Page 120 of Burning Caine
She stayed on her feet while the video continued playing, the flames getting higher and higher. She gave me a big high-five. “Merry fucking Christmas, Sam!”
Jimmy returned a few minutes later with an older gentleman, who I assumed was the Chief of the Brenton Police Department. They played the video for him, and he nodded slowly.
“Slater, get this to IT and have them bump up the quality. Then we’ll see if we can figure out who this person is and tie them directly to the fire.”
“Tie them directly to the fire?” interjected Lucy. “Looks pretty direct to me.”
He smiled condescendingly. “The legal system needs proof. Not guesses, assumptions, or hunches. Proof.” He stood, thanked us for our contribution, and left without another word, Jimmy hot on his heels.
I felt deflated, and Lucy must have, too, but Janelle still had a massive smile on her face.
“We do have something else,” I said to Janelle.
“As good as this?”
“No, but pretty good. You remember when I said there was a possibility the burned painting was a fake?”
She nodded.
“We have confirmation it wasn’t the original, including the invoice Olivia Scott signed to commission a duplicate. The copy burned in the fire. Lucy, email Janelle the invoice pictures.”
Janelle wrote her address out for Lucy. “Insurance fraud?”
I nodded.
“And likely arson,” she added, looking back to the video. “I’m reopening this goddamn investigation and I’ll be damned if Slater runs it this time.”
Lucy and I were escorted out of the police department with several more thank yous from Janelle. She was ready and raring to go, but the justice system worked slower than we mere mortals.
“Olivia Scott has screwed up my life long enough,” I said to Lucy once we were in the truck. “I’m taking her down.”
“Shouldn’t we let the police do that?”
“Fuck ’em.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“You heard the Chief. They’ll act after they know who it is.” I tapped my finger quickly on the center console, itching for another fight. “Do you know who it is?”
“I think it’s Olivia.”
“But do you know?” I challenged her, and she shook her head. “Exactly. A figure wearing black. Maybe a man, maybe a woman. It could be anyone, but my bet’s on Olivia. I’ll print that picture out and shove it under her nose. See if that gets us an admission of guilt.”
“It could also clear her?”
“On an arson count, sure. Then we leave it to the police. No matter what, she committed insurance fraud, so we have her on that.”
When I got to my hotel room, I emptied my purse onto the nightstand. As I poured out the contents, the letter drifted gently to the table. I looked at it, lying there, folded in thirds, daring me to read it.
I left it and went out to the sitting room to watch something. I’d taken a lot of my rage out on Cam-ron and was emotionally depleted. I grabbed for the remote, which was sitting on Antonio’s dissertation. I’d read the whole thing and concluded he was even more brilliant than he was charming and handsome.
Too bad he was an even better liar.
I walked back to the bedroom and sat on the bed, staring at the stupid letter. I picked it up slowly, a gaping wound opening in the pit of my stomach. I unfolded it, the elegant script taunting me:
My dearest Samantha,
If I were to die tomorrow, lying to you would be my greatest regret. I was wrong, and I cannot apologize enough. I wanted to build a future with you, but a lie is no foundation to begin upon. I ask for a second chance, to show you my heart is true.