Chapter 6 - The Breakout of Truth
The next morning, Detective Miller sat in his office at the central precinct, staring at a printout from the state forensic laboratory.
The chemical analysis of the charred floorboards from the Carter kitchen had just arrived:
Accelerant Identified: Methyl Ethyl Ketone (Industrial Paint Thinner). Pour Pattern: Continuous line originating from interior pantry, extending toward rear door. Secondary Finding: Water main valve manually closed prior to ignition.
Miller slammed his hand onto the desk.
Paint thinner. Not gasoline.
Evan Carter’s sworn statement had specifically alleged that Eli was carrying a rag soaked in gasoline. A thirteen-year-old boy wouldn't know the chemical difference between gasoline and industrial solvent unless he had seen the container—or unless he had been coached to recite a standard arson narrative.
The phone on Miller’s desk rang.
He picked it up immediately. "Miller."
"Detective, this is Clara Mercer, public defender for Eli Carter," a sharp female voice declared. "I just filed an emergency subpoena for Derek Carter’s bank accounts. His primary firm let him go six months ago for embezzlement, and his home was forty-eight hours away from a sheriff's foreclosure sale."
Miller stood up from his chair, grabbing his coat from the back of the door. "Where are you right now, Ms. Mercer?"
"I'm at Harrisburg Memorial Hospital," Clara replied, her voice filled with tension. "Mara Carter just called my office from her room. She wants to make an official statement to the police."
"I'm on my way," Miller said. "Don't let Derek Carter into that room until I arrive."
At that exact moment, a taxicab pulled up to the front entrance of the central police precinct.
Evan Carter stepped out of the back seat, holding his backpack tightly against his chest. He had used fifty dollars from his birthday savings to pay the driver to bring him downtown from his aunt’s house.
He walked into the bustling lobby of the police station, his legs shaking, his heart pounding in his throat.
An officer standing near the front desk looked down at the pale, soot-stained thirteen-year-old boy wrapped in an oversized winter coat.
"Can I help you, kid?" the officer asked.
May you like
Evan pulled the brass pocket lighter from his pocket and set it on the high wooden counter.
"My name is Evan Carter," he said, his voice trembling but clear enough to echo across the waiting room. "I lied about my brother. My dad burned our house down, and I have the proof."
