The Trevor Samuels Mystery series

"The Back of My Mind," the first Trevor Samuels Mystery

05.18.08 (12:09 pm)   [edit]



    She glanced at her watch nervously; it was four in the morning. Her companion told her to calm down, it would all be over with shortly. Just like the last job, in and out in a matter of minutes. She couldn't help it. She was so afraid of getting busted and their plan falling to ruin. They were crouched in a shallow ditch across the street from the target property, waiting and watching for any sign of life. Finally he said "Now" and they began to crawl out of the ditch.
    The only sound to be heard in the early morning of the crisp Spring day was their own labored breathing as they stayed bent over, close to the ground. They bolted across the country road and onto the property with their gas cans in hand, always looking back toward the road to ensure nothing was coming. They had watched the family leave earlier the night before and were confident no one was at home, but it always paid to be damn sure of that, and they had learned that the hard way.
    They made their way behind the house and stopped to listen, to make sure they were alone. A slight breeze blew across the vast property from east to west.
"Did you hear something?" he asked in a quiet voice.
"No, did you?" she replied in an equally quiet voice.
"No."
    They continued on their journey until they came across the oil tank at the other rear corner of the dwelling. He took a penlight out of his coat pocket and shined it in the tank's direction. Good, he thought. It's pretty rusted; the flames should penetrate it quickly.
"Let's go," he whispered.
    Silently, they both unfastened the tops on their respective gas cans and began pouring the contents on and underneath the oil tank.  She ran dry and fastened the top back onto her ancient metal can.
    "That should be enough," he mumbled as he put his can on the ground between them and began fishing around in his other coat pocket. He pulled out a matchbook and said, "Get ready." She just nodded. He lit one match and held it up to the other matches. They all caught at the same time and lit up like a party sparkler. He quickly dropped the matchbook at the base of the oil tank and grabbed his gas can. Fuel started splashing all over the ground behind him as they ran back to the other corner of the house. He had forgotten to refasten the cap on his can. A few seconds later, a horrific explosion rocked the ground like a major earthquake.  The tank must have been full, he thought, as they ran away from the front of the house and back toward the road.
    Suddenly, all he could see were flames as he screamed the most tormented, blood-curdling scream of his life. She was ten feet ahead of him and also screaming as the fire engulfed him, sending him to the ground in a heap of flames and burning flesh. She didn't know how she did it, but she managed to resume running, faster than she had ever run in her life.
    "There was nothing I could do to save him" was the only thought going through her mind as she continued running into the darkness. She never looked back.



    Ever hear the expression "It's about as fun as attending an insurance seminar"? Those long, lazy meetings one must attend from time and time, that seem to go on and on relentlessly. I was scheduled to attend one this very day, and I wasn't looking forward to it one iota. Such is life when you're a freelance investigator. You have to stay abreast of all the latest investigative techniques whether you want to or not. I may actually be able to stay awake for this one, with having slept for a full eight hours last night. While you're on a case, you get no sleep, and while between cases, you catch up. Not the healthiest way to live, I know, but being an insurance investigator isn't the healthiest of occupations either. Mind you, the alternative being sitting behind a desk for eight hours a day pushing paper would probably drive me crazy. Sitting in a little cubicle listening to the lady in the next cubicle drone on and on about how good last night's episode of whatever the latest reality TV show was. That would without a doubt push me right over the edge.
    So here I stand, in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, trying to straighten the tie it took me a half hour to find. Not that I'm messy, it's just the opposite. Some say I'm slightly obsessive-compulsive about neatness while others say not so slightly. I just believe that everything has a place and should be in its place. As I detest wearing ties and hadn't worn mine in months, I had forgotten where I left my one and only neck constrictor. I finally found it at the bottom of a dresser drawer along with the cuff links I thought I had lost. Just to be safe, I moved the cuff links to the old Quality Street can I kept in my top dresser drawer for odds and ends. You never know when a set of shiny silver cuff links will be required, though hopefully not anytime soon.
    Just as I finished dressing in my suit (the only one I have since I'm a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy), the damn Blackberry beeped. God love the saleswoman for telling me how great Blackberry's are. Get real-time emails, phone calls, text messages, MSN messenger messages, etc. The list goes on and on. I must admit it sounded great at the time, but once you actually have it and people know they can contact you day or night....well....it gets a bit frustrating. The only question I had was "Who would be texting me at 7:00 in the morning"?
    As I pulled the device from its holster, I realized I knew it was a text message from the constant beeping. I actually remembered the beeping is for text messages! I wondered how long it would take me to remember the different tones this thing makes.  This day just might turn out better than I thought. But then I read the text and realized that thought was just wishful thinking.
    William Condon, President of The Balmoral Insurance Company, sent me the following message:

