So Weeps the Willow - 20. Discovery 10

Excerpts from deposition of Novice/Acting Firefighter Brandon Freeman taken on January 7^rd 20XX at 9:20 am in the Hennepin County Courthouse, Room F18

In the matter of Sunset Pawn, conducted by Hennepin County District Attorney’s office regarding fact findings leading to. . .

ADA: What was the first thing you did after carrying Ms. Thompson from the building?

Freeman: The EMT present gave her oxygen and was tending to her, so my supervisor and I returned to the fire suppression by the other members of the team.

ADA: By Stangeland, you mean Firefighter Brenda Stangeland?

Freeman: Yes.

ADA: How long did it take to put out the fire?

Freeman: Not too long. We were using water since it appeared to be generated by a faulty heater. It took only about ten minutes after rescue operations were concluded to stop it.

ADA: Then what did you do?

Freeman: Brenda, I mean, Stangeland and I entered the structure and looked at the patterns in the area where the heater was situated. There were large splattered burn marks on the floor, on the wall behind the heater, and on the counter behind it.

ADA: And?

Freeman: Stangeland took pictures. I measured the marks, collected samples of the burned surfaces, and recorded her narrative of the scene. Then we secured the heater in an evidence bin and exited the scene.

ADA: What preliminary findings did you have about this fire?

Freeman: At first, it appeared the heater was faulty, but upon examination, we saw the heater had blisters in the paint on the far side of it. The heater was switched on, but the splatter patterns were inconsistent with any kind of explosion. In addition, from the soot samples we were able to conclude the accelerant was gasoline.

ADA: Why is that significant?

Freeman: The heater in question is a kerosene heater. It doesn’t use gasoline to fire. It requires kerosene to operate.

ADA: So was the fire caused by the operator using gasoline in the heater instead of kerosene?

Freeman: No. Chemical analysis from the heater shows it was kerosene in the heater’s tank. Accelerant was splashed around the heater fueling the fire. The heater probably ignited the gasoline, starting the fire, but someone had deliberately used gasoline to spread to the walls, floor, and counter.

ADA: You believe this is an arson case?

Freeman: We think so. Someone threw gasoline around the kerosene heater, then turned it on, therefore causing the building fire.

ADA: I’ll reserve the witness for deposition at a later date. You are released, Mr. Freeman.

***

Sawyer Bailey looked eagerly at Rush, waiting for the detective to talk. His gray hair was carefully combed, but his collar was sticking up in back. He’d thrown on the suitcoat without care. The wrinkles on the shirt showed a kind of desperate response.

Rush had called the businessman asking for an interview. He felt he needed to clarify a couple of things with the owner of the safety switch manufacturer.

First, he needed to know more about the product. Something about the broken switch in the Ogden case wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t sure exactly what, and if Bailey could describe his product, maybe some answers would be forthcoming.

Or more questions.

That’s the point of an investigation, Rush reminded himself. Investigations were rarely clear forward exercises. In his experience, questions usually lead to more questions. Leads were followed that came to dead ends, cul de sacs which occurred within the facts, and then you had to backtrack and look down different paths asking more questions which brought an investigator into more avenues of inquiry.

Only the truth was a final destination. That was immaterial, right now. The goal was still nebulous.

Rush decided he’d start with his second reason for the meeting. His good news. Something that would make the guy happy.

“You know the accident in Richfield with the kerosene heater?”

Bailey’s face fell. His mouth twisted. “I knew that would come back to bite us in the ass. I can’t figure out how—”

“It’s not a flaw in your switch. I just got off the phone with a police detective for Hennepin County named Hammond. He told me the fire investigators are sure it was arson, not a failed switch, and that’s what caused that pawn shop fire. You can stop worrying about that. They are looking into the store owner’s finances and some products he’s been moving that aren’t on his inventory lists.”

“You mean the news stories all had it wrong?”

Rush nodded and handed over a piece of paper. On the top it had the letterhead of the Minneapolis Fire Department. The businessman read it quickly and looked back up at Rush.

“This is fantastic news.” Sitting back, he added, “Now if only we could get the reporters to issue a retraction on the ridiculous accusations they’d made.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Rush said with a resigned sigh. “Channel Two has a news segment clarifying the situation and the Minneapolis Messenger is printing a story about the arson investigation. These stories are both quite explicit on how it couldn’t have been the heater. Not that it will help.”

“No, but it’s better than a kick in the shorts, I guess,” Bailey responded. Then, he perked up. “Any other good news?”

“That’s as good as it gets so far.” Rush paused. “I did have a few questions only you can answer.”

“Fire away,” Bailey answered immediately. “It’s what I’m paying you for, or perhaps what my insurer is paying you to do.”

