Silent Rain Read online

  The construction crews were busy erecting a temporary metal frame in the living room. An interior wall bowed precariously. Exposed ceiling beams were hanging down at odd angles.

  “They’re trying to reinforce what’s left of the structure but there’s a good chance they’ll have to tear a few walls down before we can risk moving in to investigate the site.”

  “That will delay things a bit,” said Macy.

  “It will also compromise the crime scene.”

  Macy knelt down and studied a blackened book page. It crumbled to dust when she touched it. “The fire must have been intense to cause so much damage.”

  “Didn’t help that the fire department was caught up with those other arson attacks that were happening all over town last night. There was a delay getting here.” Ryan pointed to what was left of an upstairs window. Ribbons of black drapes fluttered in the breeze. “Given how rapidly the fire spread, I doubt Peter and Hannah Granger could have been saved, but it would be nice if we had a bit more evidence to work with.”

  “Have the neighbors been interviewed?”

  “You’ll have to ask Brad Hastings. When I arrived there were cops everywhere.”

  Macy left Ryan to get on with his work and walked back out into the middle of the road. Quite a few people had gathered next to a police cordon. Some were taking photos. Others were staring. A small group of young women stood apart from the others. They huddled together, clutching coffee cups to their chests like talismans. Given their ages, Macy guessed they could be students from the college. One was weeping on another’s shoulder. Two were speaking in low voices. The last was studying her cell phone, a large black dog with a gray muzzle leaned against her legs.

  A construction worker shouted out a warning and the crew scattered in all directions as an interior wall collapsed. Supporting timbers snapped under the weight of the upper floors. Several crashed down into the living room. The four-poster bed took a direct hit. In some places the upper floors were now sandwiched on top of one another. A solid oak staircase that was central to the house appeared to be the only thing propping up it up.

  Ryan emerged from a cloud of dust.

  “We’re screwed. Half the ceiling just caved in on our bodies,” he said.

  “Will we be able to tell what damage is postmortem?”

  “Difficult to say at this point. I’ll let you know when my team is cleared for access.”

  “When you saw the victims earlier did you see any indication of foul play?”

  “They actually looked as if they could have died in their sleep, which is quite an accomplishment considering they dropped through the ceiling and their bodies were badly burned. I’d show you the photos but I know how you feel about these things.”

  “I’m trying to grow thicker skin,” said Macy.

  “I like that you’re squeamish. Shows you’re human.”

  “I wish everyone at work saw it like that.”

  “So, how are we going to proceed?”

  “I’m going to run with what the fire crews have told us. At this point they’re our only witnesses. Until we know differently I’m going to assume it’s arson and we have a murder investigation on our hands.” She paused. “Let’s keep that out of the press for now though.”

  A Bolton PD patrol car pulled up to the cordon and the onlookers cleared the way long enough for it to be let through.

  “Have you met Hastings before?” asked Ryan.

  “Not had the pleasure,” she said.

  “A bit dull but nice.”

  “The nice part is all that matters. I’m not expecting him to entertain me. That’s your job.”

  Ryan went off to speak to the construction crew, leaving Macy to wait alone. Brad Hastings was taking his time stepping out into the sunshine. Macy checked the crowd gathered at the police cordon again. The group of young women she’d noticed earlier was walking away. Aside from one who trailed a few steps behind with her dog, they were all still huddled close together. There was something familiar about that last girl.

  Macy looked up when her name was called. Detective Brad Hastings waved as he walked toward her. He was a couple inches taller than Macy and wore jeans and a blazer. She guessed him to be in his late thirties. She held out her hand and introduced herself.

  “Detective Sergeant Brad Hastings,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Detective Greeley.”

  “Likewise,” said Macy. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve got a homicide investigation on your hands. Any progress?”

  “I’ve been interviewing hungover Elvis impersonators for the past four hours. We’ve also got a team reviewing all the photos that have been posted online and chasing down anyone who was at the bar last night. Nothing yet.” He looked over Macy’s shoulder. “This house was quite something. It’s a real shame to see it like this.”

