Chapter 2 - The Device Inside the Boot)
Firefighters filled Bennett Street before Mark could force another answer from Margaret.
Neighbors gathered behind flashing emergency lights.
Caitlyn sat wrapped in a blanket on the back step of an ambulance while a paramedic checked her breathing.
Mark never moved more than a few feet away.
Every time Caitlyn looked at him, he was watching her.
Not Margaret.
Not Samantha.
Her.
As if he feared she might disappear the moment he looked elsewhere.
The fire was contained quickly.
According to the first firefighter who spoke with Mark, the blaze had begun near the bedroom dresser.
The flames had not yet reached the entire room.
That should have been reassuring.
It wasn't.
"Could it have started accidentally?" Mark asked.
The firefighter hesitated.
"The investigator will determine that."
Mark understood the hesitation.
Possible.
But unlikely.
Across the yard Margaret spoke quietly with a police officer.
Samantha sat alone on the porch steps.
She had stopped crying the moment the police arrived.
Now she looked annoyed.
Caitlyn noticed.
She noticed everything.
"Daddy?"
Mark crouched.
"I'm here."
"Are they going to take Mom away?"
Mark's jaw tightened.
"I don't know."
"Was it my fault?"
"No."
The answer came instantly.
"No, Caitlyn. Nothing about tonight was your fault."
She looked toward Samantha.
"She said I needed a lesson."
Mark followed her gaze.
"What lesson?"
Caitlyn hesitated.
"The papers."
"What papers?"
"The ones I saw."
Margaret suddenly stopped speaking to the officer.
Even from thirty feet away, Mark noticed.
He turned back to Caitlyn.
"What papers, bug?"
"I wasn't supposed to see them."
"Where?"
"Mom's office."
Margaret had converted the smallest downstairs room into what she called her household office. Caitlyn was rarely allowed inside.
Two days earlier, while looking for colored pencils, Caitlyn had entered and found a folder on Margaret's desk.
She could not read all the words.
But she could read names.
Her father's.
Her mother's.
Samantha's.
And hers.
One sentence had been underlined in red.
Emergency transfer of custodial authority.
Caitlyn had asked Samantha what it meant.
Samantha had snatched the folder away.
That had been the beginning.
The missing dessert.
The accusations.
The punishment.
The locked door.
Mark listened without interrupting.
When Caitlyn finished, he stood very slowly.
Margaret was already approaching.
"Mark, she needs rest."
"Emergency transfer of custodial authority."
Margaret stopped.
Samantha looked over.
Mark held Margaret's gaze.
"What is it?"
"Not here."
"Then where?"
"Inside."
"The house is full of firefighters."
"We can talk tomorrow."
"No."
His voice carried across the yard.
Several neighbors turned.
Mark lowered it.
"We talk tonight."
Margaret glanced toward Caitlyn.
"You're frightening her."
"You locked her in a burning room."
"I did not start that fire."
"You didn't open the door."
Margaret's face hardened.
"It was smoke for a few seconds."
Mark stared at her.
He could not comprehend the sentence.
A police officer stepped closer.
"Mr. Bennett."
Mark exhaled.
The officer continued.
"We'll need statements from everyone."
"Good."
Margaret's eyes flashed.
"Mark."
He turned away from her.
The device remained in his pocket.
He had not shown it to police.
Not yet.
He did not understand what was on it.
The device was something he had purchased six months earlier after noticing unexplained withdrawals from the family savings account.
A miniature audio recorder.
He had hidden it in the old boot because Margaret had begun searching drawers and checking his phone.
Mark had suspected an affair.
He felt ashamed now.
An affair seemed almost ordinary.
He had placed the recorder in Margaret's car twice.
Then in her office.
Three weeks ago, he had stopped listening.
Not because he trusted her.
Because what he heard made less and less sense.
Names.
Addresses.
Numbers.
One repeated phrase.
Bennett Street has to be cleared before October.
He had assumed it involved real estate.
Margaret worked part-time with her brother's property company.
Maybe it was business.
Then Mark had placed the recorder under his insole before leaving for a job.
When he returned, the boot had been moved.
He had planned to check the recording that weekend.
He never did.
Now Caitlyn had pulled it from beneath her bed.
That meant someone else had deliberately hidden it there.
Or someone had discovered it.
Mark's phone rang.
His brother Daniel.
Mark stepped away from the others.
"Yeah?"
"I saw the trucks. What happened?"
"Fire."
"Everyone okay?"
"Caitlyn almost wasn't."
Silence.
"What do you mean?"
Mark looked at Margaret.
"Can you come?"
"I'm twenty minutes away."
"Come alone."
Daniel heard something in his voice.
"Mark?"
"Just come."
Mark ended the call.
The fire investigator emerged from the house carrying a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a small metal cylinder.
Mark stared at it.
"What is that?"
The investigator looked toward the police officer.
"We found this beside the wastebasket."
Margaret's breathing changed.
The investigator continued.
"It appears to be part of an electronic ignition device."
Mark looked at his wife.
Margaret shook her head.
"I have never seen that."
Samantha stood.
"Mom?"
"Caitlyn," Margaret said suddenly.
Everyone turned.
Margaret pointed at her own seven-year-old daughter.
"She likes taking things apart."
Mark took one step toward her.
The police officer raised a hand.
"Mr. Bennett."
Mark stopped.
Margaret's voice remained calm.
"She's curious. She plays with tools. Mark teaches her."
Caitlyn looked confused.
"I didn't make that."
"I know," Mark said.
Margaret continued, "I'm simply saying investigators should consider every possibility."
Mark's rage became something colder.
His wife was not panicking.
She was building a story.
A story in which Caitlyn had accidentally started the fire.
A story in which nobody had locked the door.
A story in which Mark was an angry father who might lash out.
Then he understood why Samantha had been provoking him.
Why she had smirked.
Why Margaret had stepped between them.
Maybe they wanted him to hit Samantha.
Maybe that had been part of it.
He put his hand into his pocket.
The recorder.
Evidence.
Before he could remove it, Daniel's pickup turned onto Bennett Street.
Mark felt the first faint trace of relief.
Then Daniel parked.
The passenger door opened.
A man in a gray suit stepped out.
Caitlyn immediately stood.
Her blanket fell to the ground.
"Daddy."
Mark's blood went cold.
"What?"
Caitlyn pointed.
"That's him."
The stranger looked directly at Mark.
May you like
A silver ring gleamed on his right hand.
"The man from Mom's office."
