The Arson at Happy Jack Page 3
“How’d he get away that time?” Pete asked.
“We watched from the air as he drove north without headlights. It was a moonless night, but the helicopter had night vision equipment. We lost him near Hon Dah. Maybe he went into the casino, or maybe he made it to the heavy traffic area at Pinetop-Lakeside. He was driving a pickup, but we don’t know the make or model. We put up roadblocks and searched every pickup on Highway 60 and 260, but we didn’t have much to go on.”
“But there was no attempt to target people?” I asked.
“Correct. Up to that point, all of the fires were in remote areas of the forest, but near forest service roads. The next fire was in late July of last summer. It was the first one in which he used an accelerant, gasoline. He doused two beetle-damaged trees about a hundred feet apart and tossed flares at them.”
“That’s information that I’ve not seen in news accounts. What did he do next?” Pete asked.
“He left the area near the roads that we’d been watching. He must use some kind of off-road all terrain vehicle. In August of last year, the fires all started a mile or more from the nearest road. It was much more difficult to fight them, and we didn’t know where to look for his vehicle, because we didn’t know where it might be parked in relation to the fire’s origin.”
I assumed that it was this combination of vehicles that had allowed the arsonist to escape the taskforce for over a year. He could start the fires and drive several miles under cover of the forest canopy to wherever he’d left his truck. This criminal was learning from his mistakes and getting more dangerous with each fire.
“That was a big fire in Gila County last month. How did that get going so quickly?” I asked.
“That’s his latest trick. We think he was using two five gallon gas cans on the earlier fires, but that Round Mountain fire was started in a much more dangerous manner. I believe that he spent the winter improving his fire technology. My theory is that he pulls a small trailer that holds a fifty-five gallon gasoline drum behind his ATV. He spread gasoline like liquid fertilizer. For that Round Mountain fire, he spread a continuous trail of accelerant over a half-mile. He tossed a single flare into one end, and fire spread over the whole path he’d driven within minutes.”
I turned and looked at Pete in the back seat. His face registered as much shock as mine. Fifty-five gallons of gasoline spread along a half-mile of this tinder dry forest, and a major firestorm was a certainty.
“How on earth did you get that fire stopped at a few thousand acres?” Pete asked.
“We were very lucky. The wind blew that fire into an area burned by the 2002 Rodeo-Chediski fire. The fuel load was too low to keep it a crown fire. He has refined his method for the Happy Jack fire. Not only did he target a ranger station and a group of houses, his technology is even better.” Major Ross pulled the jeep to a stop in an area of burned grass next to a smoldering ponderosa, and we got out to see where the devastating fire began.
CHAPTER 5
We walked through the smoky afternoon light to the tree indicated by Major Ross. Pointing to a location about four feet high on the blackened bark, he said, “The accelerant is on the tree and not just the dry grass. Instead of dropping onto the ground from the trailer, the gasoline had been sprayed from the side of his trailer. The arsonist circled this tree spraying gasoline around the trunk before moving on to other dead trees. He made certain that this blaze would start as a crown fire with no chance of containing it before it reached Happy Jack. He knew that there would be no time for the rangers to escape. It was on them in minutes.”
“That’s premeditation. Where did he toss the flare this time?” I asked.
“He used two flares. His trail of gasoline crossed the highway and stretched nearly half a mile. At its closest point it was only a thousand yards from the Happy Jack Ranger Station. The arsonist rode his ATV back to where the gasoline trail crossed the paved road and tossed one flare on each side. The road was intended to be a firebreak, but he was smart enough to understand that. We assume he rode his ATV south along the highway to wherever he left his truck.”
“When did your air surveillance spot the fire?” I asked.
“Our pilots weren’t in the Happy Jack area when the fire started. We’d been concentrating our air search in the White Mountains where all the previous fires were set. A fire lookout tower reported the fire about 2:35, but we think the Happy Jack Ranger Station had already started to burn. I estimate 2:25 to 2:30 as the time when the flares were tossed. It took almost no time for the fire to cover the short distance to the ranger station with last night’s strong winds,” Major Ross said.
We were not likely to find a witness to a crime in this remote location at 2:30 in the morning. It would take a lucky break to track the arsonist’s actions after the fire was set. “Major, what do you know of the victims?” I asked.
“I knew all three rangers personally. They’d helped on previous fires. Alva Schwartz and Randy Roberts were both twenty-six, and Gus Blackman was thirty-two. Fine young people committed to protecting this forest. I think that’s why they were the targets. All three bodies were found inside the building. They didn’t even have time to run. The state crime scene investigators are working the location, but I think the cause of death is obvious. Homicide by arson.”
Major Ross drove us back to the highway pointing out trees that had been chosen for a heavy dose of gasoline. They were ponderosa that had died from bark beetle infestation and were located near other large trees that could quickly spread the fire. There were areas where the Jeep could not follow the gasoline path. That helped to cement the impression that the arsonist had used a small agile vehicle. When we returned to the road, the major pointed out the remains of the two flares that had started the conflagration. When he drove to the ruin that had been the ranger station, it was even more obvious that it must have been specifically targeted. The arch along which the fire began was focused right on the group of buildings.
