“Sure thing.”
Since I wouldn’t be able to sleep in my apartment for a while, I called Mac.
“Hello?”
“Mac, it’s me. There was a fire and—”
“What? Syd? You’re in a fire?”
“No, listen. My apartment building caught fire tonight, and I need a place to stay for a few days.”
“Oh my God! Of course, you can stay here. You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
I looked at my patched-up elbow. “Other than a couple of scratches, I’m fine.”
“Good. When will you get here?”
“Going to grab a few things from my apartment first. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
“All right. I’ll get the spare bedroom ready.”
“Mac, go back to sleep. I’m fine. Don’t worry.” I had a key to their house and could let myself in.
“Okay. Bye, Syd. Be careful.”
“Bye, Mac.”
She wouldn’t be able to sleep. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t either. I put my phone in my jacket pocket and waited.
An hour later, the fire chief was scanning the crowd and I walked toward him. “Excuse me, Chief Thomas?”
“Hey, Detective Valentine. Nobody’s dead, what are you doing here?”
I told him.
“Darn it. Sorry. Didn’t know you lived here. That’s bad luck.”
Is it?
“Have you determined the cause of the fire yet?”
The Chief scratched his soot-stained chin before answering. “Preliminary investigation indicates the fire started in apartment 2B.”
“What? That’s right next to mine. Was it electrical? The manager recently had several electrical issues repaired—or so he’d said.”
“Nope. Looks like arson. Clumsy, too.” He watched his crew for a moment before turning to me.
“Are you sure?” I surveyed the crowd, looking for anyone suspicious. Arsonists often hung around to observe their handiwork. I didn’t know all my neighbors and couldn’t tell who belonged there and who was being nosy.
“Come on in. Let me show you.” Chief Thomas headed toward the building, and I followed him to apartment 2B.
The place was the mirror image of mine, and we shared a living room wall. Chief Thomas pointed to a circular area in the far corner across from the common wall. Charred debris was piled there and scattered in the center of the room. Smoke still wafted through the air and burned my throat and eyes.
“See that spot where it’s charred more heavily than the rest?” He shone a flashlight downward. “That’s the seat of the fire. Looks like tires. There are some unburned pieces of rubber at the edges.”
“Why tires?” I looked around the room at the soggy carpet and damaged wall.
“Toxic fumes.” He moved to the sliding-glass door and jiggled it. The door came off its track easily.
“What the …?” I stepped outside to look at the track. It had been bent outward, making it easy to lift out and up.
“It’s as easy as that. Someone bent it without much trouble. Doors are pretty cheap. Once the arsonist gained entry, he’d only have to toss something in here to get the fire started. Smell the gasoline?”
I sniffed, shook my head. “Nope. Can’t smell a thing.”
The chief nodded. “Not surprising. You’ll be sneezing out soot for days. Trust me, though. Place stinks of used gas.” He pointed to a charred area in the corner. “The arsonist poured it here.” He watched me. “Somebody trying to get to you, Detective?”
“Me? Why me? Maybe someone wanted to hurt whoever lives in this apartment.”
Chief Thomas shook his head. “See any furniture here? Two of the other tenants told me it’s been vacant for a couple of months.”
I looked around. “Shit.”
He was right. So, who had tried to kill me this time?
“We found the apartment manager trying to put the fire out with an extinguisher and made him leave before he got hurt. He had most of it out when we arrived. There’s no fire or water damage in your apartment. It will smell of smoke though. The manager let us in to take a look. It’s a good thing someone called us right away.”
“If someone was after me, why not toss whatever it was into my apartment?”
He crossed his arms. “What would you have done if someone had done that?”
“I would’ve heard it, put the fire out with the extinguisher, then called the fire department.”
“Right. Whoever did it hoped you’d be asleep and die from the fumes … or burn to death.”
“Bad way to go, either way.”
My lungs were raw and sensitive, and I took shallow breaths to avoid starting another coughing fit. “Let me know if you find anything else?”