Another fire overnight, 11060 County Road 56, Malone. Insured dwelling went up in flames, no one home at the time, family states they stayed with friends overnight. Get over there ASAP.

    That's Bill all right, short and sweet, right to the point. This will be the third fire I've been called to investigate in the last two months for Balmoral. The previous two remain open, and this has become a thorn in my side, given my previous case-closure rate of 95%. While this worried me somewhat, at least one positive thing has happened. I could get out of this monkey suit and skip the seminar.
    I got a gut feeling as I jumped into a pair of old, torn black jeans and an Ottawa Senators T-shirt. This fire would resemble the previous two to a "T". The house would have burned to the ground, and the fire would have been overly intense due to the use of an accelerant, specifically diesel fuel. Tim Stokes, Fire Chief for Malone County, would have had his men flood the place and destroy any evidence in the process. I'd be standing around, unable to do anything as I wouldn't get clearance to investigate until the Fire Marshall, John Wakeman, wrapped up his investigation. John, being the thorough man that he is, would take hours completing his part of the job. Too bad John wouldn't produce any conclusive results; he never did in "total loss" fire situations. On top of all that, I got to interview members of a hysterical family who would have just lost everything they own. The fun never stopped!
    Both Tim and John had been firefighters for nearly three decades. Tim was then promoted to Chief and, shortly thereafter, John assumed the Fire Marshall position. They both had seen and done it all. Tim was in his fifties now, but didn't look it. He was around 6'1 and 200 pounds of pure muscle. His black head of hair was just starting to gray at his sideburns, and his brown eyes were just starting to show the crow's feet that develop with age. John was also in his fifties and stood around 6'1. He weighs about 210 pounds, has light red hair, and red freckles. He hasn't developed any gray hair.
    Dressed and ready to roll, I threw on my trench coat (yes, an investigator wearing a trench coat, what are the odds), jumped in the car, and headed off for the highway. While driving down the 401, I couldn't help but wonder what the motive was for these fires. The two previous fires were seemingly unrelated, happening many miles away from each other, the families residing at the properties unknown to each other. Both families were your average, working middle class households, each with a couple of high school aged, annoying kids. As you may have guessed, I'm not even remotely paternal. That's probably why all of my previous girlfriends sought greener grass on the other side of the street, but I don't wanna get into that. The day is shaping up to be bad enough.
    The only similarities between the previous two fires were the remote locations of the houses, the fact that both families were not present at the time of the fires, and they were both insured with Balmoral.
    I could see thick black smoke billowing into the early morning sky as I turned onto County Road 56. Coming around a steep curve, I saw that my earlier beliefs were true. On the left side of the street sat the frame of a 1930's style farmhouse, I say frame as that was all that was left. Tim and John were both on-site barking orders to their respective peons. A distraught looking couple simply stood by one of the police cars and gazed at the shell that was left of their home. As I parked on the side of the road and got out of my new Camry (which was now covered with mud from the pot hole riddled gravel road), I notice something out of the corner of my eye, something very unlike the previous two unresolved cases.