I took photos of the smoldering debris. The bodies had already been sent to the medical examiner in Flagstaff. I wasn’t acquainted with any of the state crime lab crime scene investigators working at the ranger station. None of them wanted to make comments prior to their written reports. They knew the extreme level of scrutiny that this case would receive, and I couldn’t blame them for being careful. They didn’t want us disturbing the area, so there wasn’t much Pete and I could do at the ranger station.
Major Ross went off to meet with the incident commander for this fire. I borrowed a satellite phone and called my partner Chad Archer in Sedona. I filled him in on our new cases. He said he would find the scheduled time for the autopsies of the rangers and the man we’d found in Cataract Creek. We planned to drive to Flagstaff to observe as Dr. Kay Sumter, the Coconino County Medical Examiner, did her work.
While Pete and I drove to Sedona, Chad would determine if the prints from the chain and from the discarded water jugs had been matched. It was probably too early to know, but computerized fingerprint records had greatly sped the process in the past four years. Unfortunately, we could only match prints to someone who had them on file, and that was less than a quarter of the population. It would take a little luck to find a match.
We needed the name of the Cataract Creek victim before we could search for suspects with a grudge against him. Without a quick route to his identity, we would need to start the painstaking process of researching missing person’s records of other jurisdictions. The case might be stalled for months. Since this crime was unusually cruel, it implied hate and malice rather than a simple robbery or a random crime. I was convinced that the murderer of the man at Cataract Creek knew his victim.
In the Happy Jack case, the arson deaths were a complicated jurisdictional matter. A team of law enforcement officers from all over the state had been working on these arson fires for over a year. It was not likely that I would suddenly think of something that they’d missed. I needed to start that investigation by reviewing every b
it of information in the case files that Major Ross was sending to my office tomorrow. I was at a loss to explain the motive for these fires, but maybe the profile of the arsonist in the case file would help. Why would anyone want to turn this beautiful green ponderosa forest into a charred wasteland? The arsonist was smart enough to keep improving his methods. Even if the firefighters stopped this fire before it reached Flagstaff, there would certainly be others unless he was apprehended quickly.
The wind had died, and the smoke that had previously been blown north, now blanketed the area. We retraced our route through the devastated area near Stoneman Lake to Interstate 17 and took it to the Sedona exit. Pete was not his usually cheerful self as we drove through the destroyed forest and along the smoky interstate. “It could easily happen in the New Mexico forests,” he said. “They’re just as dry this summer.”
“Lightning-caused fires are a natural part of our ponderosa forest ecology; there are dozens of small ones each month in Arizona during the annual monsoon storms. But damn, a half of a mile trail of gasoline is guaranteed to produce a huge crown fire,” I said. “Only God can bring us the monsoon rains, but if we catch this bastard, we’ll stop his next fire.”
There was a pause in the conversation as we drove toward Sedona on Arizona Highway 179. After five minutes, Pete commented, “This isn’t the vacation that I expected, camping under the stars, riding the trail with my faithful horse, and leaving the outside world behind. The last time we saw each other you got yourself tangled in a murder case. Now, you have two interesting cases on your hands. Before we found the body yesterday, you complained that you were restless. Be careful what you wish for, Mike.”
He was right about that, but what I wished for right now was my first shower in four days, a good meal, and a chance to talk about my new cases with Margaret. Since Margaret and Teresa wouldn’t be back from Phoenix until tomorrow, I decided to call her as soon as we got home. Her perspective and intuition often helps me to solve cases. She’s smarter than I am; she’s my secret weapon.
CHAPTER 6
Smoke had drifted into Sedona, and the red rock buttes and mesas were muted and distant against the grayish sky. After my shower, I tried Margaret’s hotel room at the Arizona Biltmore, but she and Teresa were out. I left a message indicating that we’d be home after dinner and that I’d like to talk to her about my new cases.
You might think it was strange that two middle-aged cops would go for sushi and tempura when their wives were out of town, but both Pete and I are LA natives who grew up enjoying all kinds of Asian food. We also have wives who are outstanding cooks, so it was natural to go out to eat a variety of cuisine that we couldn’t get at home. The air-conditioned interior of the Takashi Japanese Restaurant was free of the smoke that hung over the town. We sat drinking Sapporo and discussing the busy day.
“Any chance of that wildfire making it to Sedona?” Pete asked.
“No way. There’s fifteen miles of grassy savannah between the ponderosa forest and us in that direction. The lower fuel load below the Rim will make fires down here easier to stop. The risk from the Happy Jack fire is to Flagstaff. The ponderosa forest continues right into the suburbs, but with the wind down, I’m sure they’ll stop it short of town,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
The fire danger in Sedona was also very high, but the risk was from a new fire started in this area, not from all the way over at Happy Jack. Any tourist could toss out a lit cigarette and start a fire that got quickly out of control. I have no explanation as to why smokers flip cigarettes out their windows when most cars have ashtrays, but if you do it in Coconino County in front of me, you should expect to spend the night in the county jail for attempted arson.
