NINETEEN
Could I see him shooting a cop?
Hell yes.
Mercy had been in the room with Landon Hecht for sixty seconds.
The young man slouching in a chair across the table from Mercy gave off enough disdain to fill a football stadium. He was all sharp angles. Pointy elbows and chin and shoulders. Even his eyes seemed sharp—not in an intelligent way, but in an angry way. As if the world were out to get him and he was constantly on the edge of striking back. The contempt he directed at her and Truman told her he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed; most people at least pretended to give officers respect. Especially in an interview room. If he’d shot the deputies, he did it on a whim, she decided, not because he’d planned some elaborate scheme. He didn’t seem to be the type who thought further ahead than two hours. Or one.
Truman had called her an hour ago and said he was delivering four subjects to the Deschutes County Sheriff’s Office for questioning. When she’d found out he’d caught them at the scene of a fire with dirt bikes and weapons, she’d leaped out of bed. Now Eddie was questioning the other male subject in a different interview room, and the two female subjects were talking separately with county detectives. Truman leaned casually against the wall in the interview room with her and Landon, keeping quiet as she decided how to get Landon to open up.
The county deputies had taken his rifle, a lighter, and a knife big enough to slaughter a horse.
Not unusual items to carry in Central Oregon.
Mercy knew her father and brothers had carried the same sort of gear. In fact, she carried the same in her emergency pack. Except for the rifle. She kept hers in a safe in her apartment.
“I understand you already got in trouble this week for alcohol possession,” she stated.
Landon threw a glare at Truman. “Yeah.”
“Seems to me like a rational person would wait until they were twenty-one.”
This time the glare was aimed at her. “It’s a stupid law.”
“A lot of people would agree with you, but the fines alone keep most of them in line. They can hurt the wallet.”
Landon shrugged.
“You were trespassing for the second time too.”
“Are you here to remind me about what I’ve done this week? Because my memory’s pretty good,” Landon said. “Did you hear I ate at Burger King three times?”
“How do you eat out so much when you don’t have a job?”
“I get money.”
Mercy waited, but Landon didn’t take the bait. He leaned back in his chair, tucked his hands behind his head, and held her gaze.
Creep.
He injected a sexual predator vibe into his stare that made Mercy want to shower. Behind her she heard Truman shift his stance. No doubt Landon’s creeper aura was affecting him too.
“What’s an FBI agent doing here in the middle of the night?” Landon asked. When she’d first introduced herself, he hadn’t blinked at her title, but it seemed to have finally sunk into his skull that being interviewed by the FBI wasn’t the norm.
“The county sheriff is a little shorthanded,” Mercy replied.
“Huh,” was his response.
“Are the two girls good friends of yours?” she asked.
“Just met them tonight. They were at the 7-Eleven when we stopped to buy—” His lips slapped shut.
“That wasn’t very smart of them to leave with guys they’d just met,” Mercy observed, purposefully passing up the chance to ask him if he had a fake ID to buy alcohol.
Landon grinned. “They wanted to party.”
Mercy sent up a silent prayer that Kaylie used better decision-making skills.
“How often do you ride dirt bikes?” Mercy asked, changing the subject.
Landon rubbed his hands on his thighs as he thought, pointy elbows poking the fabric of his plaid shirt. “More during the summer. We took them out tonight because Jason wanted to test the new brakes on his. Usually we have our trucks, but since the weather was clear it seemed like a good time.”
“I assume you take them off road usually?”
“Yep.”
“Where do you like to go?”
He thought. “There’s good riding back of the old gravel pit place. And around the Smalls’s farm. They don’t care if we ride back there,” he added quickly.
“Do you always ride with friends?”
“Usually. Kinda boring by myself.”
“I understand you were target shooting when you were arrested the other night.” She jumped to another subject.
“Yeah.” The gaze darted to Truman again.
“You a good shot?”
“Not bad.”
“Better than your friends?”
“Lots better.” He grinned.
“You have contests with them?”
“All the time. I usually kick their butts.”
“Rifle or pistol?”