    A white sheet lay on the ground some 25' east of the former house. As we have all experienced from murder mystery movies and the like, I get a tense feeling while looking at the sheet flapping in the slight breeze. Just as I start to walk toward the scene, Mike Rogers, the Malone Police Chief, approaches me.     Mike doesn't look like a "typical" police chief. Many police chiefs are large, muscular men, having worked their way up the ranks. Mike stands about 5'10 and weighs in around 155 pounds. He's a rather thin fellow, though not quite to the point of resembling a Holocaust victim. His salt and pepper hair is parted to the right, and his piercing blue eyes tend to capture your attention immediately. At first glance, you would think he was a very distinguished man of about 50 years of age. Unfortunately, once he speaks, you tend to lose the "distinguished" thought rather abruptly. His accent is not one I had ever heard before.
"Mornin', Mr. Samuels," he said.
"Morning. Guess this makes number three."
"I guess so, 'cept this one is far more tragic," he said while nodding toward the white sheet.
"Who or what is under there?"
"No one seems to know. Looks like he or she was caught in the fire. Nothing left to identify, 'cept for dentals if we're lucky enough to find John or Jane Doe's dentist. All of the family's accounted for. They're pretty shook up but holding their own."
"If that's the case, maybe we caught a break," I said. "Could have been "The Torch," who wasn't so lucky this time. Maybe the fire got out of hand and caught him."
"Anything's possible at this stage. The M.E.'s on her way, but I doubt she'll be able to tell us anything; the body is nothing but charred bone now.
"When the first fire engine arrived, Hank Jensen grabbed an extinguisher off the truck and ran toward him, says he was totally engorged in flame and already well passed being able to make any sound at all. Hank's a bit shook up, says he'll never forget the rancid smell."
"It's not something I'd care to encounter, that's for damn sure," I said. "My gut tells me there's something more though, it would be too convenient to have the only perpetrator burnt to a crisp right outside the scene of the blaze. I could be wrong, but I trust my gut after fifteen years in this business."
"You may be right. Only time'll tell," he said.
    I was about to comment when a large station wagon pulled into the driveway. The words "MEDICAL EXAMINER" in large letters adorned the tailgate. It reminded me of the station wagon Quincy drove in the "Quincy, M.E." television series.
"There's Janice now," said Mike.
    Janice is the head medical examiner for the county. We met several times in the past; we both seemed to be assigned to the same type of cases. You don't normally see female medical examiners in the field, but Janice held her own. She was around 5'5 and 150 pounds. She worked out regularly and had quite a bit of muscle on her. She had hazel eyes and cropped blonde hair, almost to the point of standard Military hair styles. The blonde wasn't natural however, you could see a lot of gray roots. I would peg her at 45 years of age.
"Mind if I talk to the family while you deal with him and John Doe?" I asked.
"No, but take it easy on 'em. They're quite upset."
"You know me, Mike, I'm always professional." I gave him a half smile and a wink. It sometimes surprised me, I could be so nonchalant during stressful times like this, even cracking jokes on occasion. Must be my way of easing the tension.
    As Mike and Janice made their way to the white sheet and what lay underneath, I headed over to a distraught looking couple. As I approached, I noticed the woman give me the once over. I always get that when I wear my Goodwill shop wardrobe, which is most of the time. I always tell people I'm here because of what's in my head, not what I'm wearing. From their point of view, seeing a stranger in old ripped jeans, a T-shirt and a black trench coat is probably not what they expect, but they get used to it.
"I never know what to say in these circumstances," I began. "Good Morning doesn't seem appropriate. Balmoral Insurance Co., your insurer, has assigned your case to me. My name is Trevor Samuels." I showed them my license and asked, "And you are?"
