didn’t do it.” We asked Debra Kurtz where she was when the Malone house burned, and we asked her if she knew her way around Palo Alto. She had alibis, and we wrote everything down. What she told us added up to a crazy woman with a burning desire to both destroy and self-destruct. It added up, and yet it didn’t add up at all. And now it was half past five in the morning. “You have any trips planned, Debra?” Conklin said, in his charming way. She shook her head. “No.” “Good. Please don’t leave town without letting us know.”
Chapter 45
JOE WAS STILL ASLEEP when I crawled into bed. I gently shoved Martha out of my spot and snuggled up to Joe’s back, wanting to wake him up so that I could tell him what was bugging me. Joe turned toward me, pulled me close to his body, buried his face in my smoky hair. “Have you been barhopping, Blondie?” “House fire,” I said. “Two dead.” “Like the Malones?” “Just like the Malones.” I threw an arm across his chest, rested my face in the crook of his neck, exhaled loudly. “Talk to me, honey,” Joe said. Excellent. “It’s about this woman, Debra Kurtz,” I said, as Martha got back up on the bed, turned around a couple of times, then curled into the hollow behind my legs, pinning me in. “Lives across the street from the victims. She called in the fire.” “Firebugs often do.” “Right. Says she got up for a glass of water, saw the flames. Called the fire department, then joined the crowd watching them put the fire out.” “She was still standing there when you arrived?” “She’d been there for hours. Said she was best friends with the female victim, Sandy Meacham, and she’d also been sleeping with the second victim, Sandy’s husband -” “Weird definition of best friend.” I had to laugh. “Sleeping with her best friend’s husband until he dumped her. This Debra Kurtz has a key to the victims’ house. She also has a sheet. An old arrest for burglary. And guess what else? Arson.” “Hah! She knows her way around the system. So she what? Sets fire to the house across the street - and just waits for the cops to take her in?” “That’s what I’m saying, Joe. The whole package is too much. Kurtz had the means, the motive, the opportunity. ‘Hell hath no fury’ - plus once a firebug, you know, it’s a hard rush to kick.” “She strike you as a killer?” Joe asked me. “She struck me as a pathetic narcissist, in need of attention.” “You got that right.” I gave Joe a kiss. Then I gave him a few more, just loving the feeling of his rough cheek against my lips, his mouth on mine, and the fact of him, big and warm and in my bed. “Don’t start something you’re too tired to finish, Blondie,” he growled at me. I laughed again. Hugged him tight. Said, “Ms. Kurtz insists she didn’t do it. So what I’m thinking is . . .” My thoughts drifted back to the victims, soot-blackened water lapping around their bodies. “What you’re thinking,” Joe prompted. “I’m thinking either she set this fire because she’s so completely self-destructive, she wants to get caught. Or she did it and maybe she didn’t plan for her friends to die. Or else . . .” “Your gut is telling you that she didn’t do it. That she’s just a total wackjob.” “There ya go,” I said to my sweetheart. “There . . . ya . . . go . . .” When I woke up, my arms were entwined around Martha, Joe was gone, and I was late for my meeting with Jacobi.
Chapter 46
I MET CLAIRE at her car after work. I moved a pair of galoshes, a flashlight, her crime scene kit, a giant bag of barbecued potato chips, and three maps into the backseat and then climbed up into the passenger side of her Pathfinder. I said, “Richie got a translation of that Latin phrase that was written inside that yachting book.” “Oh yeah? And what did it mean?” she said, pulling her seat belt low across her belly, stretching it to the limit before locking it in place. I
Chapter 45
JOE WAS STILL ASLEEP when I crawled into bed. I gently shoved Martha out of my spot and snuggled up to Joe’s back, wanting to wake him up so that I could tell him what was bugging me. Joe turned toward me, pulled me close to his body, buried his face in my smoky hair. “Have you been barhopping, Blondie?” “House fire,” I said. “Two dead.” “Like the Malones?” “Just like the Malones.” I threw an arm across his chest, rested my face in the crook of his neck, exhaled loudly. “Talk to me, honey,” Joe said. Excellent. “It’s about this woman, Debra Kurtz,” I said, as Martha got back up on the bed, turned around a couple of times, then curled into the hollow behind my legs, pinning me in. “Lives across the street from the victims. She called in the fire.” “Firebugs often do.” “Right. Says she got up for a glass of water, saw the flames. Called the fire department, then joined the crowd watching them put the fire out.” “She was still standing there when you arrived?” “She’d been there for hours. Said she was best friends with the female victim, Sandy Meacham, and she’d also been sleeping with the second victim, Sandy’s husband -” “Weird definition of best friend.” I had to laugh. “Sleeping with her best friend’s husband until he dumped her. This Debra Kurtz has a key to the victims’ house. She also has a sheet. An old arrest for burglary. And guess what else? Arson.” “Hah! She knows her way around the system. So she what? Sets fire to the house across the street - and just waits for the cops to take her in?” “That’s what I’m saying, Joe. The whole package is too much. Kurtz had the means, the motive, the opportunity. ‘Hell hath no fury’ - plus once a firebug, you know, it’s a hard rush to kick.” “She strike you as a killer?” Joe asked me. “She struck me as a pathetic narcissist, in need of attention.” “You got that right.” I gave Joe a kiss. Then I gave him a few more, just loving the feeling of his rough cheek against my lips, his mouth on mine, and the fact of him, big and warm and in my bed. “Don’t start something you’re too tired to finish, Blondie,” he growled at me. I laughed again. Hugged him tight. Said, “Ms. Kurtz insists she didn’t do it. So what I’m thinking is . . .” My thoughts drifted back to the victims, soot-blackened water lapping around their bodies. “What you’re thinking,” Joe prompted. “I’m thinking either she set this fire because she’s so completely self-destructive, she wants to get caught. Or she did it and maybe she didn’t plan for her friends to die. Or else . . .” “Your gut is telling you that she didn’t do it. That she’s just a total wackjob.” “There ya go,” I said to my sweetheart. “There . . . ya . . . go . . .” When I woke up, my arms were entwined around Martha, Joe was gone, and I was late for my meeting with Jacobi.
Chapter 46
I MET CLAIRE at her car after work. I moved a pair of galoshes, a flashlight, her crime scene kit, a giant bag of barbecued potato chips, and three maps into the backseat and then climbed up into the passenger side of her Pathfinder. I said, “Richie got a translation of that Latin phrase that was written inside that yachting book.” “Oh yeah? And what did it mean?” she said, pulling her seat belt low across her belly, stretching it to the limit before locking it in place. I
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