“Both,” he said with pride. “I’m better with the rifle. I have three-hundred-yard targets set up at my place, and I practice all the time.”
Mercy made a mental note to add the shells from Landon’s homemade firing range to the warrant that was currently being written up to search his home for his weapons. She slid a piece of paper across the table. “These are the weapons that are registered to you. Does this list everything you have?” The FBI was especially interested in one of the rifles.
He leaned forward and studied it, his head hanging over the document. It took forever for him to read it, and she wondered about his reading skills. It listed three rifles and two pistols. He should have been able to verify that with one glance.
“That’s everything.” He shoved the paper back at her.
“Nothing else? Maybe a gun a friend gave you or a relative passed on?”
“Nope. That first rifle on the list was a gift from my uncle. We did it by the book.” His smug look made her skin crawl.
Mercy nodded and changed the topic again. “Do you always carry gasoline with you?”
“The tank on my bike doesn’t hold much. Better to be safe than sorry.”
“So it was simply convenient to set the Cowler shed on fire.”
“I didn’t plan it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Why did you light it?”
He shrugged again and looked away.
“Your friend says you have a thing for fire,” she lied. She hadn’t heard anything from the other interviews. But he’d sat alone in this room for nearly an hour before she’d entered. He’d had plenty of time to wonder what was being said in the other rooms.
Landon sat up straight. “He’s a liar.”
“Know anything about a fire on Clyde Jenkins’s property? Someone lit his burn pile in the middle of the night two weeks ago.” Mercy mentioned a fire that hadn’t been a source of gossip. Since Clyde had waited several days to report it, the only people who knew about it were the police, as far as she knew.
Landon ducked his head to the side, a sly grin on his face. “It was a burn pile. Nothing illegal about that. They’re supposed to be burned.”
One fire admitted. Two including tonight’s.
“Who was with you that night?”
The ceiling suddenly became very interesting to the young man. “Jason was there,” he said as he stared at the tiles in the ceiling. “The usual group. Finn. Cade.” He glanced behind her at Truman. “Same people as the other night.”
Mercy held her breath. The night Kaylie was with them?
“The night at the gravel pit?” Truman asked.
“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.
“I don’t know.” Landon’s gaze bounced around the room. “But I wasn’t there. Give me a minute to remember.” His breathing had sped up, and he continually wiped his temples and upper lip.
A small twinge of sympathy touched Truman’s chest. A very small twinge. He’s still a menace. He didn’t believe Landon was a murderer, but he was guilty of breaking a number of laws and needing a kick in the ass. He wished he could see the expression on Mercy’s face, because it was making Landon squirm like a restless toddler.
“Do you want to tell us again who was with you the night you lit Clyde Jenkins’s burn pile?” Truman asked. He’d seen Mercy’s shoulders tense and Landon’s gaze turn conniving as he claimed Kaylie was there.
Landon looked away. “Jason and me. And some girl Jason was trying to impress. I don’t remember her name. Jason can tell you.”
“Why’d you claim other people were there?” Truman asked.
A childish and sour look crossed his face, but Landon was silent.
“You think Cade and Kaylie called me that night at the gravel pit, don’t you? You’re trying to get some innocent people in trouble.” Truman fumed.
Landon looked anywhere but at Truman.
“Neighbors reported shooting at the pit,” Truman said. “No one else. Let’s try to keep your answers to the truth, okay? Especially tonight.”
He nodded.
Mercy stood up. “I’m going to have a word with Eddie.” She shoved in her chair, and Truman followed her out of the room.
“Let him stew for a little while,” she said, arching her back. “I needed some fresh air. He was starting to stink.”
“I noticed that,” said Truman. “I couldn’t believe he tried to get Kaylie in trouble.”
“He had me going for a few minutes,” Mercy admitted. “Thank you for clearing that up. I assume he doesn’t know she’s my niece?”
“I don’t think so. He just knows that I was shocked to find her at the gravel pit that night.”
“Jerk.”
“Yeah, he’s got some problems, but I don’t think he pulled the trigger that night the deputies died,” Truman admitted.
