Murder Under Fire

By William Snyder

Murder Under Fire involves intrigue, romance, murder, and many intriguing procedural and crime elements that will cause you to desire turning the pages. The hunt for a killer and truth should enthrall readers and keep them on the edge of their seats, hungering to reach that last page. The cat-and-mouse game between Detective Jim Hicks and Mallory should leave the reader breathless as they race through the novel to reach that last page, eager to see how it all ends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098031565

Book preview

1

The weathered gray wooden floor creaked like the bones of an aged man, paining from years of hard labor, as he tiptoed across it. The musty smell of aged wood, old dried livestock feed molding in the corners awaiting rodent disposition, and mildewed dry hay that lay lingering in the haylofts tickled his nose and piqued his fire interest as he carried the can of gasoline to the back of the aged old feed mill.

Nearing the electrical room, he checked to see if the juice was still flowing. It was. Night lights to illuminate intruders would soon kick on, he reasoned, and he had to hurry. As he quickly worked, he thought he heard something, perhaps someone. The perpetrator peered cautiously into the abandoned office through the large glass window. He cupped his hands on the dirty glass and wiped it with the rag he carried so he could peer into the abyss of the darkness better. He could not see anything or anyone and figured it was just his inner conscience bothering him.

Must have been my imagination, he told himself as he eased the small red can into the large three-phase electrical box and poured the volatile accelerate like it was liquid nitroglycerin. The highly flammable fluid quickly turned into a puddle in the bottom of the electrical box and rapidly dripped to the powder-dry floor. He looked around again, thinking once more he had heard someone or something. Hurrying to finish his wicked deed, he laid a length of gas-soaked cloth on the floor. They were grease-soaked rags from his garage dirty rag barrel.

He pulled two wooden matches from the small fiber matchbox; he figured when he ignited one, it could be used to inflame the entire box, then the building. He removed all but a few matches but left sufficient numbers to burst into a blue flame to ignite the volatile greasy, gas-soaked rags. He struck the match and watched it burn for a moment, mesmerized by its intoxicating allure.

Three matches protruded from the fiber box as he touched them with the inflamed match. They ignited in a hiss, like a snake about to strike. He looked up, again thinking he heard someone. As the fire began to quickly expand its ignition area, he went to see if he heard what he thought he heard. Cupping his hands again to the dirty office glass window, he could not see anything. He wiped it clean as the fire began to snap and snarl at him. He could not see anyone and figured it had been a rodent looking for molding grain hidden in corners and crevasses. Must be my imagination playing tricks on me, he assured himself as he felt the heat from the advancing flames. Probably a mouse or rat spooking me.

Careful not to spill any fluent on himself, he eased the small red can into the three-phase electrical box and poured the volatile accelerate like it was nitroglycerin. The highly flammable fluid quickly flowed to a puddle in the bottom of the electrical box and rapidly dripped to the powder-dry floor. He looked quickly all around him once again, assured he had again heard something or someone. Hurrying to finish before the fire got to the main accelerate, he laid a length of gasoline-soaked rags on the floor to guide the advancing flames. The wooden matches were burning down to those in the box quickly, so he waited for the main ignition. With a loud poof, the matchbox burst into full flame.

The hell flames ignited the soaked rag trail, and the fire was on its way. He ran for the back entrance where he entered. Looking back, he wanted to make certain it was doing what he intended it to accomplish. It was. Removing his smelly cloth gloves, he tossed them into the advancing fire. He ran to his pickup, put the gas can in the bed of the truck, and hit the ignition. The big engine in the ’48 Chevrolet roared to life when he turned the key. He had installed a 350-cubic-inch Chevrolet engine in the old truck when in high school. It was his hot rod. His stepmother said it cost more for the truck and improvements than a new pickup, but he enjoyed it more. It was his second passion.

Easing the pickup slowly from the old mill, the sun had fallen rapidly behind the multicolored hills. He eased onto the country two-lane highway and accelerated rapidly to a high speed. So far he had not seen anyone. He felt that was best. He did not have to answer any questions and lie. He left the light and radio on in his garage at home to act as an alibi. The neighbors would swear he was in there working at the time the old grist mill went up in flames and smoke.

