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An old woman is shuddering next door, a cop and an EMT at her side. A down coat over a bathrobe. Coffee mug in her hands. Looking like she aged a decade with one sight.
“She said it was all he could do to not collapse on them.”
I stare into the wreckage. Husk. The heat is still oppressing.
“How’d he catch fire like that? Not the other two?”
“If he slept at the edge of the bed and got splashed, maybe. The mom and kid weren’t soaked...so either he was wet with fuel or somehow it got on him exiting.”
“It doesn’t fit the MO,” I say. “The whole family bopped just hard enough to keep them unconscious while the fire was set. Left alive at that point. If the arsonist was there to directly murder as well, why the dad? And why risk just soaking him and leaving the wife and kid a chance for survival? Why not shoot or stab? Slit his throat?”
“Beef with the dad alone? Couldn’t bear the thought of hurting a woman? A child?”
“Maybe. But if so he had to of known they’d just die in the fire.”
“You’re right.”
“Maybe he intended to let them die, but the dad fought back first.”
“Struggle. DNA.”
“The arsonist just wanted a slick night: in, set the fire, get out—but Dad woke up and threw down.”
“Arsonist gains the upper hand. Which isn’t hard, considering he’s fighting a guy just waking up, transitioning from lying down to on his feet in a hurry, probably in his underwear.”
“But Dad makes him hurt anyways. Maybe gets some DNA under his fingernails. Spills blood.”
“Arsonist gets one good whack on Dad, knocks him out. Clocks Mom and the kid, who are of course awake. Soaks Dad along with every floor inside the place. Lights the house.”
“We should be telling Riggen’s kid brother all this.”
“I will.”
“Were his fingers left after the fire?” I ask.
Clevenger shrugs and looks off in the distance.
Almost an afterthought: “Paramedic pronounced him at the scene. Obvious mortal injury. I got a peek at him. No argument.”
“A good man.”
“To the end.”
“Any motive?” Abigail’s agony begins to siren higher than the cacophony of the scene. Another paramedic stands beside her, talking in that detached-but-trying-to-be-compassionate way the ones do who have a hard time faking they care.
“None so far. What do you think?”
“Looks amateur. Leaving the gas can. Attacking but not killing the family. Cowardly. New to the game. I wonder if he tossed the place.”
“Can’t tell. The burn job was thorough.”
“Yeah. A blaze like this, I’ll bet there was more than one gasoline can.”
“Probably. Jimmy thought as much. He’s checking around.”
“It’s either melted or taken from the scene after he emptied it.”
“Got five black and whites canvassing now. None of the neighbors recalls a vehicle parked in the driveway or on the street nearby,” Clevenger says, puts out the cigarette. “And I agree on the amateur angle; some losers this green to the whole murder/arson thing would park in the driveway.”
