There was a distasteful look on Alejandro’s face, as if the idea of a plaid button-down upset his stomach.
“Besides that, I have a pretty good sense for weirdos. I feel like I would have noticed the guy if he’d been hanging around.”
Darger’s gaze shifted to Richie.
“What about you?”
“Me?” His voice was soft and quiet, and he seemed startled that Darger was addressing him directly.
“Yeah. Did you notice anything odd before the fire? Or see anyone loitering outside when you came in today?”
Arms crossed, he shook his head.
“Well, thank you for talking with us,” Luck said, handing them each a card with his name and phone number on it. “If you do think of anything else, even it seems like it might be small, please give me a call.”
As the two men walked away, a cluster of reporters just beyond the police line clamored for Alejandro’s attention.
“Mr. Zapata! Just a few more questions!”
“He’ll be getting the big hero edit on the news tonight,” Luck said, watching the cameramen swarm into position.
The sun was beginning to set now, and the lights mounted on the cameras were so bright Darger had to turn away.
“The irony is that the media are probably the only ones aside from the killer that are disappointed no one died.”
Luck’s eyebrows rose. He blinked once, slowly.
“But you’re not a misanthrope…”
Darger couldn’t hear Alejandro from here, but she didn’t need to. She could follow his story from his hand gestures and facial expressions alone. Off to the side, Richie stood away from the glare of the cameras. He glanced back at her, as if sensing her gaze.
“Here’s an idea,” Luck said, luring her attention away from the media frenzy. “Since we’re probably gonna be here a while, someone should make a coffee run.”
“Good thinking.”
His fingers disappeared into his pocket and came back with his keys. They dangled and clinked as he held them out to her.
“So by ‘someone’ you meant me. Is this because I’m a woman?”
“This is because I know you’ve been dying to get behind the wheel of my Lexus,” he said. “All that Toyota talk was such obvious misdirection.”
Darger choked out a disbelieving laugh.
“The way you’ve been giving me such a hard time about it? Totally transparent,” he said. “You’ve got Lexus envy, and you’ve got it bad. Just be gentle with her.”
She snatched the keys from his hand.
“No promises,” she said, taking off before he could issue a command to drive five under the speed limit.
She crossed the street and side-stepped the police barricade, where passersby were still stopping to stare at the ongoing blaze. As soon as the fire was far enough behind her to be out of sight, she felt an instant shift in the air. It was cooler. Less smoky. She took in a deep breath and let it out.
The police had been redirecting traffic away from the fire, so the streets were dead. It was almost peaceful.
She passed between two buildings, footsteps echoing against the brick facades. And then she heard another sound behind her. The scuff of a shoe on concrete, she thought.
Turning back, she squinted into the last sliver of sunlight as it disappeared on the horizon. She’d expected to find Luck there — not trusting her to drive his precious car unsupervised after all — but there was no one. Goose bumps prickled on the skin of her arms.
She rounded a corner and spotted the Lexus farther down the block. She held the key fob closer to her face, trying to figure out which button would unlock the car.
And then she heard it again. A shuffle of feet. She was sure of it this time. And they were getting closer.
She spotted two dumpsters tucked alongside the building, and without a second thought, she darted into the space between them, huddling in the shadows there.
As the footsteps drew closer, she tried to tell herself she was being paranoid. But after the attack on Camacho, she knew the killer was watching the investigation. He must be.
And now the footsteps were hurrying, thinking they’d lost her.
Darger slid her hand to her holster and drew her weapon.
A figure stepped into sight. A man. She couldn’t make out any defining features in the strange monochrome dimness of twilight. But it wasn’t Luck, she could tell that much. He wasn’t tall enough.
He stopped just beyond her hiding place, unaware of her presence. His head swiveled to the left and right. Searching for her.
Heart thumping, she aimed her weapon at the man’s chest and drew to her full height.
“FBI,” she said. “Hands in the air.”
The man recoiled at her voice, but obeyed. His hands floated into position above his head.
“Why are you following me?”
Trembling, he swiveled to face her.
It was the kid in the ridiculous Mario and Luigi shirt. Richie.
“I need to talk to you. Alone.”
Chapter 39
Darger lowered her gun to her side.
“You can put your arms down,” she said, holstering her weapon.
They fell like limp noodles, and then Richie hugged himself, rubbing his thin biceps with his hands as if he felt a chill.
“If I had something to report, but I wanted to stay anonymous, could I do that?”
His eyes were stretched so wide she could see the whites. She feared that any sudden movement might cause him to flee, like a startled rabbit. Darger kept very still, barely allowing herself to breathe.
“Sure.”
Chewing his lip, Richie’s gaze swept the alley, then returned to meet hers. His finger flicked toward her chest.
“And you said FBI, right? You’re not a cop?”
Glancing down at the badge she wore around her neck, she nodded.
“That’s right.”
“I saw something. Or someone, rather. It might be nothing, but…”
“But it’s better to tell me what you saw than to leave it to chance,” she said.