While the young arsonist drove down the vaguely traveled country narrow two-lane road to position himself to watch his work, a homeless aged man awakened from a sound, drunken sleep under the aged wooden office desk. He decided to sleep it off under the desk in case someone decided to check on the old mill inside and out. He awakened to the strong odor of gasoline, noxious smoke, and the heat of fire. At first he thought the whiskey was playing tricks on him, but he quickly reasoned the old mill was on fire. He knew there was no night watchman. He reasoned in his fogged thinking that he had to move as quickly as possible to the side exit door where he entered.

He quit drinking, but when his wife got sick and died, he backslid into his old bad habit. How he hated himself for doing that. He knew Sarah would not like it. She was a good Christian, and he loved her dearly. They had been married sixty years and had what he thought to be a good life. The odor of burning wood and the snapping and growling of the flames were rapidly advancing on him. He smelled the strong odor of gasoline once again, and the noxious, poisonous black electrical smoke was after him.

Climbing slowly from under the old desk with more difficulty than he would have liked, the intruder could now see heavy black smoke coming under the door from the back of the building. As he made his way toward the old electrical room holding onto walls, which by now were rapidly become hot, Deemis Goodheart could suddenly see huge orange and red flames, along with thick, black smoke, reaching out for him from the electrical room. He began coughing and choking on the thick poisonous gases hanging low and coming from the snapping and snarling electrical room. The lights suddenly went out. His aged lungs burned.

As Deemis turned to find the exit door, he heard another loud popping sound. The rear exit had been cut off. He thought it to be closer. As he staggered toward the exit, he could hear the creaking, groaning demonic flames coming for him. Deemis could not believe what he was experiencing. He merely stopped for a nap in an old building, a mill he once worked in, to sleep it off. Now he was fighting for his life.

Walking along the interior wall, he could feel it getting hotter. Barely eighty, he lost his wife, then his home because of no life insurance. He lived in halfway houses and wandered the streets of Patterson City. He had not counted on coming face-to-face with the demons of the flames, now rapidly advancing toward him out of the fully involved electrical room and spreading faster than a freight train to arrest the old backslider. The dry building was going up like a matchbox. It immensely frightened him.

The flames were now screaming for the man, calling him. They chased him as though to arrest him. He began to get scared, to tremble as he ran the best he could. The door had not seemed that far away to him. What was taking so long? The flames were after him. He was trying to think, to move faster. He did not think the door was that far from him. He had heard of the killer arsonist roaming the region of Kicksburg, where he had previously lived. He wondered…

Suddenly, without warning, Deemis grabbed his chest. It was like someone had punched him hard on the left side of his chest. He was not a big man, and the doctors said he was in good health after his wife died. It tightened so hard it felt like he had been punched in the chest. He grabbed his shirt and groaned. It now felt like a horse kicked him in the chest. He could not breathe. The smoke grabbed at him, and the pain in his chest slowed him and made him feel like he might pass out. He grimaced and groaned in pain, coughing from the noxious smoke. He held his shirt in a pinching fashion with a tight fist, looking for the doorway. He figured he could not be far from it.

Deemis saw the light coming through the cracks of the doorway. The pain was more than he could bear, but he fought to make it. His chest felt like he had been stabbed and he cried out, Jesus! Here I come. He passed out and slumped to the hot floor. He felt like it was the fires of hell. As he lay on the floor gasping, the pain went up his neck to his brain. It felt like someone was beating him up. His left arm went numb, and he could hardly breathe. It felt like someone punched him in the back as he tried crawling for the door. He could see it through dimming eyes. He could not use his left arm.

The night lights on poles outside suddenly came alive, then died. Wires began popping, snapping, and hissing. Timbers cracked and snapped and crumbled to the floor as the flames engulfed them. He tried crawling, despite the pain. It was not far now. He was coughing from gasses crawling the floor, seeking whom they could devour. He attempted climbing up on his arthritic legs. As he reached out to take the wall with his left hand, it was like sticking his hand into an electrical socket. He grimaced and let go, grabbing his chest and falling again to the floor, coughing hard from the poisonous gases. His lungs burned like they were on fire, and he coughed repeatedly.

