“Yeah.”
“The girl too? The one I took home?”
“Yeah, she was into it,” he sneered. “Don’t let her age fool you. She leads Cade around by the nose.”
All speech left Mercy’s brain. Kaylie? She couldn’t think of another question.
“Who was with you the night you lit up the dumpster?” Truman asked.
“Nothing happened with that,” Landon pointed out. “The fire was contained by the dumpster. It was perfectly safe to light.”
“Who?” repeated Truman.
“Just Finn.”
Mercy’s brain came back online. “I don’t have Finn’s last name.” Three fires admitted.
“Gaylin,” said Truman.
Does he believe these fires are no big deal? She studied the young man. He seemed to thrive on the attention from her and Truman, and every time he admitted to having set a fire, his ego seemed to get a boost. He sat straighter, smiled more, exuded more confidence.
Reel him in slowly. Don’t think about Kaylie right now.
It was a giant effort to put the teen out of her mind. Mercy kept picturing Kaylie as one of the people described by Clyde Jenkins, a teen dashing through his orchard and laughing. Then she remembered the dirty footprints on her kitchen floor. Evidence the girl had been outside. If it’d happened once, it’d probably happened a few times.
She focused on the man in front of her. The cocky creeper. She smiled at him, and his returning smile made acid rise in the back of her throat. She shuffled through the small stack of papers in front of her until she found a police report. “What about the old car on Robinson Street?”
The smile broadened. “I did its owner a service. They shoulda got insurance money for that. The stupid thing hadn’t moved in months.”
“It wasn’t insured,” Truman said. Mercy heard the barely leashed anger in his tone. “The owner had to pay to have it hauled away after that. It cost them money.”
Landon’s face fell ever so slightly. “That’s a bummer.”
Does he think he’s some sort of Robin Hood?
“You know the Parkers lost a lot of supplies in their fire,” Mercy said. “They’d worked hard to prep and save. It might take them a few years to catch back up.”
“Stupid preppers,” Landon said. “They think they’re better than everyone else. All self-righteous like they’re the only ones living the correct way. Nothing wrong with shopping at Walmart.”
Mercy cocked her head. It wasn’t an admission, but Landon definitely held a grudge. “You know Steve Parker?” Her heart still hurt for the young family.
“No.” Landon looked away.
“Sounded like you did.”
“I know the type. They can squeeze blood out of a turnip.”
“And? Is there something wrong with being thrifty?”
“They’re not going to help anyone if it all goes to shit. It’s all about protecting themselves. Fucking elitists.”
I’ve never been called an elitist before.
“So you think they should share their supplies with others if we get decimated by a natural disaster.”
“Everyone should help each other,” Landon said piously.
“How are you prepared to help?”
“I can work. I can do whatever is needed. I’ll help out wherever someone needs me.”
I’d like to see you when you’re cold, wet, tired, and hungry. Take away your TV, beer, and fast food, and we’d see the real person underneath. Desperate, savage, and cruel.
Mercy leaned forward, resting her folded arms on the table. “How about you start preparing now and—”
“I think we’re going off topic,” Truman stated. “What do you know about the fire at the Parkers’, Landon?”
She sat back in her chair, biting her tongue, which wanted to lecture.
“I don’t know nothin’ about that one.”
Liar.
“Do you know where you were the Wednesday before last?” Mercy threw out the question, ready to hear his excuses about the fire that Ben Cooley had put out. And the murder of Joshua Pence.
Landon thought. “On Wednesdays we usually go bowling.”
“But did you last week?”
“Yeah, I remember now. I slaughtered everyone.” The confidence was back.
“How late do you bowl? Do you do anything after?”
“We’re done by eleven. Then I went home.” He looked expectantly from Mercy to Truman.
“Anyone at home with you?”
“My mom,” he admitted. A frown crossed his face. “Why are you asking about that night? Nothing happened that—” His face cleared and his eyes widened. “That was the night they found that guy with his neck slashed!” He sat up straight in his seat. “I didn’t have nothing to do with that! Just because someone started a fire doesn’t mean it was me!”
Truman’s hands were sweating.
Mercy had neatly questioned Landon Hecht, jumping from topic to topic, feeding his ego, and keeping him talking.
But everything about the young man had changed once he realized they were looking at him for the fire where Joshua Pence had been murdered.
Truman discreetly wiped his palms on his jeans. That wasn’t the reaction I’d hoped for.
He was a pretty good judge of character and was certain that Landon Hecht was lazy, full of himself, a liar, and an idiot. But he wasn’t lying about the Pence fire.
“You just told me you started the fire in the dumpster, the vehicle, and tonight’s fire,” Mercy stated calmly. “But you weren’t at the fire last Wednesday? That seems odd.”
“I wasn’t there!” Landon half stood, his hands on the table, terror in his voice. “Sure, I might have had something to do with some other fires, but I didn’t kill no one!”
Mercy was silent.
“I didn’t!”
“Sit down,” Truman ordered. “We heard you.”
“Did you know Joshua Pence?” Mercy asked.
Truman heard the subtle change in her tone; she believed Landon’s claim.
Are we following the wrong lead?
“No. Never heard of him until they said on the news he was the one murdered that night.” Landon wiped the moisture on his upper lip. He’d gone from being a cool customer to squirming and sweating in less than fifteen seconds. His gaze shot from Mercy to Truman and back again.
“And I didn’t set the fire the night the two deputies were shot! I didn’t kill no one!”
“But you’re now our local fire starter,” Mercy said. “You’ve just admitted setting several of them. And you’re a crack shot with the rifle. I assume you heard the deputies were shot from quite a distance?”
“It wasn’t me!” Landon looked ready to vomit.
Truman grabbed the trash can in the corner and set it next to Landon’s chair. The young man glanced gratefully at it, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Truman could smell his body odor.
“Then where were you when the two deputies were murdered?” Mercy asked, emphasizing the last word.