Rush pulled out a notebook.

“First of all, how does this switch of yours work?”

“How technical do you want me to be?” the older man asked. “It’s a very simple product that operates on a simple idea, but the application is a little tricky.”

Rush tapped his pen against his cheek. “Start telling me about how it works and if I’m confused, I’ll stop you.”

Bailey opened his mouth and then closed it. He fidgeted in his chair, then started. “You know what carbon monoxide is, right?

“I do. It’s a byproduct of burning fuel and it’s lethal in large doses.”

Bailey tented his hands and placed his elbows on the conference table. “Carbon monoxide is a natural substance that occurs whenever we oxidize any fuel. When there is enough oxygen present, the carbon compounds in things like wood or gasoline combust creating heat and that releases carbon dioxide, the main byproduct of burning. There is also a little bit of carbon monoxide emitted even with a perfect burning environment.”

“Okay,” Rush said, taking notes. “Continue.”

“When there is an oxygen deficiency, there can still be combustion, but instead of carbon dioxide, it will instead produce heat and carbon monoxide, with only one oxygen atom attached to one carbon atom. This is a very unstable molecule.”

“Gotcha,” the detective said, wishing Bailey would move along.

“Carbon dioxide isn’t dangerous for animals until it gets to really high levels, which hardly ever happens. Also, the air around us contains a small amount of carbon dioxide at all times. But, because carbon monoxide is so unstable, ordinary air contains almost none of it in its natural state.”

Rush stopped taking notes. “Maybe I wasn’t clear in my question to you.”

“Bear with me,” the older man said. “There’s a reason I’m explaining the chemistry to you.”

Rush nodded.

“Once I realized I could detect small amounts of carbon monoxide without worrying about carbon dioxide, I could make my switch. My switch works because only carbon monoxide reacts to the chemicals in my device. Once the chemicals are altered by the reaction of the gas on the palladium salts, the switch turns off.”

“What if the switch is damaged? Then it can’t turn off the heater?” Rush asked, expecting the worst, but hoping. For what? He didn’t know.

Bailey shook his head. “What makes my device so useful is it won’t work if it’s damaged.”

“That’s the problem. If the switch is damaged, it can’t turn off the heater.” Rush said.

“No.” Bailey said slowly. “The heater won’t work if the switch is damaged. My device is in between the ignitor on the fuel line going to the burner. If the device is damaged, the fuel won’t flow and the heater won’t start. If the detector senses carbon monoxide, it cuts the fuel to the burner.”

“It’s a fail-safe device,” Rush said, now scribbling furiously. “But, what if the switch is damaged after the heater has ignited?”

“It shuts down,” Bailey said confidently. “We’ve tested it carefully in several ways and it only fails to shut down when deliberately bypassed. Otherwise it stops the heater from working.”

Rush finished writing and looked at Bailey’s face, which was now puzzled. “They didn’t find anything bypassing the switch, but it was definitely broken. Why didn’t it stop?”

“That’s the question that will make or break this case,” Rush said. “Why didn’t the heater shut down?”

***

Twyla was sitting in a conference room with her husband’s oncologist. The doctor, in her late thirties with auburn hair and a perpetual scowl, was peering over her glasses at an electronic tablet. Twyla could tell from Dr. Shelby’s facial tweaks that the news wasn’t good.

Steve was in his hospital room recovering from the second surgery, the one that removed his other testicle. His cancer was a particularly aggressive one, first showing up as a nodule on his left testes and then spreading to his other. Now a series of chemotherapy rounds and two surgeries later, she was waiting for the news her husband was going to be okay.

Okay. That’s all she hoped for at this point. Let Steve be okay and not dying. She didn’t think she could handle anymore death and illness and suffering.

Last night, the night before his surgery, he’d cried in her arms, weeping about no longer being a man. He was scared she wouldn’t look at him in the same way, and her words weren’t adequate.

In the end, she took him in her hands and showed him. Twyla straddled him and made him feel like Steve again. At least, that’s how he finally fell asleep. Finally, not crying or moping, but with a gentle smile on his face.

This morning he’d acted like nothing happened, except the love. He’d kissed her deep and long, holding her chin in his hand. He thanked her, and she felt okay.

Okay.

“Mrs. Smith.”

“Please, call me Twyla,” she answered the doctor without thinking. She was still feeling Steve’s hand on her face from the morning.

“The bloodwork we took today is showing signs of additional cancer elsewhere.”

Her reaction was instant. “Last week you told us removing his second testicle would stop it.” Twyla heard the bitterness and accusation in her tone. “I’m sorry, but wasn’t that why he had surgery today?”

