A Hope City Duet

by Kris Michaels

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  1

  He jerked awake before offering up a fruitless prayer that the call would be a wrong number. A glance at the screen killed that wish, and he sighed before connecting. “McBride.”

  “Got another one. Just called in.”

  “Shit.” He disconnected after getting the address from his partner, Jonas Miller, and hauled his ass from his king-sized bed. Stretching his back, he heard as well as felt the creaks in his body. He looked down at the rumpled covers on his bed, unable to remember the last time there had been a warm body in it besides his own. With a habit born of long ago, he jerked the covers up toward the pillows. Messy, but even his mom would consider it a made bed. Now the military? ‘Fraid they’d never consider that to be regulation.

  Grabbing clean clothes from his closet, he dressed and shaved. He and his partner would not be allowed on the scene until it was cleared by the Fire Department…and there’ll be no climbing back in bed until tonight. Downstairs, he stalked to the coffee maker and leaned his hip against the counter as the welcome brew dripped into the pot. As it sputtered to completion, he opened the cabinet to grab a travel mug, staring for a few seconds at the collection. There’re more fuckin’ travel mugs than actual cups.

  His stomach rumbled and he sighed. Popping a piece of bread into the toaster, he doctored his coffee while waiting. The toast was finished in four bites while standing over the counter. After dusting off the crumbs, he slid on his leather jacket, then grabbed his keys in one hand and the travel mug in the other. Will I ever have a chance to have a cup at home and sit with my feet up? Guess that’s what they call retirement.

  Middle of the night darkness had settled over the city, but driving toward the downtown harbor, his way was illuminated by streetlamps and the glow from the insides of modern office buildings. Sitting at a red-light, he glanced up toward one of the glass high-rises, wondering for a moment what it would be like to work in an office— or a fuckin’ cubicle all day. Giving a visible shudder, he flipped the blinker, maneuvering onto an exit ramp.

  Leaving the business district behind, he turned toward the desolate warehouse area on the far side of the abandoned train tracks. Now the illumination came from the first responders. Firetrucks’ headlights beamed toward the building, their red flashing lights strobing across the charred remnants of the empty warehouse. Smoke no longer billowed from an active flame but instead drifted upwards as though the fire was in its last death throes.

  Eagerness built inside of him as it always did. Anxious to begin the investigation and search for evidence before contamination occurred, he immediately scanned the area. Were you here, you bastard? With his hard hat settled on his head before grabbing his evidence kit, he walked toward the scene, flashing his badge to the police officers that were setting up the perimeter as the firefighters finished moving through what was left of the building. Taking a deep breath, the familiar scent of charred wood and scorched metal filled his nostrils.

  Three outside walls were still standing, a testament to the fast response of the firefighters. He recognized the battalion number, knowing that his childhood neighbor, Blayze King, might be there as one of the firefighters. It was too dark to see if Blayze was present or if his own younger brother, Rory, was with him. Doesn’t matter…none of us have time to do more than barely say hello anyway.

  Looking up, he watched as his partner appeared from the side of the building. Jonas walked over, skipped the greeting, and declared, “Got a body inside.”

  The two men’s eyes held for a moment, then, under his breath, Sean cursed. “Fuckin’ hell.” This group of warehouses sat on the outer edges of the Inner Harbor, one of the areas of Hope City that had undergone the most revitalization. Trendy shops, restaurants, walking trails, and boats for hire, it had become a destination for residents and vacationers. A group of Hope City’s homeless population had settled in the empty warehouses to escape either the heat or cold, depending on the weather.

  “It get called in?”

  Jonas simply crooked an eyebrow and gave a quick nod. Along with the red flashing lights of the fire trucks and ambulances, now came the fast-approaching blue strobes of more police.

  “Widen the perimeter,” he called out to a uniformed policewoman standing nearby. Seeing the Fire Captain by the side of the warehouse, he walked over. “We cleared to go inside?”

  “Affirmative. Still checking a few hotspots inside, but it’s clear.”

  Offering a chin lift, he and Jonas stepped over the charred threshold after sliding booties over their shoes. The concrete floor and metal structure making up the preponderance of the empty warehouse should never have burned this much or this fast, even if the insides were lined with wood. Good call for this to come into Arson Division. His gaze searched the walls, looking for fire patterns and flame marks, the areas that indicated the highest temperatures had been reached. Talk to me.

  A serial arsonist had recently targeted Hope City and the attacks had grown in frequency. It was far too early to determine if this fire was caused by arson, and if so, if it was part of the serial arsonist’s handiwork.

  Jonas walked around, his posture similar as he scanned the area. “Lot of debris…even if it’s here, we might not find it.”

  “If his calling card is here, it’ll be outside.” He motioned for one of the patrol officers standing nearby. “Detective Sean McBride, Special Investigations Unit, Arson Division. This is Detective Jonas Miller. I’m lead officer on the arson. Homicide will show up soon. Medical examiner on their way?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hold the perimeter. I don’t want the media all over this, creating a feeding frenzy about the goddamn arsonist before we even have a chance to know what the fuck is going on.”