  “Have you ever been inside?”

  “A couple of times.”

  “In a professional capacity?”

  Brad nodded. “In July a drunk student wandered in and passed out on their sofa. I happened to be nearby so I took the call. Mr. Granger was pretty angry but the houseguest who found the student asleep on the sofa thought it was funny. No charges were filed. I did warn him to lock the doors in the future.”

  “Do people often wake up to find drunks sleeping it off on their sofas?”

  “It is a surprisingly regular occurrence in Bolton. This neighborhood is between Main Street and the university campus. Students drink too much and when they can’t make it home, they decide to try their luck on someone else’s couch.”

  “I was an undergraduate here. I don’t remember that.”

  “Might have to do with the company you kept. It’s a dangerous game if you ask me. A lot of people around here keep firearms in their homes. They’d be in their rights to shoot first and call us later.”

  “What was the house like inside?”

  “Quite something … a bit like a nice hotel. I’d never seen so many books outside of a library. Lots of paintings on the walls. Knickknacks everywhere. It was a little too cluttered for my taste. I also imagine it was completely out of my budget.”

  “Did either of them smoke inside the house?”

  “The wife wasn’t there so I can’t say, but the husband definitely smoked inside. He must have gone through half a dozen while I interviewed the girl. He seemed to be highly strung.”

  “I’m surprised a girl would risk walking into a stranger’s house.”

  “I doubt she was thinking straight. I got the impression she was still drunk when I interviewed her. She seemed very confused.”

  “You said you’ve been inside on two occasions.”

  Brad nodded. “Two months ago there was a restraining order issued against a college student named Pippa Lomax. At the time Peter described her as an overly zealous fan of his novels.”

  “I’ll need her details,” said Macy.

  “I’ve already checked on her whereabouts,” said Brad. “Given she was in Wisconsin last night there’s no way she could have been involved in the fire. According to her father, the girl is on a cocktail of antidepressants and is barely able to use the toilet on her own.”

  “That’s tough. How old is she?”

  “Twenty-one.” Brad glanced up at the house. “She was part of Peter Granger’s writer’s workshop for almost a year. She had a nervous breakdown and was institutionalized for two weeks in late September.”

  “I thought it was his wife who taught at the college?”

  “She does. He doesn’t. Mr. Granger held a creative writing workshop at his offices at the Bridger Cultural Center.”

  “Have you interviewed the neighbors?” she asked.

  “I sent some officers out late last night and early this morning. No one reported seeing anything unusual.”

  “Do the Grangers have family in Bolton?”

  “No, but they share a personal assistant here in town. She’s helping us with our inquiries.”

 
; “I should speak to her as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll send you her details. She said she’d be willing to come to the station. Really broken up about what’s happened but seems eager to help.”

  “The house nearly collapsed a few minutes ago, so it might be awhile before we can confirm identity. Any word on the Granger’s cell phone usage over the past few days?”

  “Hannah Granger’s phone has been completely out of action since Saturday morning, when she called a work colleague named Jessica Reynolds. Peter Granger texted his wife’s number twenty-three times over the past three days. As far as we can tell she never answered. Last text was sent at around half past three yesterday. We’ll get all the records by the end of the day.”

  “Anyone seen him out and about recently?”

  “He cancelled some plans he had on Sunday so he’s not been seen since Friday, when he and Hannah had dinner with some friends.” Brad handed Macy an envelope. “Warrants to search their offices. Hannah has one on campus and Peter’s office is at the Bridger Cultural Center.”

  “What about their cars? Have they been accounted for?”

  “The cars they usually drive are both in the garage, but the four-by-four Tundra they share hasn’t been accounted for. There’s a BOLO out on it.”