The doctor laid down the tablet. “It’s even more aggressive than we thought. I’m sorry about that, but sometimes really fast-moving malignancies spread quickly.”

“Aren’t you supposed to anticipate things like this?” Twyla barked. “Now my husband has lost both his testicles and still has cancer. Is this acceptable?”

She stood up quickly. “Don’t you people think about how difficult it is dealing with things like this? My husband is scared. I’m scared. And all you people do is screw with us!”

Twyla picked up her coat and bag and stormed from the conference room. She raced to a seat in a waiting room across the hall only a few feet away.

As she collapsed into a chair, her tears leaking from her eyes, a hot sense of frustration, and anger washed over her in waves. Twyla rubbed her eyes dry and took a deep breath.

They weren’t doing enough.

They were doing everything they could.

It wasn’t enough.

Steve still had cancer.

She was all alone in this.

Sniffling, she opened her purse and pulled out a tissue. Wiping her cheeks and nose, Twyla saw the doctor exit the conference room. Their eyes met only for a second, and then the doctor nodded once and walked down the hall away from her.

Twyla felt shame bubble up in her stomach. The doctor was only doing her job. She’d made a fool of herself, shouting, running from the room, and crying her eyes out. What kind of nut was she?

A noise made her look up and over.

An older man was sitting in a chair across from her, staring at the TV screen. It was some morning talk show. He was focused entirely on the program, his eyes riveted.

Twyla noticed his face was very white, ashen, and his lips were trembling. It was only then she saw his hands had clenched the armrests of the chair so tightly, his veins and sinews bulged. His grip was almost frenzied and yet his attention was on the screen.

He was mouthing words to himself. Twyla thought she could read what he was repeating to himself, over and over.

‘Not her. Not her. Not her. Not her.’

Twyla wanted to comfort the man, but he looked like he was barely holding it together. Whatever had happened, she could see he was processing it -- or not.

Her phone buzzed and she picked it up. Looking at the screen, she saw it was from the attorney.

She didn’t want to take the call. So much had happened in the last few minutes, so many bad things. She wanted to get some water, go for a walk, and then re-approach Dr. Shelby and apologize for her outburst.

The phone buzzed again, and without thinking, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Twyla, this is Laura Hardinger. How are things going today?”

Twyla almost laughed at the question. “Fine, I guess. Is there something important?”

“I wanted to let you know we are moving into the next stage of the case. We have subpoenaed records from Bailey Safety Systems. We served the deposition notice on the company’s president. He will be questioned about his shoddy product and we will find out what happened.”

“That’s quick,” Twyla said. “I thought that wasn’t until later this winter.”

“No,” Laura said brightly. “We have decided to pursue this aggressively. We gave Bailey and his insurance carrier a reasonable demand, and in return, his law firm hired a private investigator. We believe they are intending to smear your brother’s name and use every dirty trick they can to stop this lawsuit. He’s been questioning the witnesses in this case and suggesting foul play.”

“Foul play?” Twyla exclaimed. “What does that mean?”

Laura continued. “This detective of theirs is working for Sawyer Bailey the owner of the company that makes these faulty switches. Our sources have suggested they are trying to make this a criminal case which is ridiculous.”

“Who told you this?” Twyla asked.

“That doesn’t matter. We think this may be a way the defendant intends to either delay justice being served or blame someone else for their shit--, er, defective product. This is a product that failed to work which lead to your brother’s death.”

“How are you going to stop them?” She was really confused now. There were images of Steve in his recovery room, the doctor talking to her, and something else nagging at her. Twyla was numb.

“As I said earlier, we are asking for a trial date sooner rather than later, getting the CEO of this company deposed, and looking through his testing records for the flaws and failures which led to this horrific situation.” Laura Hardinger was sounding quite revved up, and ready for battle.

“I still don’t understand how you found out this investigator is making it a criminal case.”

Hardinger didn’t answer at first. The call was silent for so long, Twyla said, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” she finally responded. It was now soft and conspiratorial. “One of the witnesses this so-called ‘detective’ has been questioning told us. The guy’s name is Rush Romer and he made the witness think there has been a crime committed. That could blow this all up.”

***

“How was your date last night?” Ben asked, scooting the scrambled eggs onto a plate that already contained two pieces of toast and a mound of hash browns. A large bowl of fresh fruit was sitting on the counter, and Rush grabbed it and placed it on the kitchen table.

“It was great. We went to the mall, hung out, had some pizza, and chilled out. D’s great.”

Ben set the full plate in front of Clay and the teen dug in, demolishing a big forkful of eggs followed by a mouthful of toast.

“So, are you seeing him again?”

Clay shrugged. “I’m too young to get exclusive.”

Ben laughed and Rush sat down at the table. “I think that’s about right.”