  Nodding again, the patrol officer said, “You got it.”

  Stepping carefully over the rubble, he glanced at the body lying sprawled on the concrete floor. With expensive, tailored clothing, the man did not appear homeless. It was equally obvious that his neck had been slashed, the gaping wound visible and a pool of blood staining the floor. Homicide would deal with the whos and whys, so he continued past the body, his focus on the fire residue.

  “Christ, what a mess,” Jonas muttered, his gaze on the man on the floor.

  “Yeah, but at least it’s not ours.” We’re here to analyze the heart and soul of the fire, not the dead man on the floor. Jerking his latex gloves on, he stepped back.

  Jonas turned away from the body and gazed toward the back wall. “Looks like the origin is the window. I’ll take the left.”

  Partnered together for several years, they needed little speech between them as they collected evidence. Determining the pattern they would search, they began at opposite ends of the warehouse and moved toward the origin.

  He worked from the right wall toward the window and collected fingerprint samples on the sill and where the window had been slightly pushed upward. This isn’t like our man.

  Kneeling, he pulled plastic and glass containers from his evidence kit. After collecting ash and other samples of rubble near the origin, he snapped on the airtight lids and labeled them according to where they were collected. He also pulled out strips of chemical
color tests to look for the makeup of any accelerant residue.

  “Did you hear the rumor that the Captain is thinking of getting a canine trained for accelerant detection?” Jonas asked as he crept along the other wall, his light illuminating the burn patterns.

  A flash of the bomb-sniffing dogs that he had seen work when he was in the Army flew through his mind. They were fuckin’ amazing. And expensive to train. Sean let out a rueful snort, continuing to scrape evidence into jars. “Yeah, and where the fuck are the funds for that gonna come from? I can’t remember the last time we got our hands on new equipment.”

  Jonas’ chuckle indicated his agreement. “I’m heading outside to look on the back wall.”

  Still in a squat, careful to not disturb the debris but collecting the best samples possible, he startled at a familiar voice.

  “Well, if you’re here, why the fuck am I? Someone said this was a homicide.”

  Standing, he grinned as he watched Brock King step forward. At over six-and-a-half-feet tall, Brock was hard to ignore as he towered over most of the others around. “About time you showed up, King.” He jerked off his gloves and moved forward, wrapping his arms around his best friend in a hearty hug. “How have you been, man?”

  “Not bad. How’s your mom and dad?” Brock slapped Sean’s back a couple of times before they broke apart.

  The McBrides and Kings had lived next to each other since he and Brock were toddlers. According to the tale their parents told, they had been best friends from the time they first laid eyes on each other. He had not seen Brock in the old neighborhood recently, but with their work schedules, that was not surprising. “They’re good. Hey, did you hear both Rory and Erin are out of the Army?” The two men stood with their hands shoved in their pockets, eyes avoiding the dead body nearby.

  “No, I hadn’t heard. Are they coming home, or are they spreading their wings and conquering the world outside of Hope City?”

  “They’re home. Erin’s just out and moved in with Mom and Dad until she knows what she wants to do. Rory was discharged last month. In fact, he’s already volunteering with the same fire battalion that Blayze works for while studying to be an EMT. We need to have dinner and drinks and catch up.” Looking toward the body that was only fifteen feet away from them, he added, “But I think both of us may be busy for the next couple of weeks.”

  Brock nodded, then moved toward the body, his focus on the corpse. Sean stood back, giving Brock a chance to take in the scene he had already become familiar with. Brock called out to the patrolman behind them. “What’s the ETA on the medical examiner and crime scene technicians?”

  The patrolman called out his answer, then added, “I was told the arson investigator has lead in this case.”

  A grin split his face as Brock asked Sean, “So, are you considering this death the result of arson?”

  With the victim’s head almost severed from his body and lying in an extensive pool of blood, he retorted, “Fuck you, man. This fire falls into the parameters of several cases I have open. Yes, I told your patrols I was the lead investigator, which I am as far as the arson is concerned. This guy? Not so much. Let me finish gathering the evidence I need. I promise not to fuck up your investigation as long as you don’t mess with mine. You can call in your crime scene technicians anytime.”

  “You think this is tied to your serial arsonist?” Brock asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. First impressions say not. But then I never go on first impressions.” Jerking his head toward the far side of the room, he said, “What I need is over there. Looks like an accelerant of some kind was used, however, I need to determine if it was cast on this side of the wall or the other. Besides that, the scene is yours. Just make an annotation that I was here. I’ve already marked my notes where the body was located. I’m assuming the Fire Department did a check to make sure he was dead.”

  The two men looked down at the large pool of blood the man lay in and the nearly decapitating wound across his neck. Brock tried to muffle a laugh as he said, “Dude, he’s definitely dead.”