“You got it. If I can help, let me know.” He took a step then glanced my way. “Detective Valentine? Be careful. Somebody went to some effort to start this. He might try again.”
“He?”
“Most arsonists are men.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Chief. I got the message. Am I clear to enter my place and pick up a few things?”
“As long as you take care not to disturb any evidence. It’s a crime scene, you know.” He winked, and I closed my eyes.
Everyone’s a comedian.
I checked the time on my cell—close to five o’clock. I called Bernie and gave him the news. I warned him that he and Khrystal could be targets, too.
My living room was dark. I flipped on the light, but nothing happened.
“Are you hurt?” Bernie asked, clearly concerned.
“I’m fine. Got away with a few cuts and bruises.”
I opened the closet by the front door and removed the flashlight from its charger. Its powerful halogen beam lit up the room.
“How bad is the damage to your apartment?”
“I’m in my bedroom now and it looks okay. The living room wall is damaged, and I can smell smoke. I’m going to Mac’s once I get some clothes and other things.”
“Are you coming in today?”
“I don’t need time off. I’m going to call the LT once I get off the phone with you.”
“No, I’ll call him for you. Head over to Mac’s. Try to get some sleep.”
“Thanks, Bernie. I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Syd. Take care of yourself.”
I closed and locked the window. After loading up on personal necessities, clothing, shoes, and enough miscellaneous items to fill my gym bag, I headed out.
When I unlocked Mac’s front door and padded into the front room, I found her curled up, asleep on the sofa under a Batman comforter—Josh was on a caped crusader kick. The muted television showed one of the home shopping channels pushing a high-speed blender. I dropped my belongings on the floor in the spare bedroom. After prying the remote from her grasp, I switched off the television and shook her awake. Her eyes popped open wide, and she wiped her mouth, blinking hard.
“It’s me, Mac. Go to bed.”
She rubbed her eyes and stretched. “You’re okay?” She stifled a yawn as she climbed to her feet.
“I’m fine.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You stink of smoke, by the way.”
“Gee thanks, sis.”
“Take a shower. Going to bed now. G’night.” She shuffled toward the hall, giving me a backhand wave.
“Good night.” I unpacked my clothes and toiletries. Everything stank of smoke, and I loaded them into the washer with pure vanilla extract to remove the odor, which I’d once read on the Red Cross website. I borrowed a pair of Mac’s pajamas I found in the dryer, brushed my teeth, and then soaked in the tub for a while, soothing my tense muscles. Getting the grime and smoke off me felt good. I threw everything in the dryer and headed to bed. I needed to lie down—even if I didn’t sleep.
10
Although I’d been up late and only had a nap at Mac’s, I hopped out of bed early the next morning. After eating, I left Mac a note on the counter. Mac and Mike were still conked out when I
left.
A traffic snarl-up on the way to work gave me time to mull over the investigation. I planned to take another run at Sylvia. Bernie called to let me know he would be delayed because he’d had a late night with Khrystal. After another severe bout of morning sickness, he’d taken her to the ER, where they waited hours to be seen. However, the doctor had sent Khrystal home after the examination. Bernie had been in the emergency room when I’d called him, but he never said a word about her being ill during our conversation about the fire.
Despite the hideous traffic, I reached work on time since I’d left earlier than usual. I stopped at Theresa’s desk to check on her progress with the fraud investigation into Jake and Kelly Milton’s home rental. She hadn’t arrived, so I left a note on her keyboard. I sat at my desk to start in on my backlog of reports.
I called Rudy, our fingerprint technician, about Jane Doe and the man found in the street He’d submitted the prints to AFIS, the national Automated Fingerprint Identification System, but so far, he hadn’t been able to determine the identity of either victim through the prints, which happened more often than not. Jill, in the Missing Persons Unit told me she still had no reports matching John Doe. It always stunned me when we found dead bodies whom nobody seemed to be searching for—at least not through Missing Persons.