It was as though Satan were attacking him like a wicked criminal’s assault. He struck the floor hard with a loud thump. He lay and moaned as his chest seemed to be going to burst under the immense pain. He tried to rise but could not. Suddenly the lights went out on the poles, and Deemis tried pulling himself a few more feet to the door. He could barely breathe, and he felt the flames of hell advancing on him. His breathing began to get slower and slower, and then the pain subsided, or so he thought. He closed his eyes and stopped breathing. His night in the old mill ended, and so did his life.

2

The arsonist sat in his vehicle watching the lights go out; the smoke flowed from the old building. The lights had flickered on then went off several times, finally dying. He knew the fire was eating the old building. A demonic smile crossed his face as he sat up in his pickup to watch closer. He grabbed a pair of binoculars lying on the seat when the sky turned yellow with flames and watched. He was glad there was no night watchman or anyone in the building because it was going up like a dry tinderbox. He figured until the fire companies arrived, it would be nothing more than smoldering ash.

Soon, he heard the fire trucks blaring their sirens. He moved his binoculars to see how many were responding. The screaming sirens and flashing lights could be seen for miles. He figured there must have been at least three companies called out. In front and behind the fire trucks were police cars. To him, it was a circus. He could not understand why all the police cars for a burning old building.

Kevin reached for the key and turned his pickup engine over. It roared to life almost immediately. He decided to head for his apartment and garage. He wanted the neighbors to see him come from the garage. He pulled into the residence on Raspberry Street with no lights. Kevin exited the truck and went into the garage. The garage door went up, and he pulled the pickup inside. He fooled around with a few things before going inside. His apartment was a double house, and he had the one half. It was more house than apartment, but he preferred to call it an apartment.

He got the television remote and turned on the news. The fire at the old mill was the top story. He smiled. Then he saw the medical team carrying out a body on a stretcher, and he nearly threw up. He ran to the TV to get a better look, as if he hadn’t seen what had taken place.

I wonder who that was? he questioned aloud. He did not know anyone was in the old building, but he remembered hearing noises and thinking someone might have been watching him. I didn’t want to kill anyone! he lamented. He paced back and forth and wondered how he might stop setting fires before anyone else was injured or killed. The news reporter at the fire said the charred remains were of an elderly man, perhaps in his eighties. They asked if anyone knew him to contact the local or state police. They also said the state fire marshal would be investigating. The reporter also said an autopsy would be performed on the dead man to determine cause of death.

Reporter Vanessa Fulhouse of the Patterson City Globe newspaper was an attractive young woman, Kevin thought. She was about five feet eight inches tall without high heel shoes, he figured. Her long sand-colored blond hair was always perfect on camera. Kevin thought she should have worked for the local television station rather than the newspaper. She always eluded to being a Christian too, so he stayed clear of her.

The television reporter said the body found in the basement of the old mill was a male, but they had no identification at the moment. The reporter, Mary Godspeed of channel 20, KMER-TV, said police reported having to wait for the coroner’s report to identify the deceased man. She said it would probably take a couple days, according to Coroner Patty Elliot. The station said it would take fire investigators several weeks to sift through the debris. Sources at the scene, Godspeed said, did not think it was the same killer who had been murdering and then setting fires to cover evidence. Preliminary evidence indicated the fire victim was a male, perhaps in his eighties, and had not been murdered, she reported.

State police fire investigator Sergeant Jim Hicks told the reporter he figured in his preliminary investigation of the scene the deceased had been a person traveling, perhaps by hitchhiking, train-hopping, or other mode of travel, and had been in the mill for the night. From the position the firemen found the body, he had been attempting to get to the exit door of the old building, the police said. He may have been there sleeping before the fire began. His involvement in the incident is being investigated. Coroner Patty Elliot of the City Coroner’s Office said the time and mode of death, they would attempt to determine during the autopsy.

Kevin turned the television off. He felt bad about the old man, but he was unaware of him being in the building. And when he set the fire, he thought he heard something. The old man must have been under the desk in the office, Kevin figured. He was careful to burn the gloves he used. They could get no DNA or prints from it. He wanted to stop but could not seem to do it. He enjoyed the fires too much. He had to back off now. He knew of the murders being committed in the Kicksburg area with fire as a cover. It was not him.

