Page 21 of Over the Flames

“Just like that?” Sheriff Sanders asked. “Even at the risk of being arrested?”

Hayward lifted his palms from the table slightly, the cuffs around his wrists scratching the surface, and set them back down. “I knew the truth would come out sooner or later. At least this way, I got the chance to tell my side of the story. My kids and their families will know I’m not a killer.”

“Those burns on your forearm are barely healed, but you’ve been retired from Seattle Fire Department for more than a year.” Lawson pointed to the scars with the end of his pen. “Mind telling me how you got them?”

Another dose of resignation drained the tension from the fire marshal’s shoulders. “Like I said, Phil Anderson reached out to me. He set up a time for us to meet at his house, only when I got there, no one answered the door. I waited a few minutes. Then I smelled it.” Hayward directed his gaze to the wave-like burns along his arm. “Firefighters can go their entire careers without ever knowing what burnt flesh smells like, but once you do, you won’t ever be able to forget it. I knew what I’d find when I went around the back of the house. I could see the smoke before the flames, but once I got through the fence, I realized I’d been too late. I grabbed a tarp Phil had from the shed and ran to put out the fire. That’s when I got these. Whoever’d lit the match had used gasoline as an accelerant. Took me more than ten minutes to get the damn thing to die down.”

“You’re saying Phil Anderson was in that field, already on fire, when you arrived at his home.” Lawson couldn’t ignore his instincts telling him every word out of the fire marshal’s mouth rang true. “You tried to save him. Tell me then why you moved the body into the shed.”

Surprised replaced the resignation in Hayward’s body language. “I had to.”

“You were trying to keep yourself from becoming a suspect.” Sheriff Sanders rounded her chair. She took a seat, her red bangs caught in her eyelashes as she studied the marshal across the table. “Right? You knew you’d be the first person the police would question when they discovered you were the Arsonist, that they’d run a background check, maybe uncover how far you went to get that commendation from the mayor along the way.”

“I’d agreed to let Phil Anderson interview me for my side of the story. Do you think I would’ve gotten that chance if I was found at the scene of murder?” A bit of anger bled through the submissive cooperation Brent Hayward had tried to convey. “I was careful with him. I just…couldn’t have him found. Not until I made sure there wasn’t anything linking him back to me. I was protecting myself.”

“But Jacqueline Day and Baldwin Webb were still writing the article, weren’t they?” Lawson asked.

“Phil told me everything had been stored on his laptop, on his drives. Nothing they were working on as a team was allowed to leave his house. As far as I knew, they didn’t have copies, notes, research—anything—that could be leaked before they published.” Brent Hayward ran the pad of his thumb beneath the cuff around his opposite wrist. “So after I moved him to the shed, I broke into the house through the backdoor, went into the basement, and took his laptop.”

“And when you realized SWAT was at your front door, you tried to hide your involvement by destroying the evidence and getting rid of the laptop.” Lawson glanced at the sheriff. Hayward’s motive vanished in the silence settling between them. If the former fire marshal believed Baldwin and Jacqueline didn’t have proof or record of the Arsonist’s identity, he had no reason to kill either of them. They were done here. He shoved to his feet, collected the laptop they’d recovered from the marshal’s home, and gathered the crime scene photos. “Get comfortable in that seat, Mr. Hayward. The district attorney is going to want to hear everything himself when he gets here.”

“You’re arresting me?” Hayward sat a bit straighter in his chair as the sheriff pushed back in hers. His mouth fell open. “I told you everything I know. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“We’ve got you two cases of assault, one of which was a federal agent, and you admitted to arson, tampering with evidence, and unlawful removal of a dead body—all very serious charges, but I’m willing to put in a good word with the DA. Let him know you’ve been cooperating with our investigation.” Hauling the box from the floor, Lawson headed for the door, Sheriff Sanders directly behind him. “Could shave some time off your prison sentence in the end.”

“And if I have information that could help you find the person who really killed those three journalists?” Hayward asked. “What then?”

Lawson slowed his retreat from the interrogation room, glancing back. “The DA won’t make a deal unless they know what he’s working with, Mr. Hayward. If you have information concerning the murders of Baldwin Webb, Jacqueline Day, and Phil Anderson, you’re going to have to lay it all on the table now.”

Anxiety thickened as the former fire marshal considered his options. The cuffs stretched tight as Brent Hayward settled back in his chair. “The article they were writing to expose the Arsonist wasn’t the only time they’d worked together. Before I tried to destroy the laptop, I went through the hard drive to make sure I’d gotten everything off of it that could point back to me. Phil Anderson and his partners were working on something else, another exposé. Something to do with a manufacturer on Vashon Island they believed was leaking hazardous chemicals into the drinking water.”