After working on the reports for a while, hitting the road seemed like a good idea. Frakes Realty was open and, not wanting to waste my industrious mood, I intended to pay Sylvia a visit.
“Good morning, Sydney,” Lieutenant Peterson said, miraculously appearing at my desk. How did such a big guy move so silently? “How’s your apartment?”
“No water damage. It smelled like smoke though. ”
“Chief Thomas told me it was arson. Any idea who’s responsible?”
“We’re not in anyone’s face about anything yet. So, no. I have no idea.”
“Maybe you’re close and just don’t know it. Sometimes, people panic.” He gazed at me as though he’d said something profound.
“Maybe. I’m heading out to Frakes Realty in a while. I want to interview the boss.”
“Take Theresa if she’s free. Let me know if you do. Her Milton case might be related to your Jane Doe case.”
“I’ve already put a note on her desk to come see me when she has the chance.”
“Be careful and keep me in the loop.” He turned toward his office.
“Will do, LT.”
I went to Theresa’s desk, but my note was still on her keyboard. At least her tardiness gave me time to call Brad while waiting. If she didn’t arrive soon, I’d visit Frakes Realty alone. I tapped Brad’s number, and an automated message alerted me the number was no longer in service.
What the hell?
I stared at the display and tried again. Same message. I stared at the phone and frowned.
“Hey, Sydney. Something wrong with your phone?” Theresa asked.
“Don’t know. This is weird.”
“What is?” She looked over my shoulder at the display. “Do you need to use my phone?”
“No. Maybe he changed his number and forgot to tell me.”
“Who changed whose number?” She dropped into my wobbly visitors’ chair. “What are you talking about?”
“Brad. It said his number was no longer in service.”
“Uh huh. And he didn’t give you his new one?” Theresa frowned, too.
“He didn’t. Wait, maybe he left a voicemail.” Although I’d received no voicemail notifications, I connected to the system anyway. I listened to messages and deleted a couple of old ones. “Nope.” I shrugged.
“Hmm. Maybe you got dumped. Sorry.” She gave me a look of pity, but I didn’t need or want it.
“What kind of coward just changes his number and doesn’t tell me he’s breaking up with me?”
“Well, he kind of did tell you by not giving you his number.” She stood. “Maybe he just forgot. Yes, I’m sure that’s what happened.” Although her words were kind, she didn’t seem to believe them any more than I did.
I stood and shoved my chair under the desk. “Jerk!” I recalled the dinner he’d made, the romantic table setting, the tacos he’d packed for me when I had to leave yet another date early due to my job, and the thoughtful napkins he’d included in the bag. I still had his Tupperware container. My eyes burned, and I swallowed back the lump forming in my throat. Then I turned away and pretended to look for something in my desk. “I want to go to Frakes Realty this morning, but I need to use the restroom first.”
I hurried to the ladies’ room, hoping to make an empty stall before anyone saw my eyes tear up. I didn’t want anyone to see my face, and I didn’t want to talk about it, either. Not yet.
As it turned out, I’d shed a tear or two, but pulled myself together before Theresa came looking for me in the ladies’ room. After splashing water on my face and stopping at the water fountain, we met up at her desk, and I was ready to hit the road. She took one look at me but didn’t say a word, and I liked her the more for it.
As I drove us to Frakes Realty, Theresa kept shooting me sideways glances. I knew she had something on her mind, but she gave me a break. Good. I wanted to focus. Someone had made an attempt to end my life. I needed to get closer to the truth. I didn’t know if I would find it at Frakes, but I saw no harm in trying.
We rolled into the parking lot, and I pulled up between a Honda Accord and a Fiat. I hoped one belonged to Sylvia. I slid my notebook from my pocket and jotted down the plate numbers before marching to the office entrance, with Theresa hot on my heels, hurrying to catch up.
Get a move on, girl!
I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
What the hell?
All the furniture had gone.