State Trooper Jim Hicks went to the coroner’s office. He wanted to be there when they did the autopsy on the old man. He could have been the person he picked up hitchhiking a few days before. He took the old man to a diner and got him something to eat. The man told him a sad story of having lost everything when his wife died and they had no insurance or savings, being on Social Security. The kind old man gave the officer a pocket watch that had been his dad’s. He wanted him to have it for being so kind to him. Sergeant Hicks figured if the old guy had been murdered by the serial killer/arsonist they were hunting, he would see the killer got executed or life without parole.

Sergeant Hicks went into the coroner’s office and was invited to watch the procedure. He declined. I see enough of that, he said and took a seat. I’ll wait until you have him in better shape. I want to see if he’s the man I picked up a day or so ago. The officer held the watch up for the doctor to look at.

Nice watch. Old, but very nice, the doctor said. I should not be long. The deceased was facedown under part of a wall when they found him. You may be able to identify him.

The officer said he would take a look. When he went into the exam room, Deemis was covered. The coroner slowly pulled back the sheet over his face. Yeah, that’s the old guy. Heck of a nice man. Just got a bad deal in his late life, he told me. Too bad. Let me know, Doc, if he was murdered or the fire got ’im.

Sure thing, Officer Hicks. Just hang around awhile, and I will be able to tell you. From my preliminaries, I can see no stab wounds or gunshots. I can’t think an old man living in an abandoned feed mill would have anything worth taking, the coroner said.

He didn’t, really, the cop said, looking at the watch. This serial killer we have wandering around the region doesn’t care about what they are carrying. He just wants to kill them. Okay, Doc, get to work and let me know?

Yep. Won’t be long, Officer, Coroner Patty Elliot said.

Officer Hicks went to his cruiser and checked his computer. He radioed dispatch and informed him of his position and that he was awaiting the coroner’s report. Patty said about a half hour. She was going to check his heart first. She found no abrasions, stab wounds or bullet punctures, he told dispatch.

He took out Deemis’s watch and looked at it again, rubbing it with his right thumb. I’ll get ’im for you, Deemis, he promised himself, and the old man on the slab.

The coroner came to the door and waved the officer into her lab. He got out of his unit, locked his doors, and put Deemis’s watch in its rightful place. Hicks adjusted his gun belt and went in. What did you find killed the old man? Officer Hicks questioned.

He was a sturdy old guy, but his heart went out on him. He had gasses from the fire in his lungs, so he must have been near the floor to ingest some of the gasses I found in the man’s lungs. I think he was fleeing the fire, got the heart attack, and then fought to get to the door. From the abrasions on his knees and elbows, I say the old guy was crawling for the door while in terrible pain with his heart. After a few moments, he wouldn’t have been able to breathe, and the smoke wouldn’t have been a factor. However, the heavy poisonous gasses that flow low along the floor were not helping his heart problem. It could have kicked it into operation, really. The heart does not take kindly to the type of heavy gases fires push along the low places.

Then he wasn’t murdered, but just got caught in a bad place at a bad time? Sergeant Hicks asked.

About it, Officer. Have you found yet if the fire was set or accidental? the coroner asked.

Set, Hicks said. The smell of gas was overwhelming. And we found a pair of charred work gloves we don’t think were left there by any worker. I don’t know if the lab can get anything from them or not. They were burned pretty well. Our chemist will be able to determine if they were used to dispense the gas though. Just no DNA, prints, or labels on the gloves. They were on fire when the firemen got them. They were going to toss them, but I yelled to them to bag ’em.

Too bad. You believe it to have been the killer arsonist who has been working this area?

No. In every fire we have found a murdered body it was him…or her. He kills his victims first, then sets the fire to cover any possible evidence. Other than water, fire kills a lot of evidence. But unlike water, fire can leave behind some pretty good clues. We are amassing enough with the killer to one day put him, or her, away. I think it’s a male really. If not, the woman is strong. Victims were dragged from the kill sight to a better disposition of clues in the set fire.

The coroner was a stalky woman, about five feet four inches tall and in her early fifties with graying black hair to her shoulders. She had been a physician’s assistant prior to winning the coroner’s job. Officer Hicks could not figure why anyone would want such a job. Deemis was in pretty bad shape when he was brought in by ambulance. The firemen have seen some pretty badly burned people in auto accidents and homes, but they thought the old man was pretty badly gone. Coroner Elliot said a deceased body the size of the victim would be pretty heavy for a woman to have moved around a murder site like they had been.