    The man, who had the slight belly of a 40-some-year-old and a beard with gray flecks, was the first to speak. Not one hair adorned his head. Funny how those that suffer premature baldness always tend to keep hair elsewhere. His voice cracked with emotion. Tears flooded his eyes.
"I'm Peter Lipton. Everything we own was in that house. Everything. Why would something like this happen to us?"
"Everyone who experiences a traumatic event like this asks that very question," I replied. "Whether it be natural causes like an electrical short, or some other cause, your life changes forever in an instant. No one is ever prepared for it. It just happens."
"I just can't believe it," he said while staring at the remains of his house. "Why would anyone want to do this to us?"
"Well Sir, at this point, I usually say there may have been an electrical fault to blame, but given the remains in the field, it certainly doesn't appear accidental."
"I don't understand any of this," the lady beside Mr. Lipton whimpered. "We lead a normal life, no enemies, nothing of any value to steal. It just doesn't make any sense."
"Well, ma'am, I've seen a lot of arson cases in my time and while most are for monetary gain, there are quite a few that are senseless," I said. "Marital discord is common, where one spouse doesn't want the other to get the property in the divorce. I even worked a case where a fellow just couldn't stand the sight of his house anymore due to chronic and expensive maintenance the place required, so he set it on fire. Of course, these situations occur when people are stressed to their limit, and they just snap."
    The lady, who I later find out is Peter's wife Marsha, said "There's no discord here, Mr. Samuels, nothing even remotely close to what you've described. Peter and I have been married quite happily for nineteen years."
    Marsha had a full head of shoulder-length dark brown hair that curled ever so slightly at the tips. One would think it a wig if not for the blatant part in the middle of her head. She had dark brown eyes, wore no make-up, and was somewhat "plain" looking. She was about 5'4, and I wouldn't even take a guess at her weight. Let's just say she looked to be somewhat prone to the finer things in life, food being one of them.
"I didn't mean to insinuate anything, ma'am, I'm just speaking of my past experiences so you can see you're not alone, things like this happen every day. Sometimes for no reason at all, and sometimes for a reason. That's why I'm here, to try to determine what happened and why."
    As you've probably noted, I'm not the most empathetic individual on the planet. Never have been. The way I see it, I hade a job to do and emotions just got in the way.
"Everything we own...clothes...pictures...everything is gone," said Mr. Lipton.
"A claim adjuster from Balmoral would have been assigned to your case this morning and is probably on his way here now. He'll arrange accommodations for you at a nearby hotel and get you some money so you can buy some essentials, clothing and the like," I said. "We'll work closely with the fire department and police to try to wrap up the investigation as soon as possible. That way Balmoral can commence with the reconstruction of your home as soon as practicable."
    As soon as I uttered the word "practicable", I heard yelling from behind me. I couldn't make out what the person's yelling, and as I turned around, I saw a look of shock and horror on the Lipton's faces. I turned just in time to see the frame of the house sway away from us and start to collapse in on itself. As the second story collapsed into the first, I noticed someone behind and just to the left of the structure. With all the smoke continuing to billow from the rubble, it's hard to see, but I could definitely see the outline of a person, not very tall and rather slender.
Loud snapping sounds erupted from what's left of the house as it collapsed to the ground. The ground shook as if a minor earthquake trembled beneath us. That's when I hear it, something so...inappropriate. As the firefighters continued to douse what's left of the dwelling, the air cleared a bit, and I saw the source of the sound. Now it's my turn to express disbelief and shock.