I turned around and bumped into Theresa before heading in the direction of Sylvia’s office, but it was empty, too. Not a desk, chair, or even a paperclip.
Well, I’ll be doggone.
Where the heck did they go? I glanced at Theresa. She shrugged, and I glared at her as if it was her fault. I wanted to kick something, but there was nothing here to kick, except Theresa, and she’d likely kick me back.
I sighed and walked through the offices, hoping to find a clue as to where they’d gone and why. Could Sylvia have tried to kill a certain detective? Or were they up to no good and running? I chewed the inside of my cheek, needing to think. Why had the front door been unlocked? The door! Was their name still on it? I hadn’t noticed. I retraced my steps, shoved the front door open, and stepped outside. The Frakes Realty sign had disappeared.
Theresa stood next to me with her hands on hips. “Now what do we do? Any ideas?”
“Nope.” We returned to our car and stood in the lot, looking around. I felt like kicking the car’s tires. At least it couldn’t retaliate.
“You could get in touch with that girl. The ex-mistress.”
“I doubt Monica Stewart is an ex-mistress anymore. I could call her, but first, I want to call Sylvia Frakes. I have her cell phone number from the first time Bernie and I spoke to them. Even if she had lost her phone, she must have replaced it—and might still have the same number.”
“Do you think Monica killed Jane Doe? Or maybe Sylvia?” Theresa asked, frowning in thought.
“No idea, but somebody tried to kill me last night.” I reached for the door handle.
“Wait! What?” Theresa grabbed my arm and spun me around. “Someone tried to kill you? And this is the first I’m hearing about it?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” I knew I hadn’t.
“No! What happened?” She’d placed her hands on her hips.
I told her all about the arson.
“Get out of town! What time did all this happen?” Theresa looked around, studying everyone who walked by. The people put their heads down and scurried away.
“Somewhere around two o’clock in the morning.”
“Boy oh boy. I’ve never been in a fire. No idea what I’d have done if it had been
me.” She shook her head.
“You would’ve done the same as I did. You’re a cop. You’d keep your cool, for the most part, and do what you had to do.”
“Did you keep your cool? Were you scared?”
“Terrified.”
“You think the arson is related to this case?” She pursed her lips. “Maybe the conman who rented Jake and Kelly the house is after you.”
“Why me? You’re the one snooping around, looking for him.” I watched her reaction to that piece of news.
She looked around the area again. “That’s true. I’d better watch my back. I haven’t found that guy yet.”
She opened the car door and slid behind the wheel, so I gave her the key.
“Just look for someone resembling Abe Lincoln.” Laughing, I buckled up as she pulled out of the lot. “He should be easy to spot. I wonder if he was wearing that hat when she met him.”
“Yeah, right.” She chuckled. “Hey, where are you staying now?”
“With my sister and her family. They have a spare bedroom.”
“Well, you said you were thinking about buying a house. This might be your chance to get out there and start searching.”
“Yeah. I was planning on talking about it with Brad since that’s his area of expertise, but …” A sense of loss crept up on me, and I gazed out the window.
“You need to talk to him. You know where he lives. Go see what’s what.” She cruised down the street, past restaurants.
“Really? I don’t take rejection well.” I swallowed, and my eyes started to burn again. I blinked.
“Who does? Besides, if he did dump you, what do you have to lose by going to his house?”
I turned toward her. “Let me put that another way. If he dumped me, what do I have to gain by going there?”
“Hmm. I see your point.” She shrugged. “Go anyway.”
“Let’s have lunch first. I see someone in the Denny’s parking lot I’ve been waiting to talk to.”
She pulled into a parking space near the front entrance.
11
Before getting out of the car, I showed Theresa the photos of Jennifer Moore and filled her in on what I’d learned from Becca, the Denny’s waitress. As we approached the group, I studied Jennifer and her cohorts. They appeared shrunken and weak. Filthy clothes hung on skinny frames.
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