“What did you do with the file before you tried to destroy the laptop?” Lawson faced the Arsonist, his instincts kicking into overdrive. Easy enough to confirm the fire marshal’s claim as long as—

“I deleted it.” Hayward planted his palms flat on the table. “All of it.”

Chapter Nineteen

Arden hit the power button on the side of her phone as the door to the observation room on her side of the glass clicked open. Brent Hayward had filled a lot of the black holes in Lawson’s investigation, but there was still a large piece of the puzzle missing. Who had enough motive to bind, kill, and burn three investigative journalists? According to the fire marshal, exposing the Arsonist hadn’t been Baldwin’s only secret project. He’d worked with Jacqueline Day and Phil Anderson before.

Lawson stepped over the threshold, the evidence box in hand, and settled steel-gray eyes on her. He set the box on a nearby table and closed the distance between them. A combination of his aftershave and earthy tones filled the small room. “You catch all that?”

“Yeah.” She’d gotten everything with the help of the voice recording app on her phone. She turned back to look through the glass. A dull pulse set up residence across the left side of her face. She had yet to recognize the opaque reflection staring back at her. Bruises circling her throat from Brent Hayward’s belt, a cut across her forehead from where he’d knocked her unconscious. She’d never been attacked before. Not physically, but more unbelievable than the marks on her skin and the damage done to her throat was the brightness in her eyes. She’d helped Lawson uncover another lead. She’d contributed to the case, and the addictive fire of significance simmered in her veins. “The family of that couple who died in the Arsonist’s last fire will finally be able to have closure, but even with his motive, I don’t think Brent Hayward killed any of the victims we’re investigating now.”

Lawson studied the suspect on the other side of the glass, the circles under his eyes much darker than a few hours before. “What makes you say that?”

“Everything Brent Hayward claimed happened between the time he was set to meet Phil Anderson and when he stole the laptop shows how far he’s willing to go to protect himself. Even attacking me was a desperate attempt not to be caught for what he’d done as a fire marshal.” She folded one arm into her chest, her hand brushing against the fresh bruising along her neck. “He feels guilty for what happened to that couple in his last fire. I went through some of the evidence SWAT collected from his home, including his calendar. He’s been volunteering at local shelters and food banks around the city since he retired and attending church on Sundays. Short of turning himself in, I think he’s trying to make up for their deaths. That doesn’t read killer to me.”

“You sound like the profilers in the behavior analysis unit. They said the same thing.” Lawson faced her head on, leaning against the ledge where the wall met glass. “You seem to have a knack for investigations. If it weren’t for you, it would’ve taken longer to figure out someone else had motive to want all three victims dead. I’m impressed.”

Heat flared up her neck and warmed her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze to the floor to keep Lawson from realizing how much his words had meant. She’d spent the past two years trying to prove she could do this job—that she was more than her past—and the light she’d been searching for since Rey’s death pierced through the never-ending internal darkness. “Will the computer forensics lab be able to recover any of the files Brent Hayward deleted before he tried to destroy the Phil Anderson’s laptop?”

“Too soon to tell. I’ll hand it over when we’re finished here. Might be as easy as pulling the files out of the trash can for all we know.” He hauled himself away from the ledge, his chest brushing against her arm. Her over-sensitized nerve endings jumped as Lawson raised one hand to frame her jaw. “Right now, all I care about is getting you home. You’ve had a hell of a night, and I know for a fact you haven’t had anything in your stomach since you had coffee this morning.”

Had it really only been this morning they’d stood in his kitchen denying this connection strengthening between them? Between interviewing Rose Hindley, discovering Phil Anderson’s remains, and keeping Brent Hayward from running, it’d felt as though days had passed. Lawson’s thumb smoothed over the curve of her chin, and Arden nodded. Her insides automatically clenched with hunger. “I could use something to eat.”

“I’ll have Sheriff Sanders or one of her female deputies stop by your apartment to pick up a change of clothes and anything else you might need for a couple days.” Swirls of concern cut through the detachment in his eyes, and her blood warmed. “I was almost too late. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d found you—”

“You weren’t late, and besides, I’m the one who got out of the car to chase after a suspect. If you hadn’t followed my tracks, I wouldn’t be standing here. I’m the one who owes you an apology. You warned me to stay in the car, and I didn’t listen. I was sitting there, thinking about everything Baldwin had done for me, and when I saw Hayward fleeing from the scene, it was like…all I could think about was making his killer pay for what they’d done.” A shift, as though the ocean floor had dropped right out from under her, created a tidal wave of understanding. She slid her hand over his, reveling in the coarseness of his skin against hers. All this time, she’d barely been treading water after the loss of their daughter. She’d hardly considered the pain—the isolation—Lawson must’ve had to live with these past two years. She’d had Baldwin, someone to pick her up when she couldn’t stand on her own. Who’d been there for Lawson?

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