Richie swallowed, his throat clicking audibly.
“There was a guy in the bar a few days ago. I don’t remember seeing him before, and he was… I don’t know. You said that stuff about him casing the place, or whatever? This guy was like that. Eyes all over the place. Real uptight. I mean, we get our share of that, straight guys dragged in by their girlfriends or whatever, but this was different. The straight ones, they usually loosen up after a drink or two. But this guy, he didn’t even touch his beer. Just stood with his back to the wall, watching everyone. He was so tense he looked like a rubber band stretched to breaking point.”
“OK,” Darger said. “Do you remember what night?”
She was thinking that if their guy paid for his drink with a credit card — a long shot, maybe — they might get a name.
Richie shook his head.
“That’s fine,” she said, concealing her disappointment. “What about a description?”
His head shaking went up a notch in intensity.
“It’d be anonymous,” Darger said.
“No, it’s not that.” Richie pointed over her shoulder, back toward the fire scene. “It’s the guy. He’s here right now.”
Chapter 40
She wanted to play it cool, but as they walked back toward the scene, Darger couldn’t help but pepper Richie with questions.
“You said you spotted him in the crowd. But you didn’t see him in the bar tonight?”
Lips pressed in a tight line, Richie shook his head.
They swung around the corner and crossed the street. The smoldering building came into view. Darger could already feel the warmth of the fire on her cheeks, even from this distance. She halted and turned to Richie.
“Can you see him from here?”
The kid’s eyes bounced back and forth, scanning the crowd. Then they stopped, and he nodded.
“Can you point him out t
o me?” Darger said, then seeing Richie’s hesitation added, “You don’t have to physically point. Just describe where he’s standing. What he’s wearing.”
“See the fire hydrant?”
Darger’s eyes swiveled in their sockets, locked on the hydrant.
“Yes.”
“And the tallish guy with the baseball shirt. Black sleeves. Holding a video camera.”
The man in question was Officer Murphy. Darger immediately focused on the man Murphy was talking to.
“The guy with the bowtie and mustache?”
Richie’s eyebrows came together in a frown.
“No. The guy in the baseball shirt. He’s the one I saw in the bar.”
Now Darger was the one frowning. That didn’t make sense. Murphy was the one wearing the baseball shirt.
Officer Murphy.
And then the realization hit her full force.
Hadn’t they been looking for someone in or adjacent to law enforcement this whole time? They assumed he’d have washed out or been fired because of his impulsiveness, but that wasn’t always the case. Sometimes these guys were able to fly under the radar. John Orr certainly had.
She inhaled sharply, her eyes darting around until they found Luck.
“Hey,” she waved at him and then crooked her finger.
He looked confused when he saw her, no doubt wondering why she wasn’t off on her errand to fetch coffee, but he started toward them.
“No. Wait,” Richie said. “You said this would be anonymous.”
Darger saw the panic in his eyes, knew he was thinking that accusing a cop in the presence of his colleagues was a risky move. She held her palms up.
“It’s OK. He’s FBI, like me. We can trust him.”
“No coffee?” Luck joked.
“Later,” Darger said, swiveling to face Richie. “Tell him what you told me.”
Richie shifted his weight from foot to foot as he recounted his story. Darger watched Luck’s eyes go wide when Richie identified Officer Murphy as the man he’d seen acting suspiciously in the bar just a few nights ago.
After dismissing Richie, Luck and Darger huddled together, discussing their next move.
“You think he’s for real?”
“You tell me,” Darger said. “Because he sounded convincing as hell. And he was scared. He knows what he’s up against, fingering a cop for this. That’s why he waited until he could get me alone.”
“What about Camacho?”
“What about him?”
“The fire at his house. Why would Murphy target his partner?”
Darger shook her head.
“Because he knows him. Knows where he lives. Knows his house well enough to know where to keep in the shadows. Thought he could get away with it.” She threw her hands up and let them fall against her hips. “Or maybe they’re in cahoots.”
A tiny hint of a smile played on Luck’s lips.
“Cahoots?”
“Shut up. You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I do,” he said, sobering instantly. “What the hell do we do next?”
Darger chewed her lip.
“Let’s talk to Camacho first. If they were on duty when the fire was set, then Murphy has a pretty solid alibi. This ends right here, and we don’t have to ruffle any feathers.”
“OK.” Luck nodded. “How do we approach him without making him suspicious, though? If we march over there and start asking pointed questions about their whereabouts when the fire broke out, he’s gonna know something is up. He’s a cop.”
“Good point.”
Despite the glow of the still-burning building, night descended around them. Darger could see the moon hanging over Luck’s head.
“I’ve got it,” he said, holding up a finger. “Coffee.”
Chapter 41
As Darger handed out steaming cup after steaming cup to the men and women of the task force, she realized Luck had been right on both counts. She saw the expressions in the faces lift. And she was able to walk straight over to Camacho, hand him a cup, and strike up a conversation without seeming the least bit shady.