“What’s your take on the body we found? Bizarre way to kill someone,” Pete said. We’d not talked much about the body at Cataract Creek because we’d spent the day at the Happy Jack wildfire.
“I think it was a deliberate homicide by someone who wanted to prolong the victim’s suffering. An extortion or kidnap would have been reported when the victim didn’t show up for several months. The average for Coconino County is only about six people per square mile, but the area where we found the body has less than one person for each ten square miles. My guess is the man was killed in that location because it was unlikely anyone would stumble onto him. It might have been years before the next person happened by that spot.”
“We didn’t see a single cabin or homestead on our whole trail ride,” Pete said.
“There’re 18,600 square miles in the Coconino County, more than Connecticut and Massachusetts combined, and the majority of that territory is just as empty as the area we rode through. There’s no reliable source of water in much of the county, and the 118,000 people are concentrated in Flagstaff and a few other towns,” I explained. “I think there’s a good chance that the victim was a student at NAU because of the T-shirt. That’s where I’ll begin the search, but I also need to figure out how the victim got to that remote spot.”
“I’d like to go with you and Chad tomorrow if that’s OK?” Pete asked. “I feel a personal connection to the man we found. I’ve seen a lot of deaths over the past thirty years, but dying of thirst must be one of the worst.”
I welcomed Pete to tag along. We enjoyed a leisurely dinner and several more beers before returning home half an hour after dark. There was a message from Margaret saying she was back in the hotel room.
”Sweetie, I’m sure you’re glad to have some interesting cases. I know how bored you’ve been the past few months. I just can’t figure out how the sheriff tracked you down to assign them. Did you and Pete come in from your trail ride early?” Margaret said. I was glad to hear her voice, and I wished she was home.
“We stumbled onto the first case. I mean literally stumbled. Pete and I found a body yesterday. Pete rode to Valle to call the sheriff, and I stayed at the crime scene last night. This morning the sheriff arrived by helicopter. He assigned that case to me plus the death of the three rangers at Happy Jack.”
“Oh God. I heard about the horrible fire south of Flagstaff. Was it that same arsonist that started the fires in the White Mountains?” Margaret and I are avid hikers and outdoor people, and we appreciate the dedication of the Forest Service rangers. It was killing a brother law enforcement officer as far as I was concerned.
“It was almost certainly the same rotten son of a buzzard. He started the fire in the same manner, using flares and gasoline. It looks like the ranger station was the direct target,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to read the file on this arsonist. I should know more by tomorrow night when you and Teresa get here.”
I told her all of the details of the victim we’d found at Cataract Creek.
“That’s a strange combination, missing for several months without a report being filed, but wearing a local T-shirt,” she said. “I can’t think of many people who could go missing for two months without anyone filing a report. Maybe it’s a young student without parents, or maybe the person who would be most likely to report him missing is the one who killed him.” Margaret has a way of cutting right through the clutter of a case to make her point. Maybe the man’s wife lured him there, chained him up, and just left him. Maybe someone killed him who was now using his identity.
“My first thought was that it started as a kidnapping, but I’m now leaning toward it being an NAU student who hasn’t been missed yet. The time of death was near the end of the spring school term,” I said. We talked for another fifteen minutes and Pete talked to Teresa for half an hour before we turned in.
I was up early, using the hot tub and jogging on the treadmill. I watched the morning news as I ran. The story was grim. The Happy Jack fire was still out of control. Lower winds overnight had allowed the firefighters to protect the houses near Mormon Lake, but the forecast was for a return of the strong winds from the south. Those winds would push the fire towards the population centers south of Flagstaff. Everyone in the small communities between t
he fire and Flagstaff had been instructed to evacuate immediately. The authorities were making plans to evacuate the southern neighborhoods of Flagstaff on short notice. Very strict water rationing had been imposed because the remaining water in Lake Mary was being rapidly depleted to fight the ravenous fire, and the town’s water had to come from a limited number of wells. The authorities recommended using bath water for watering plants and taking two-minute showers.
Pete came upstairs from the lower level guest room about 7:00, and we decided to go out for breakfast. After omelets at the Coffee Pot, we got to my office at 8:00.
Rose Rios, my administrative assistant greeted me. “Boss, you’re gone less than a week and you turn up a body and also get assigned to the biggest arson case in state history. You just can’t keep out of trouble on your vacations.” She was smiling good naturedly as she handed me a stack of phone call notices and reports.
“Major Ross from the state police will be sending the file on the Saturday Night Arsonist sometime today. Call my cell phone and let me know when it’s here. Chad and I will be at the medical examiner’s office in Flagstaff for the autopsies most of the morning.”
Pete and I went into my cubicle and Rose delivered two cups of coffee, a highly unusual event. She must have felt I needed the extra caffeine this morning. Coffee delivery was definitely not part of her job description, and no one in the office would have had the courage to suggest it to her.