Fireproof

her more was how they handled her camera equipment, purposely smudging the lens with their fingerprints. Once a guard even licked the palm of his hand before pressing it against the viewfinder. It was their way of showing they didn’t approve of the interviews.
    Jeffery shrugged it off when she told him about the harassment. All she got from him was a raised eyebrow when she showed himthe used condom they had left inside her equipment bag after one visit. Of course he could shrug it off. He was the celebrity who charmed them and told them how important they were, sometimes offering to interview them as well. A safe offer, since he knew the prison rules wouldn’t allow it. Still, the guards appeared flattered. The warden, however, was a tougher sell.
    So this time Sam took pleasure in the warden’s being put out. They’d bent over backward—not necessarily a good choice of words in a prison—but they had worked hard to get interviews for the documentary. Each step of the way, the warden had made it as unpleasant and uncomfortable as possible.
    This time Jeffery had been invited, actually “summoned,” to the prison by one of the inmates. From Jeffery’s vague explanation, an arsonist named Otis P. Dodd had been sending him letters for the last three weeks, insisting that Jeffery talk to him and giving Jeffery details of his crimes as some sort of testament to his expertise.
    Sam understood why Jeffery had put the man off. All of the others they had interviewed were murderers. Poor Otis P.—as he liked to be called—had not caused a single death with any of his fires, despite setting about thirty-seven across the state of Virginia. It wasn’t for lack of trying. His last one had been a retirement center. Twenty-three residents miraculously made it out alive.
    Otis P. was serving the first year of a twenty-five-year sentence. Sam suspected he was missing the attention and excitement. Truth was, he probably wouldn’t have garnered Jeffery’s attention if it hadn’t been for the warehouse arsons. In fact, Sam wondered if Jeffery even intended to use Otis P.’s interview for the documentary or if he simply was curious what insight the man might share about arson.
    Sam was still setting up her equipment when a guard brought the prisoner into the room. He and Jeffery exchanged greetings while his shackles were being connected to iron hooks in the concrete floor. She had already seen a photo of him, yet his large physique and lopsided grin surprised her. If you ignored the receding hairline, Otis P. looked like an overgrown teenager uncomfortable with his size. His boyish face had a look of genuine curiosity and a disarming smile.
    “Will I have one of those itty-bitty microphones clipped on my collar?” he asked in a soft, gentle—almost childlike—voice, his eyes looking away from Jeffery and over to Sam.
    She pulled a wireless from her case and held it up. “Do you mind?”
    “No, I’d like that.” He licked his lips.
    To Sam’s relief the guard reached for the microphone to put it on.
    She nodded at Jeffery when the camera was ready but it was Otis P. who took her cue.
    “I have a gift for you,” he told Jeffery.
    The statement drew a stunned look from the veteran newsman that unnerved Sam. She had witnessed plenty of Jeffery’s performances. This was not one.
    There was the smile again and another lick of his lips. Then Otis P. added, “I want to tell you where there’s a dead body. A pretty little thing wearing only orange socks.”

CHAPTER 28

    Sam reminded herself that criminals lied all the time. During some of the previous interviews, she and Jeffery had listened to bizarre tales that murderers claimed as truth. Stories of how they stalked and killed their victims. They’d describe details as though they were proud craftsmen revealing trade secrets.
    Some even shared horrible rituals of torture that they endured as children, as if to explain or excuse their compulsions. It was almost impossible to determine what was fact and what was fiction. They were lifers with little hope of parole, so they had nothing to lose by sharing.
    But Otis P. Dodd? Sam couldn’t figure him out. What reason did he have to confess? He wasn’t asking for an attorney to be present. He didn’t seem concerned that this new revelation might cut some time off his sentence. About the only thing Sam could think that the man had to gain was attention. And he was certainly getting that.
    Jeffery leaned in and