“Oh man. Thanks, Agent Darger,” Camacho said. “I was running on fumes.”
“Me too. Figured I wasn’t the only one.”
She took a sip of her own cup, wincing a little at the heat as it ran down her throat and into her stomach.
“Not how I expected the day to go,” she said.
Camacho shook his head.
“Me neither. And you guys had just got off a full shift of surveillance duty, I heard?”
Darger nodded.
“Actually, I was surprised you guys weren’t there. You and Murphy, I mean.”
Camacho scratched the back of his neck.
“Nah. Me and Murph had the day off.”
It was a struggle to keep her face impassive. She had so wanted Camacho to tell her they’d been on duty today. It would have made things so much easier. But now? Now she had to wade in deeper.
“Well, you missed out. Sablatsky led us on a bit of a chase. And in the end he was just getting his hair cut.”
“Jesus.” Camacho chuckled. “Pretty wild that we were sitting on the wrong guy this whole time, right?”
“Yeah.”
She let the silence stretch out for a bit, planning her next move. She watched the embers on a piece of the fallen roof throb brighter and dimmer, brighter and dimmer. No pattern to it. A random flutter controlled by the flow of oxygen over the burning wood.
Darger swished her cup around so that the liquid inside swirled into a spiral. She needed to tread lightly for this next part.
“So that kinda sucks for you. I mean, this probably really fucked up your plans for your day off,” she said.
“Eh, not really,” Camacho said with a shrug. “I was just bumming around at home. Doing my best impression of a couch potato.”
That ruled him out as an alibi for Murphy then. Her only hope now was that Murphy could prove he was miles away from this side of town when the fire broke out.
“I did miss Dr. Phil, though. Can’t lie… I’m pretty upset about that,” Camacho said, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Darger forced herself to laugh at the joke, but it was hollow. She took the next opportunity to excuse herself to find Luck.
They met up on the fringe of the crowd, making certain they weren’t within earshot of anyone else.
“You go first,” Luck said.
“Camacho said he had the day off.”
Luck nodded, confirming that Murphy had said the same.
“And he said he spent it at home. Watching TV.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
Luck sighed loudly.
“That’s a problem,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because Murphy just told me he was with Camacho all day.”
Chapter 42
Wind whips into the driver’s side window. Cold air assailing the left half of his face. Flinging smoke from his cigarette into his eye, making the skin around that eyelid pucker and paunch with wrinkles.
It’s getting late. The full dark of the night prevailing. But some parts of the city never sleep.
He drives there, to where the lights still burn bright, to where the creatures still wriggle and writhe and crawl out under the moonlight.
Better to drive out among them, he thinks. Better than being alone.
He’s failed. Again. No life lost at the queer bar, according to the news reports. Unbelievable.
And it makes him feel small. Powerless. This is supposed to be his rise. His ascent. His ticket to the top.
Spectacles must build in momentum, in scale, in the extent of the damage they inflict, in the sense of awe they create. Not like this. He’d announced himself to the world with the church, the grand set piece that left so many dead, that grabbed headlines across the globe, and ever since he’d come up empty. Not only did he fail to top his opening act, he’d failed to even matter after it.
>
He flicks a cigarette out the window. Lights another.
The church feels like a long time ago now. Months instead of days. Like it happened in another life, in some other protagonist’s story. Like he’s merely a pretender to that legacy. A nobody again.
He grits his teeth. Eyelids shuddering.
But no.
No use in dwelling on it. All of that is over. Better to force himself into the now. Into the present moment which infinitely unfolds.
It’s always now. Always. So embrace it.
Introspection, like therapy, is for losers, he reminds himself. For pussies who want to sit on their hands a whole lifetime long, moaning about feelings and telling the sad sack stories of their inner children to any dope who will listen. For the weak. For the soft.
Fuck that.
The past is always over. The present is always here.
Now.
Right now.
So transform. Evolve. Morph. Become something new. It happens, right? Change happens.
The single-celled creatures evolved into more and more complex things. Impossible changes. Over and over.
Sometimes it takes a long time, that kind of evolution, but the change itself happens in a single second, he thinks. It has to.
One second: old.
The next second: new.
Permanent change. Dramatic. Like tectonic plates shifting. Never again to return to the way it was.
He inhales. Smoke spiraling down his throat. Entering the vacuum of his chest cavity. Roiling there for a few seconds before twirling back from whence it came, venting first through his nostrils and then through the open window. Into the night.
It feels good to breathe smoke in some small way he can’t explain. A little death. Just a taste of it.
It’s the little things like this that make human existence bearable. Smoking. Driving. Eating something tasty. Sex. Sating all those appetites as ancient as whenever that first amphibious creature slithered up onto the shore and somehow learned to breathe the air.
Did that happen in a single second, too? In some sense, it must have.
Violet Darger (Book 6): Night On Fire Page 19