Page 55 of Love Again

“Sure she does, look at her. Like a ghost. That’s a judge in the next county. Judge Oliver Barr. Oliver Raymond Barr. The biggest jackass—sorry—I have never had the pleasure of meeting.”

It’s like there’s a vice on my chest, tightening quickly, cruelly. My stomach churns. I should have had more than coffee.

Luke’s voice is soft. “Is that the—”

“That’s the man who hit our car.”

“Say what?” Turrow’s eyebrows rise.

“He killed my parents.”

It’s like time stands still for a moment, and both men try to lead me out of the building, as if removing me from the unit will somehow help. I shrug them off.

“I’m fine,” I say, aware that trying to keep my jaw from quivering is hard. Luckily, Luke decides to take my lead and not fight me. I direct my question at Turrow. “How did you link him to the fires?”

Turrow starts shaking his head. “There’s not a perfect line. And it’s not quite all of them, but there’s something there.” He starts thumbing through data on his phone. “Marlboro apartment fire, two units. Owned by Marblehead Home Associates. Guess who’s on the board of directors of that joint? Our judge. Then we got—here, look.” He flashes the phone in our direction. “A beach cabin hotel thing in Portsmouth. Guess who used to own it?” He makes a face. “York trailer park. He actually still owned the trailer that went up. Hadn’t rented it in years and it was abandoned, but it was torched. The forensics woman here said it was due to combustibles left in the unit.” The “Bullsheeeat” comes under his breath.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” says Luke, looking at me.

“Hell no,” Turrow says. “The line fizzles after this. Old Orchard Beach was a Ferris wheel that went. Made the news. An old wooden one, up in flames. Couldn’t find a link until . . . until, I found out through a foot patrolman that Barr’s son was there the same day with a friend.”

“What about the ones further up the coast?”

Turrow makes another face. “That’s where the leads die. I can’t get Portland PD to cooperate with me. They think I’m some old codger with two brain cells.”

“What about this?” says Luke, and he takes out the bottle with the baby tooth.

It’s as if we showed Turrow the world’s largest diamond.

“Sweet Jezus,” he says. “May I?” It sounds comically formal.

He takes it and stares at it.

“Two more were found in Portland and one in Rockland.”

Turrow looks as if we’re going to produce more specimens right now.

“We’re going to the Portland PD next,” I explain.

He hands the bottle back to Luke, but his gaze is fixated on the small white tooth. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Arsonists don’t leave clues.”

Luke catches my glance.

“We’re not sure they’re clues in the usual sense.”

“Any connection to Judge Barr with this fire?”

Turrow gives us both a sideways glance. “Oh yeah. That’s how I made him,” he says. “Right here. This was his unit. And the last person here according to video footage was his son’s friend. A kid named Jimmy Whitehead.”

Chapter Fourteen

Luke

The Portland police station is clean, efficient, and positively cosmopolitan compared to Rockland. The building, rectangular and brick with coppery windows and some neatly acute angles, is dedicated to the department. No sharing space with a museum and touristy foot traffic.

I suddenly realize why Carlson has a history with the department. Lieutenant Jade Falcon is a fiery redhead, brisk and to the point, and has a picture of Jack Carlson on the wall behind her. When she isn’t looking, I read the caption. They were both receiving awards from the governor four years ago. There were many more recent awards hanging on the wall as well.

An accomplished woman.