    Laughter. And not just regular chuckles but full-blown, borderline hysterical laughter. The figure pointed at the ruin that had been the Lipton's house and laughed as if the funniest joke in the world had just been told. To say I was surprised would be an understatement. Just as I was about to approach what appeared to be a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy, Peter started yelling at him.
"JESSE, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"
I turned to Peter and asked who the boy was.
"Our son," he replied. Peter ran to the boy, grabbed him by the collar of his black trench coat and dragged him to where Marsha and I were standing. Marsha had not uttered a word, almost like she wasn't surprised by this bizarre behavior.
"What the hell are you laughing at?" Peter queried.
"That's awesome," Jesse replied. "The whole house is gone. Here one minute and gone the next."
    I was beyond taken aback. I wondered if the kid suffered from some mental deficiency, or if he was just naturally morbid. He certainly looked morbid. I'm not really in touch with the youth of today, nor do I want to be for that matter, but I was surprised by his appearance. It looked like he wore eye makeup. He stood about 5'8 and very slender.
    He wore torn jeans and a T-shirt with huge lettering that reads "MAKE LOVE NOT WAR" across the entire front. This, coupled with black shoulder-length hair with red patches in it, didn't give one the best first impression. He also wore a black trench coat similar to mine. Mind you, perhaps I shouldn't talk with my black trench coat and ripped jeans. But at least my hair is all one color, and natural at that.
"How can you laugh at this? Everything we own is gone. Everything YOU own is gone. You get it?" his father said.
"I know." He chuckled.
    I just stood there and watched the interaction. Clearly something was amiss with this lad. I noticed he also wore black nail polish and had three earrings in each ear!
"What were you doing behind the house? You could have been hurt," said Marsha.
Still chuckling, Jesse answered, "What are you talking about, the fire is out, no worries." Then he turned to me.
"Nice trench, who are you?"
"I'm Trevor Samuels, insurance investigator for Balmoral Insurance Co."
"I'm Jesse," he said as he bowed in front of me. "You see a lot of fires?"
"Quite a few, yes."
"Cool, ever see anyone burnt beyond recognition?" He glanced toward the M.E. and Mike, who were just lifting the body onto a stretcher.
"No, I never have. No point of looking at something when you can't tell what it is."
"I'd love to. I should go ask them if I can see it."
"That's somewhat morbid, don't you think?" I asked.
"Fuck yeah, that's what I love about it, man, it's awesome!"
"Jesse! What's gotten into you?" Peter shouted. "That's someone's life you're talking about!"
"Not anymore," he said with a big grin as he watches Mike and Janice carried the occupied stretcher to the station wagon.
    I shook my head when Peter turned to me and said, "I apologize for my son's behavior, Mr. Samuels, he seems to be at the age when anything unpleasant or unnerving piques his interest."
"I understand, it's not a problem. We were all young once" is what I said, but I thought, How could someone find this situation even mildly amusing? Either this kid had emotional problems of some sort, or the youth of today has changed significantly from when I was his age.
    As Janice pulled out of the driveway with her cargo secure in the back of the wagon, Mike approached us once again and said, "Trev, can I speak to you privately for a sec?"
"Trev"….that's a new one. Regardless, we walked back toward the former house.
"As we originally thought, there were no identifiable features left on the body," he said. "Janice will take dental impressions and maybe we'll get lucky."
"That's what I figured. Well, we have to start somewhere right?" I said.
"True. What's the deal with that kid, what was he laughing at?"
"Hard to say. He seems to think this whole situation is one big joke, even though he lost every possession he ever owned."
"Weird. Maybe he's into drugs or something?"
"Again, hard to say. It wouldn't surprise me. Did you get their statements?"
"No, I'm gonna do that now."
"Ok, I'm going to take a walk around. I'll let you know if I see anything out of the ordinary, and no, I won't touch anything."
"Good. Gimme a holler if anything strikes your fancy."
    Mike was a good guy but a bit of a redneck. You'd think he's from the South with some of the slang he slung. He must have watched too many movies.
I turned and looked toward the scene, and it was most definitely a crime scene. This was no accident, given our crispy cadaver and all. Most everything was destroyed beyond recognition. I slowly walked the perimeter of the foundation, looking at all the charred remnants. Nothing really stood out. I saw what might have been part of a stove, another piece of metal that might have been a fridge, I couldn't say for sure. There was no question in my mind that some sort of accelerant was used – I could faintly smell gasoline in the air. Diesel fuel to be exact. I completed the perimeter of the house and then walked back toward the perimeter of the property. This was a beautiful piece of property, wide-open space. No neighbors to bother you, lots of privacy. Of course, that's what could have led to this place being a target for Mr. Arsonist. Same as the other two fires, both at remote locations with no one home. I suppose I should consider that the fires were not related, but my gut instinct told me otherwise. Although, the way Jesse responded, perhaps he set the fire just for shits and giggles.
    I completed my tour of the property and, of course, nothing out of the ordinary caught my eye. Mike was just putting away his notebook when I re-joined the group.
"Aight folks, that's enough for now. Thank you for your time and, again, my condolences on your loss. I'm sure Trevor and his team will take good care of you and get the ball rolling," said Mike.
"Thank you, Chief," Peter said. "Please let us know if you need any more information. If the perpetrator wasn't the guy in the field, that means the true criminal is still out there. And if that's the case, we all want him caught."
"You can rest assured we'll explore every possibility, right, Trev?"
"Of course," I replied just as Jesse started laughing again.
"What's your problem now?" his mother asked while staring at him sternly.
"Just think of it," he said, "we get all new shit for nothing!"
Now it was my turn to give him a stern look.