"From the position and size of former murder/fire victims recently, I think you’d be looking for a male, perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, perhaps older, who was either once in prison and lifted weights, or lifted on the outside. But if I were you, Officer, I would look into recent releases from area and state prisons. This arsonist has been doing this perhaps from his youth.

I believe if you check motives of some recently paroled or released convicts once convicted of arson but not murder, you might find the man’s identity. He’s been doing this, I would bet, from his youth, like I said. When he began murdering people, I wouldn’t have a clue. But that should give you a good jump-start, the coroner said.

Sergeant Hicks was taking notes. He had a few subjects in mind and would check them out. Thanks, Doc. You’ve been a big help. It’s good to know if the old man was murdered first though. If his heart did not give out, he may have made it out.

I think he could have, Elliot said. The old guy killed himself, really.

The officer shook the coroner’s hand, after she removed her gloves and tossed them. He got into his cruiser and radioed for information on anyone who had been released recently from a state prison who had been incarcerated for arson with suspected but unproved murder. Dispatch gave him four possible suspects. Hicks turned the key to his cruiser and headed for Albion prison, a rather hardened criminal animal cage, he called it. Most of the convicts incarcerated at Albion were career criminals, and many were murderers. He wanted to see if any had escaped or were paroled early. He could not understand why they would release an arsonist suspected of murder.

Hicks got a call on his phone from the fire investigator at the mill fire. The building had been totally destroyed, but the investigator wanted him to look at some things he found on the site. Sergeant Hicks hit the siren and headed for the mill.

Once there, he went to the collapsed, still-smoldering building. State Fire Inspector John Elkenberger, a former fireman in Patterson City with a bachelor of science degree in fire investigations, was there. His wife and two children cringed when the fire whistle blew and he had to go to investigate. They knew a killer was on the loose and worried about him.

What have you found for me, John? the cop asked.

Elkenberger was kneeling and bagging something. I do not believe this was the work of our killer arsonist, but I think it was done by an amateur arsonist, a beginner, if you will. He probably did not know the old man was in the building. He just wanted to get his fire kicks, I believe, the investigator said.

I think the killer arsonist has us all spooked. So you think this may have been by a copycat arsonist? Just what we need, the cop said.

Yeah, I think so. It was definitely arson. But I don’t think he knew the old man was in here. And it was a man, according to the glove size. We also found tracks from a vehicle behind the old mill. I think he set the fire, then went to a safe place to watch the action. Real fire fan.

I’ll check out tracks in hiding places and make a cast of them, the officer said. Then I’ll cruise the area to see where a good visual sight might be. Perhaps he left me something there too.

I think we have two arsonists now, one a killer, the other a copycat. Satan is at work, Officer.

Yeah, he is. I’m wondering when he will go after the reporters. If they continue to cover him, he may not. Or he may try and kill the one he likes the most. Sick dude, to be sure, the cop said.

Who do you suspect he may go after? the fire investigator asked.

I don’t know really. He could go after the hot chick reporter at KMER TV, Mary Godspeed. She’s a knockout. She teams with cameraman Dick Philips all the time. She’s about midthirties, and he’s in his midfifties, I’m told. He could still handle a killer who attacked them. The reporter could dial 911 while the cameraman was busy with the suspect, the officer said.

Yeah, but if the killer/arsonist was after him, police may not arrive in time and both would be dead, the fire investigator said.

"True, but she told me she would take a photo of the guy if that happened. And the cameraman carries a small automatic pistol, just in case, so I’m thinking the killer may go after the newspaper reporter, Vanessa Fulhouse of the Globe. She works alone, but I am told she has been also carrying a weapon because of the killer/arsonist, the officer said. She’s also a beauty."

She’s an attractive young woman, the fire investigator agreed.

Yeah, she is. In high heels, she’s over five-eight inches, I’m told. That blond hair below her shoulders is a sure attraction, the officer said. While both are attractive targets for our boy, I think he would go after the newspaper reporter because she works alone.

That would be a real shame, and crime, the fire inspector said with a big