  * * *

  Macy counted three sets of French doors that opened onto the Granger’s wraparound porch. There was also what looked like a cellar entrance set into the base of the building’s foundation, but the area was covered with heavy debris so Macy couldn’t get close enough to have a proper look. The hawthorn hedges that enclosed the back garden were more for privacy than security and the gated fence wasn’t locked. It would have been possible to access the backyard without any of the neighbors noticing.

  Macy stood as close to the rear windows as she dared. The vast, dimly lit living room stretched from the back to the front of the house. The four-poster bed had made a hole in the ceiling the size of a wading pool when it crashed through from the upper floors. The bed was built from carved wooden posts as thick as tree trunks. Two of the four posts had snapped in half when the crossbeams fell earlier. All Macy could see of the bodies was what looked like a hand. It poked like a crow’s foot from the burned black bedding. From a distance it was impossible to tell whether it belonged to a woman or a man. She turned her attention to the remaining interior walls. The paintings that were still hanging were heavily damaged. It didn’t look as if anything could be salvaged. Some sections of the walls were bare aside from the vague outlines of paintings that had once hung there. There were thick piles of debris on the floor. It was impossible to tell whether or not the paintings had fallen during the fire.

  Macy stood in the middle of the backyard and stared up at the house. It might have been her imagination, but it did appear to be leaning a little more to the right than it had been earlier. A middle-aged woman, wearing garden gloves and holding a pair of pruning shears peeked over the hedge from a neighboring backyard. She started snipping at the nearest bit of greenery when she realized Macy had spotted her.

  “Excuse me,” said Macy, pulling out her badge and identifying herself. “I’d like a word.”

  The woman put her basket down and peeled off her gloves. Her fingernails were decorated with pumpkins. Macy had noticed the front of her house as she drove up. The owners had spared no expense on Halloween decorations. Macy suspected they were equally zealous at Christmas, Easter, and the Fourth of July.

  The woman held out her hand and introduced herself.

  “Julia Dixon,” she said, being careful to spell it out so Macy could write it down properly in her notebook. “It’s been a horrible shock for all of us in the neighborhood.”

  “Did you know the Grangers?”

  “Only as neighbors. They had their own set of friends. Someone was always coming and going in that house.”

  “So, you didn’t socialize with them?”

  “They invited us to a couple of Hannah’s shows, and when Peter did events in town they were always kind enough to put an invitation through the door. I didn’t really get Hannah’s art but I loved Peter’s novels.” Her eyes widened a fraction. “Have you read them?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Macy.

  “I’ve been a fan for years. You can imagine my excitement when I found out he was moving in next door.” She paused. “I spoke to a police officer yesterday evening. I didn’t see anything last night.”

  “Your upper rooms overlook their backyard. Are you absolutely sure you didn’t see anyone coming or going through the back of the house?”

  “Not a thing. The house was quiet.” Julia pressed her forefinger to her chin. “In fact, it was unusual for them to not participate. As a rule the houses around here make an effort on Halloween, but their house was dark all evening. Not so much as a pumpkin.”

  “What about lights in the back or in the upper rooms?”

  Julia made a face. “I guess I really can’t say for sure. I was out front answering the door most of the evening. There were a lot of people on the streets. Parents, kids, the odd college student trying their luck.” She stared at the burned-out shell that was once Hannah and Peter’s home. Her voice caught. “It’s been kind of quiet the past few days. I thought they were out of town.”

  Macy handed Julia her business card. “I want you to call me if you think of anything.”

  “Do you think this was arson? I hear someone was setting a lot of fires around town last night.”

  The woman shrunk back into her garden. Macy knew what she was thinking. We pay our taxes, we go to church, we love our families and our fellow man, and yet there was this incremental chance that we’ll fall afoul of fairness, that someday tragedy could visit us and no amount of firearms, fire alarms, security, or dead bolts will make a difference. Macy threw her a lifeline.

  “We have to consider all possibilities at this stage. There’s still a good chance this was an accident.”

