree, but the crash and fire investigations unit aren’t in the business of wasting our time if they didn’t think it was suspicious.
” Ray took a sip of his coffee. “Anyway, this is why I have always been slow to embrace new tech. But tell that to this generation that lives for convenience. I’m telling you, the push towards more tech in homes, cars, and workplaces is becoming a two-edged sword that eventually we will all fall on. ”
The door opened, and an officer poked her head in. “Ray. The news conference is about to start shortly.”
“Already?” Noah asked. “I thought…”
Ray tossed his empty cup into a garbage can. “You not seen the newspaper this morning?” he said, reaching into a bag and dumping it on the table in full view. “We have to put out a few fires of our own.”
Noah scooped it up and read some salacious headlines and the articles Carl McNeal wrote at the Adirondack Daily Enterprise. “Targeted attacks? Local PD has linked the deaths!”
Ray shrugged. “You know how it is. Media need some titillating headline to sell papers.”
“But no one said they’re linked.”
“Now you know why the chief is holding a press conference.”
He stepped out of the room, and Noah followed. Porter wasn’t far behind. He had been in his shadow since eight that morning. Noah had wanted to speak to Ethan, but that would have to wait.
The room crackled with tension as Noah entered the crowded conference room in the High Peaks Police Department.
The air was thick with stress and lingering anxiety.
The walls, though filled with commendation plaques and framed newspaper clippings, now seemed to close in on attendees.
Reporters, their faces etched with curiosity and concern, scribbled notes and adjusted their cameras in anticipation of the briefing.
Among them was Carl McNeal, the smug asshole who now held the same title that Lena once had down at the local newspaper.
At the front of the room stood Chief of High Peaks Police Darren Welland, a stern and authoritative figure whose eyes held the weight of the unfolding crisis.
He wore his uniform proudly, the badge on his chest reflecting the bright overhead lights.
Behind him, a large screen displayed images of the aftermath of the recent fire: charred remnants, smoke billowing into the night sky, and firefighters battling the infernos.
Chief Welland cleared his throat, the sound reverberating through the room, and the hushed murmurs of the attendees fell silent.
His expression was grave, his voice steady as he addressed the assembled crowd.
“Morning, everybody. We appreciate your time. We always want to thank you for your important role in getting information to our communities. I am joined today by the fire chief of High Peaks, Chief Ansel Carlton, and head of the crash and fire investigations unit, Michael Bowen.” He turned and pointed to him.
“Thank you, sir, for being with us today.” Welland glanced down at the papers in front of him before looking out.
“We are here to talk about the fire that claimed four lives two nights ago. I want to remind you all that this is an ongoing investigation, so there won’t be much we can talk about, but I will open it up at the end for questions.
I wish to emphasize that with the assistance of the state and our detectives, we will have more answers for you soon. With that, let’s begin.”
The following half an hour became a blur as the fire chief reiterated the same information given to them — that the source of the fire was undetermined.
He provided some additional insights into how it could have started and what steps were being taken to ensure the safety of homeowners from the same neighborhood.
At some point close to the end, as he fielded questions, Carl McNeal managed to get an opportunity to squeeze in a query, except it wasn’t a question, more of a statement.
“Chief Welland. If there is no risk to the community, no crime has occurred, and the crash and fire investigations unit have deemed the fires accidental. Can you tell us why investigators from BCI, the Bureau of Criminal Investigation, are here?”
“Our resources are limited. At times, we reach out to other agencies for assistance. As I said, the personal safety of our community is paramount. We like to ensure that no stone has been left unturned, and—”
“I understand,” Carl said, cutting him off.
“But surely, you understand my point. On the one hand, you are telling us that the deaths of these homeowners are being treated as tragic accidents, and then, on the other hand, you are saying the investigation is ongoing. Which one is it? Criminal or accidental?”
Noah had to take his hat off to Chief Welland. He handled the questions tactfully, deferring when unable or not wishing to answer. The fire chief quelled some of the media’s doubts by explaining that his statement stemmed from his initial findings.
“Is it because a young teenager high on drugs who was involved in a series of arsons last year was nearby? Can you tell us if he has been arrested and charged?” Carl asked.
That created a storm of questions.
Carl glanced back at some of the other media.
He locked eyes with him, and Noah could have sworn he grinned.
“Son of a bitch is enjoying riling them up,” Noah said to Ray.
“I’m done with this,” Noah added, walking out.
He and Porter had only made it a short way down the corridor when he heard the clatter of shoes.
“Detective. Detective! Could I have a moment of your time?”
He glanced back to see Carl and one other. “Not now,” he said.
“It’s not regarding the fires. I am creating a piece on the death of Lena Grayson, your ex-wife. I was hoping I could get a quote from you regarding…”
Noah lost it. He spun around and grabbed hold of Carl by the collar, thrusting him up against the wall. “Listen to me, you little scum.”
“Noah. Noah!” Ray charged over and got between them. “Let him go. Let him go, Noah.”
Noah sneered at him and then released his grip. Ray then told Carl where to go in no uncertain terms. As Noah walked away, he heard Carl say to one of his co-workers, “Did you get that on camera?”
Noah gritted his teeth. It was all a game to that weasel.
“Hold up, Noah,” Ray said, trying to keep up with him.
“I’m fine, Ray. He crossed the line with Lena.”
“Okay. Whatever. I don’t care about that.
It’s Kyle Branson.” He took hold of his arm and shoved him into the nearest room.
Porter closed the door behind them to keep out prying eyes and ears.
Ray took out a tablet and lifted it to show him a video.
“I was just given this. Our tech guy went back through some footage, checking if anyone had been scoping out Adam Johnson’s premises in the days and weeks leading up to the fire.
Figured I might get lucky. There was nothing.
However, when we collected CCTV footage from outside Hannah’s apartment, it caught this.
” He tapped the screen. It replayed, showing a Ford 150 arriving.
“What am I looking at here?”
“That’s Branson.”
“And? He visited her. Callie did say they were finalizing the divorce.”