Page 50 of Fear of Flames
Officer McCoy hummed. “A man was driving, carrying an Ohio ID with the name Jason Martin. The car registration matched. The woman who looked like Ms. Holdcraft said her name was Mindy Martin, Jason’s sister.”
Ralph shook his head. “This sounds farfetched.”
“I’d agree. However, yesterday after Trooper Stevenson woke, he saw Ms. Holdcraft’s picture on our APB and remembered the stop. Stephenson was so sure the woman was Ms. Holdcraft, he contacted two truck stops in Oakwood, Illinois. That’s the first exit after he pulled them over.
“He figured the driver would’ve stopped at one of the two locations to fix the low air pressure. There’s a Pilot and a Love’s. Sheriff, we have video of Michelle Holdcraft in the Love’s truck stop with a time stamp of 5:13 a.m., Wednesday morning. Trooper Stephenson’s shift ended at six. Time changes over the Indiana-Illinois border.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“She was wearing a stocking cap and sunglasses.”
“Sounds like she’s trying to be incognito,” Ralph said.
“The location of the traffic stop also suggests she wasn’t at home when the house exploded.” Darla McCoy lowered her voice. “Sheriff, what if Ms. Holdcraft caused the explosion at her own house? Why would she do that?”
Ralph couldn’t pass up the opportunity. It was as if the good Lord Almighty was clearing away his troubles. “There’s people talking they saw Shelly up here before Denny’s fire.” He hesitated. “No, Shelly wouldn’t hurt her father.”
“I pulled Ms. Holdcraft’s file. I don’t know if you’re aware. Eight years ago, in Johnson County, just south of us, there was an incident.”
“An incident.” he repeated. “What incident?”
“Ms. Holdcraft was twenty years old at the time and a sophomore at Purdue University. She was home on holiday break, spending the night at a friend’s home when her parents’ home exploded. The police accused Ms. Holdcraft of tampering with the gas stove. That stove was believed to have ignited the explosion, the one that killed her mother. Now her father dies in a fire, and her house explodes. Sheriff, I’m starting to think we could have a serial arsonist on our hands.”
He sat taller. “I think I should tell you, the fire marshal determined accelerant was used in Denny’s house fire. Place went up quicker than a dead cat can fall out of a tree.” Ralph debated about the wisdom of what he was saying, but this story was writing itself. “We haven’t released COD. Confidentially, Dennis Holdcraft died from a gunshot to the head. We were leaning toward suicide, but...”
“Sheriff, would you be open to bringing ATF in on your case. Our chief has called them about the recent explosion at Ms. Holdcraft’s house. Due to the burn pattern, our fire chief believes an incendiary device was used. If that’s the case, Ms. Holdcraft could have been able to set the device to explode once she was out of the city.”
Ralph was glad they weren’t talking in person. He never would have been able to hide his grin. “I would never suspect Shelly…”
“It seems too coincidental. Three family members. Three fires. Occam’s Razor.”
“Let me consult with our fire chief, and I’ll get back to you.”
“Hard telling where Ms. Holdcraft is now. Chief said to broaden the search. We’re still calling her a missing person. Once we get the ATF in on this, Ms. Holdcraft will officially be a suspect.”
“Thank you for your call, Officer McCoy.” A two-ton weight came off Ralph’s shoulders as he hung up the call.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Petroleum County was the least populated county in the state of Montana, the sixth least-populated county in all the United States. The last census had the county’s population at just over 500. While that number shifted from time to time, most everyone knew everyone else. What wasn’t included in the recent census were the people within a complex on three hundred and twenty acres of officially uninhabited ground.
In November of 1952, the National Security Agency was created with a seven-page top-secret memorandum. The plan was that the NSA would operate outside the guise of bureaucracy. Not everyone was content with the achievements.
In 1963, three hundred and twenty acres north of Winnett, Montana, was purchased for $40,000 by a wealthy rancher. That would be equivalent to almost half a million today. The land sat empty until the spring of 1967. According to county records, the land was sold for $100,000, over double its value. The new owner was hidden beneath multiple layers of business names, what today would be considered shell companies.
The idea of the agency was concocted in back rooms and think tanks with like-minded people who included military generals, elected officials, bureaucrats, successful business leaders, and motivated citizens. The country—no, the world—needed a department that answered to no person, party, or special-interest groups. This agency would work independently for the betterment of the people—all the people. They’d weed out corruption while fighting social injustices. It was a high-minded objective.
In November of 1968, a new federal agency to accomplish what NSA had not was born with the stroke of the president’s pen. Even the date of the creation was planned. If any news of this new agency leaked out, it would surely be overshadowed by the results of the 1968 presidential election.
That top-secret status was still the case, despite its growth and development over the last fifty years.
It was important for the founding members of the agency to keep their activities off the public’s and governmental agencies’ radar. While the agency was funded through governmental diversions, its classified existence was known by relatively few. This status allowed the agency to do its work without the bureaucracy so often associated with other official departments.
No one from the agency was or would be called to testify before Congress nor had their picture and title on a website. While construction on the original structures began in 1967, the agency didn’t fully bloom into what it was today until the summer of 1972.
America was in crisis with rising inflation, social unrest, and the hugely unpopular Vietnam War. A monumental scandal was brewing after a nightguard at a D.C. hotel and affiliated offices named Watergate Complex noticed a door taped open. There had been a break-in at the Democratic National Committee headquarters.