  Julia gazed up at her own house. It was a humbler sibling to the burned-out ruins that sat next to it. A child’s bicycle was parked next to the back steps. A blond head pressed against the window.

  “That’s my daughter,” said Julia. “I should go.”

  Macy went to the far end of the Granger’s property, where a shed stood among the trees. There was a bench butted up against it. She sat down and watched the workmen move cautiously in and out of the skeletal rooms. Her phone buzzed. It was a message from Brad Hastings. He’d sent her the Grangers’ personal assistant’s contact details.

  * * *

  Cornelia Hart was older than Macy expected. Heavyset with thinning hair, she had soft doughlike features. She was working hard at trying not to cry. At times her face seemed to cave in on itself and she spoke in a low, restrained manner. They met at the main police station in Bolton, where Macy had been allocated an office and a few members of staff, including a young officer named Alisa Montgomery, who’d only recently joined the force. She’d had one of Peter Granger’s books in her hands.

  “I can’t believe you’ve not read any of his books. For a male author he had amazing insight into a woman’s mind,” Alisa had said. “His death is a huge loss for all of us.”

  Macy had felt the need to caution Alisa. The bodies found at the house on Madison Road had yet to be identified, so there was still a chance Peter and Hannah Granger were very much alive. Alisa trailed alongside Macy. For someone so sturdily built, she was surprisingly light on her feet. She had dark hair and dark eyes and was probably in her mid-twenties.

  Macy had stopped at a vending machine as she made her way down the unfamiliar corridors of Bolton’s vast police department. The thought of a Snickers bar with a Diet Coke chaser was all that was keeping her sane at the moment. She’d been digging loose change from her pocket when Alisa stepped in front of the machine and splayed her arms like a suffragette. Macy had once again felt the need to caution Alisa.

  Alisa had stood her ground. “I’ll get you something for lu
nch at the Co-op” Macy had tried to reach around her but Alisa was firm. “I minored in sports nutrition in college. The quality of the food consumed here at the Bolton PD is appalling. I don’t see how anyone has the energy to do their jobs.”

  Macy had smiled because the alternative would have involved doing Alisa bodily harm. She’d even managed to thank Alisa before sending her off to buy her something appropriately healthy for lunch. Seconds after she’d gone, Macy dropped her coins in the machine and punched in the necessary codes. Consuming a Snickers bar was now a matter of principal.

  Cornelia Hart was waiting for Macy in a conference room. Someone had brought her a cup of coffee. She looked up at Macy with watery eyes.

  “You didn’t have to come into the office,” said Macy. “I would have been happy to visit you at your home.”

  Cornelia stared at Macy for a long moment. “I only know one way to cope when I’m upset, and that’s to work … to stay busy. Hannah and Peter were like family.” A fresh tissue came out. “I owe it to them to see this through.” She pulled a stack of files out from a bag and slid it toward Macy. “I wasn’t sure what you needed from me.”

  “What’s all this?” said Macy.

  “Insurance papers, names of their lawyers, their next of kin. They were both only children and childless so I’m afraid there’s not much in the way of family. Peter’s father died two years ago and his mother is in a home. Hannah cut off all ties with her parents more than thirty years ago and they’ve since died.” Cornelia took a moment. “I understand the victims haven’t been formally identified.”

  “That is correct. Is it possible that Peter or Hannah Granger had gone out of town?”

  “There was nothing in their schedules. Besides, it’s the middle of term. Hannah wouldn’t have taken time off. She had a class to teach today.”

  “I spoke to their neighbor, a Mrs. Julia Dixon. She said the house had been very quiet the last couple of days. She thought that they might have been away.”

  Cornelia bristled but said nothing.

  “Do you have some issue with Mrs. Dixon?” asked Macy.

  “She’s a nuisance … a busybody. They couldn’t so much as trim a hedge and she’d be over like a shot trying to direct their every move. Peter and Hannah were always polite but I knew they couldn’t stand her.”