    As if on cue, a white Chevrolet Impala pulled into the yard with the Balmoral symbol on the doors.
"This must be the adjuster now," I said. As we all turned to look in the direction of the vehicle, a very attractive gal got out and walked toward us. She had long blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She didn't wear make-up and didn't need any, her fine features were impressive all on their own. She reminded me of Halle Berry, not just beautiful but drop-dead gorgeous.
"Good morning," she said. We all replies in kind. "I'm Tracy Edwards from The Balmoral Insurance Group. Is everyone all right?"
"Everyone here is fine. There was one fatality and the M.E. has taken the body to the morgue for full examination. We're not sure who he or she was. I'm Trevor Samuels. Bill Condon assigned me to this case. I'm investigating on behalf of Balmoral," I said as I shook her hand.
"Tragic," she said as she turned to the Lipton's. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
    How did she know they were the homeowners? Must be the grief-stricken look on their faces. But then, she'd probably seen countless families in this situation and could read their body language like an open book.
"Thank you," the Lipton's said in harmony, except for Jesse who wandered back to the rubble to look around. "We're still quite shaken by everything that's happened."
"That's only natural. I'd be worried if you weren't in shock," Tracy said. "I have a cheque for $1000 for you. You can buy some essentials like clothing and food immediately. I've also booked you a room at the Eastway Motel down the road. It includes a kitchenette with all the usual comforts. The room is yours until your house is re-built and fit for occupancy."
    The Lipton's appeared stunned. "Thank you," Marsha said as she took the cheque from Tracy. "We didn't think the service would be so....immediate."
"I have personally adjusted many total losses, and I find it best to get the ball rolling immediately. That way the clients are inconvenienced as little as possible," Tracy said. "Well, there's no use standing around here. Why don't you go to the bank and cash your cheque, pick up some essentials, and head over to the motel. I'll drop by later and take your statements if that works for you. Do you know where the motel is?"
"Yes, we do, and that sounds fine, thank you," said Peter. He turned to Jesse and bellowed, "JESSE, GET IN THE CAR!"
"Interesting look on that kid," Tracy said.
"Yeah, he's a unique lad, that's for sure," I said as we walked toward the rubble.
    We approached Mike and John, who appeared to be wrapping up their investigation.
"Mike, John, this is Tracy Edwards, the claim adjuster," I said as she shook hands with each of them.
"What's the verdict?" she asked of no one in particular.
"Our preliminary findings match those of the previous two fires," said the fire marshall. "I believe it was arson and an accelerant was used. The fire seems to have been started at the rear West corner of the dwelling, also the same as the other two. We have some tests to complete prior to confirming anything officially, however."
"I see," Tracy said as she turned to me. "Were you the investigator on the other two arsons?"
"I was and still am, they're both open and active cases, though I'm not making much headway."
"In that case, can I review your files for those cases?" she asked.
"Certainly, I have them in my car. Why don't we go to the coffee shop on the corner and review them?"
"Perfect."
    Mike and John shook our hands before returning to the crime scene to wrap up their work. While walking to my car, I took one last look over my shoulder. As I looked at the ruins, I thought, I know what my goals are now. I'm gonna get whoever is doing this…and I'm going to find out why they committed these crimes.



NOTE TO READER

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

THE BACK OF MY MIND. Copyright © 2008 by Steven Payette.
All rights reserved. Printed in The United States of America.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without the express written permission of the author.