Mercy slumped against the wall. “I think you’re right. He was willing to admit to setting a few fires, but he panicked once he figured out where my line of questioning was going. Could he be involved somehow? I have a hard time believing we suddenly have two people setting fires. Maybe he didn’t kill anyone, but was involved in the fire part?”
“I think he would have given up any names he knew. He was quick to throw Kaylie and Cade under the bus for nothing. I can see him instantly ratting out anyone he suspected was involved in the murders.”
“True. Maybe some time alone will help him come up with a name.”
One of the county detectives came down the hall, a cup of vending machine coffee in his hand. “Those girls aren’t going to be of much help,” he told Mercy and Truman. “They never met the two men until a few hours ago. They claim they went with the guys because they had beer and bikes. I guess that’s the adult equivalent of offering candy to little kids.”
“Only for some people,” Mercy countered.
“Well, it was enough for these two,” said the detective as he took a sip of the coffee. “They thought it was funny when Landon lit the crumbling building on fire, and said they didn’t talk to them about any other fires the two men might have started. Do you want to talk to them?”
“That’s the same story they told me earlier,” said Truman, looking to Mercy. “They were pretty embarrassed to be picked up. I don’t need to talk to them again, do you?”
“Not tonight,” agreed Mercy.
The detective nodded, muttered something about paperwork and lack of sleep, and then continued down the hall.
Eddie stepped out of the next interview room, annoyance on his face.
“How’d it go?” Mercy asked him.
“According to Jason, Landon likes his lighter a little too much.”
“We gathered the same,” said Truman. “Did Jason say which fires Landon had set?”
Eddie glanced at his notes. “The car on Robinson Street. A dumpster. The Parker family shed. Clyde Jenkins’s burn pile, and he claims tonight was all on Landon too.”
“Nice going,” Mercy said. “Landon wouldn’t outright admit to the Parkers’, but he seemed to enjoy telling us about the rest.”
“Jason claims he wasn’t present the night of the deputies’ deaths or the Pence murder.”
“He thinks Landon was there?” Truman asked.
“He does.”
Mercy straightened. “Did he ask Landon about it?”
“No. He said when he heard about both fires, he instantly knew it had to be Landon but didn’t dare talk to him about it.”
“Seriously? But he still hung around with the guy?” Truman was disgusted.
“That’s what I asked him,” said Eddie. “He said he was waiting for Landon to bring it up so Jason could tell the police he’d confessed.”
“Bullshit,” stated Mercy. Truman agreed.
“He’s a coward,” said Mercy. “Kaylie told me the guys follow Landon around, and she thinks it’s because they’re afraid to stand up to him.”
“They’re afraid of him?” Truman asked. “What do they think he’s capable of?”
“I pressed Jason on that,” said Eddie. “I asked if Landon had ever threatened him, and he wouldn’t give me a clear answer. What I gathered is that Landon is a mean drunk and says threatening crap that keeps people on their toes around him.”
“Half the people I know are like that when drunk,” said Truman.
“I hear you, but Jason seemed really uncomfortable when I tried to get a clear answer out of him. What was Landon like?”
Mercy said, “Terrified and vehemently vocal that he didn’t kill anyone or set those two fires.” She paused. “I believed him.”
“I did too,” added Truman. “But I’m having second thoughts on hearing what Jason had to say.”
Frustration filled Mercy’s face. “Me too. It could have been fear of being found out that we saw, not fear of being accused of murder.”
“We got the warrant signed for the weapons where Landon lives, at his mom’s house,” Eddie said. “We’ll serve it in the morning. Hopefully that will give us some concrete answers.”
“It needs to include a search of the target range Landon uses at the house,” Mercy added. “If we don’t find the weapon we’re looking for, we might find evidence that it’s been fired at his range.”
“Beat you to it. I had it written up to include anything weapon-related.”
She high-fived him. “First thing in the morning?”
“Yes,” said Eddie, who looked to Truman. “You’ll be there?”
“You couldn’t keep me away.”