  Brock always managed to know just what to say to rile him up. Hell, it had been that way since they were kids. “No shit, asshole. I’m not a homicide detective, but I figured that out. Proper procedure dictates that when you find a body on the scene, you check for signs of life.”

  “Always a stickler for procedure. A rule follower from way back.”

  He shot his fist toward Brock’s shoulder, causing Brock to scoot back quickly. “Following the rules saved our asses more than once. You act like we weren’t raised together.”

  They shared a look, understanding passing between them with no words necessary, something they had been doing for thirty-four years. From the moment their parents moved into houses next to each other, raising the boys like brothers, they could finish each other’s sentences. Even with a bunch of brothers and sisters in both families, he and Brock always stuck together.

  Shaking his head, he grinned. “Now, let me work, and for the love of God, please take care of... him.” Leaving Brock to his homicide investigation, he walked back over to the charred remains of the interior wall.

  He finished collecting samples, looking up as Jonas stepped into the interior of the warehouse. Before he had an opportunity to find out what Jonas had collected, Brock called over.

  “Get ready for one hell of a ride, Sean.”

  Brows lowered, he asked, “What’s up?”

  “The deceased is one Samuel Treyson.”

  It took a few seconds for the name to sink in, considering it had not been his place to examine the body. Samuel Treyson. One of Hope City’s very rich and famous. “If you’re fuckin’ with me, I’m going to kick your ass.”

  Brock shook his head. “Not even in the slightest.” He turned his phone toward Sean and Jonas, exposing the magazine cover with Samuel’s face on it.

  “You realize the can of worms that opens up, right?” Placing his hands on his hips, he sucked in a deep breath before blowing it out in a huff. “I need to call my Captain, who really doesn’t like to talk to people at two in the morning, and your dad needs a heads up. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes with the brass and the press crawling up your ass as soon as this breaks. Proctology 101, my friend.”

  While his first impressions of the fire did not fit in with the serial arsonist, he knew as soon as the press found out who the murder victim was, they would begin making assumptions. The problem with assumptions is that in the minds of many, they become fact. The last thing he wanted was for the serial arsonist to feel as though all of the attention had been taken away from his work. That was the fastest way for the arsonist to increase his reign of terror, fighting to get the attention back on him.

  He and Jonas finished collecting their evidence inside, and with a two-fingered salute toward Brock, they headed out of the warehouse. “What was out here?”

  “Plenty of rubble but no pile of stones.”

  They walked the entire exterior of the warehouse, noting the fire patterns visible with the lights set up for them. Taking pictures, as well as more ash samples, they canvassed the area. He turned to his partner as they approached their vehicles. “I’ll call it in and then meet you at the lab.”

  After carefully placing his evidence collection bag in the back seat of his SUV, he pulled off his gloves and hardhat and tossed them to the floorboard. Settling in the driver’s seat, he picked up his travel mug of coffee, taking a large sip of the now cold beverage. Fuck, just once I’d love to have a hot cup of coffee while sitting on my back patio with my feet up.

  2

  Sean wished the police laboratory was newer and less crowded for the technicians that worked there. Can’t deny their professionalism even with the same fuckin’ budget cuts forced down their throats as the rest of us.

  Showing his badge and signing in, he made his way up to the second floor and down the long, tiled hall. Jesus, this place reminds me of a high school. Doors on either side of the h
all opened to various labs. Passing by the administrative offices, he made his way into the huge lab area, filled with all the equipment necessary to do blood alcohol tests, check for drugs and narcotics, arson analysis, and a host of other biological and chemical testing.

  Observing Jonas at one of the tables near the back, he weaved his way through the crowded room, nodding at several of the analysts that he had worked with before. “Jonas. Shamika,” he greeted.

  Receiving a chin lift from Jonas, he turned toward Shamika. Her smooth, dark skin was the perfect backdrop for her wide smile. Her hair was cropped close to her head and she wore no jewelry other than her wedding band. Her lab coat was crisp and white, and he glanced down to see what shoes she was wearing. Hot pink Crocs were her only nod to an individual fashion statement in the utilitarian lab. “Nice shoes.”

  “Gee, thanks for noticing,” she said, shooting a wink his direction. “I’m just in-processing everything that Jonas delivered. If you hang on a minute, I’ll be ready for yours.”

  He leaned his hip against the counter and watched as she carefully logged each container that Jonas had brought from the arson site. Once finished, she turned toward him. Repeating the process, he brought the containers out of his bag, and as she logged it in as evidence, he signed off on each one.

  “You guys know the drill. I’ll get everything processed here and then take it over to the microscope room. My assumption is that we’ll get what we need from the residue and gases. Your tests will get moved ahead of some of the others I’m working on since you have a high-profile arsonist. Believe it or not, because of the number of arsons in the area, we’re going to get a new gas chromatograph with a headspace sampler.”

  “Glad we can make your job easier,” Jonas quipped as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  Sean fought a grin. “Ignore him. He always gets grumpy when he gets called out of bed at one in the morning.”

  “The only reason you’re not grumpy is because you didn’t have anybody in bed with you.”