Clay saw Rush grinning at Ben who beamed back. The two guys were so happy. They were kind of the ideal, to him at least. If only…

“Do we have anything else to discuss?” Judd asked, smoothing back his straight, black hair. It wasn’t long or short, just shorn perfectly and framing a face that was oval and handsome, with the dark shadow of a beard most teenaged boys didn’t have yet.

“Our meeting should be entirely gender-neutral,” Cammy Stewart announced. She was always bringing up gender this and cis that. Clay wasn’t exactly sure what ‘cis’ even was.

“I believe I’ve been gender-neutral this entire meeting,” Judd responded, smiling at her.

Clay watched her seethe, because it was true. Judd just refused to enforce it when some of the other people didn’t use her preferred speech codes. At least, that’s what he thought happened.

“She just needs a girlfriend,” D said, smirking, with his brown eyes twinkling. D was a football player and a natural athlete in all sports. Clay could only guess how the lanky, handsome, tall, man would be in bed.

“That’s offensive,” Cammy pouted.

“I’d say,” Kenny added. Kenny was the ultimate sexy, gay geek. He had short light brown hair and wore glasses that glinted silver in the overhead lights. He was the first to raise his hand in class, and Clay could only guess what holding him in his arms would be like; talking about a movie or a museum exhibit or something smart. “Cammy being intimate with anyone is pretty gross.”

Some of the GSA laughed. Others rose to her defense, and the meeting ended as it always did. Messy. Incomplete. And without Clay having said a word. Not since the first meeting had ended so poorly, had Clay said a thing.

At the first meeting, Clay had talked about being from a small town and how hard it was to meet other boys. Nobody had said a word. After he finished talking, he realized no one was looking at him. Their eyes were trained on the floor, or the wall with the world map, or outside the window, or in D’s case, the closed door. Nobody had acknowledged his experience, and then Judd called the meeting to an end.

Clay hadn’t returned for at least a month, but then summoned the courage to go. Encouraged by Rush, who didn’t know they’d given him the silent treatment. Rush thought they had been shy and nervous, not rude, and the teen hadn’t revealed his impressions.

People smiled at him. They were cordial, but icy.

Cammy kind of walked around him, like he was contagious. Judd was very polite, and then would dismiss him completely. Kenny was sort of friendly, the second time, then he too gave Clay the cold shoulder. D wouldn’t speak to him, at all. It was like Clay wasn’t there.

Some of the other kids also were standoffish or worse.

He wasn’t sure why, until he asked Kenny out for ice cream one afternoon.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea. People like to talk,” was the teen’s response.

That made Clay crawl even deeper into his shell, until the day his neck got burned. He didn’t smoke anything, but the only people he could hang out with at lunch were the burnout girls. They’d talk to him a little and then go outside and smoke a cig or some weed. A girl called Jazzmine, tried to tie his hair back. A cig hanging out of her mouth it hit his neck, leaving a little red mark. Clay didn’t even remember it had happened.

Ben thought it was a hickey.

Clay had been pretending, for Ben and Rush’s sake, that he had friends and dates. If he didn’t, they’d worry, and he was happy enough the way things were. Dating was probably not a good idea for him so soon after…him. But, the hickey changed things, because now he had to give his ‘dates’ names. So, Clay told them about meetings with Kenny, then Judd, and now D.

After all, if those boys didn’t think he was creepy, he’d certainly have dated them. Hell, he could see dating the hell out of Judd, with his creamy skin and dark eyes.

And then Clay had the fifty-dollar bill from Rush.

Following the GSA meeting, he’d asked everyone out for ice cream at the Dairy Queen two blocks from the high school. Six of them agreed, and together they walked down the street, Kenny talking with Judd, D trailing behind with another boy named Cristof, and two girls whose names he didn’t know walked on either side down the street with Clay.

He got everybody’s order and Kenny waited to help him carry the various Dilly bars, sundaes, and Blizzards to the group. Kenny never said anything to him. Clay was too nervous to speak.

After they collected the treats, Kenny said his thanks quietly, almost like no one else could hear.

They walked over to the group and as they neared, Clay heard D say, ‘How do you think he got the money?”

The rest of the group laughed, and Clay felt his red, prickly skin try crawling off his face. They were talking about him, and it was the worst. He couldn’t bear it. Their eyes were dissecting him.

He handed out the ice cream, took his butterscotch Dilly bar, and walked back to school. Humiliated.

“Clay, did you hear Rush?” Ben asked, nudging the teen’s arm.

“What? No, I’m sorry,” Clay answered.

“So, if D isn’t the one, who’s next on the list?” Rush asked.

Clay didn’t answer, but blushed and smiled. “We’ll see.”