by Debra Cowan
“I’m sure you’ve both already taken note that this is our second victim from Station Two.” Terra stopped a few feet away, her pretty features grim. “It’s the first time that’s happened.”
“Since the first two firefighters worked out of different stations,” Collier said, “the connection is not that the victims worked out of the same house. I’ll be interested to see if any of our previous interviews turn up on the list again.”
“Let’s get busy,” Terra interrupted, “and see what we can find.”
“Lead the way,” Kiley said.
To ward off the smoke headache already pulsing at the base of his skull, Collier downed several ibuprofen without water and passed a few to her. She took them and slid them into her pocket. He mentally shrugged. Maybe she didn’t get smoke headaches from tromping around fire scenes.
He flexed his hands inside the pair of stiff gloves Terra had loaned him. At Russell’s request, his well-used gloves, stained with Lazano’s blood, were now bagged as evidence outside with another cop. The three of them worked their way from the least amount of damage to the worst.
Terra snapped pictures from several angles and Collier dictated information about their position and observations into her recorder. In his other hand, he carried a shovel and her tackle box. They stopped frequently, shoveling ashes and debris, searching for evidence.
Over the past eighteen months, he’d built his own tool kit, which included every kind of tool from pliers and tape measures to hacksaws and hammers. For evidence gathering, he carried sterile paint cans, paper and plastic bags and a couple of small jars for liquids. Since he’d been on his last firefighting shift tonight and his new job wasn’t supposed to officially begin until Monday, he was without his kit.
Lazano’s murder had moved up Collier’s start date…and teamed him with a woman he would rather avoid. As a fire investigator, he had the authority to interview and interrogate but not to arrest or serve warrants like Russell did. Because of the policy between the Presley Fire Department and Police Department, he would have to work with Detective Russell until one of them proved the death was an accident or murder. They already knew Lazano’s death hadn’t been a suicide and didn’t believe there was anything accidental about it, so it appeared he would be working with the redhead until they closed these murder cases. Just dandy.
The physical reaction he’d had to Russell during that dance had been warning enough, but combined with the insistent curiosity he felt about her, he had backed way off. And he intended to stay that way.
“I have to hand it to y’all,” Kiley said from behind him. “The amount of patience this takes is incredible.”
Collier shared a look with Terra. She’d had to remind him more than once that investigations took time and patience. He’d had to learn to curb his firefighter’s attack mentality and to carefully, thoroughly, follow the crime trail one step at a time.
He’d wanted to work fire investigations for more than two years, which was why he had readily agreed to apprentice with Terra for no pay. Besides putting him in a good position to nab the promotion to fire investigator when another spot with her office opened up, he’d also taken on the additional and demanding hours as a way to forget about Gwen. And he had.
Another fire investigator hadn’t been approved and budgeted until a few months ago. He’d taken the test, passed his independent assessment and been interviewed by Terra along with another candidate. She had offered the job to him, and the other man had found a job shortly thereafter with Oklahoma City’s fire marshal.
Kiley trailed him through the center of the warehouse, wet grime sucking at her boots. “I remember Terra saying that arsonists typically set fires either for revenge, attention or to hide evidence of another crime. In this case it looks like the fires are being set as bait to attract the firefighters to the scene and kill them.”
Collier turned to her. “I agree.”
“I guess we should consider insurance fraud. If only to show we eliminated that motive.”
“Warehouses are always prime marks for fire insurance fraud,” he admitted.
“It’s possible that one person set the fire for insurance money and that another person murdered Lazano,” Terra offered, rubbing at her lower back again. “But this is too much like the other murders. I think our arsonist and sniper are the same person. And I think we’re dealing with an emotional fire setter as opposed to a pathological one.”
“What’s the difference?” Kiley asked.
“An emotional fire setter strikes out of revenge or hate,” Terra said. “A pathological torch gets off just by setting fires.”
Kiley glanced around the warehouse. “Since we’re dealing with a serial killer who’s using the blaze to bait firefighters, we have an emotional fire setter.”
“It appears that way.” Collier dragged a hand down his face. “So while arson definitely plays a role, we should be looking for someone who has more motive to kill than burn.”
“I think you’re right.” His boss looked as grim as he felt.
Kiley adjusted the too-large helmet on her head. “I’ll check on the warehouse’s insurance policy, anyway, just to cover our bases.”
As they worked their way to the worst burn area, the fire’s origin, Collier documented every step with photos and sketches.
On the east side of the interior, Terra halted in front of him and sniffed the air. “I don’t smell any accelerant. No gasoline, no kerosene, nothing.”
Collier couldn’t smell any, either. Scenting accelerants was a natural ability Terra had that he didn’t, but she had said that didn’t matter. What would make him a good fire investigator wasn’t what he could smell, but what he observed.
Scanning the coffee pallet and metal wall directly in front of him for the “low point” or point of origin, his gaze settled on a blackened circle on the concrete.
Both women walked up beside him. Collier kept his focus on the spot in front of him, concentrating on determining if this fire was arson. Why would a fire start here? There was no heat source, so he could eliminate that the blaze had been accidental. He pointed to a small mound of charred material in the middle of the blackened circle. “This pile of rags is the point of origin. Looks like it may be towels.”
“Let’s take a look at burn patterns on the pallets and coffee bags that burned, the leftover debris here and on the floor, ground, ceiling,” Terra said.
After carefully bagging a fist-size amount of the remaining cloth, he used a small sterile paint can to hold a sample of the charred wooden pallet. Terra took photos of the places where the samples had come from, while Collier indicated the same on the drawing of the fire-sketch layout he’d started for the warehouse.
To be thorough, he also sealed a handful of coffee beans, but he didn’t expect to find that they had absorbed any accelerant. He studied the charred pallet and a ten-inch stretch of black going up the metal wall beside it. He ran a quick test with the portable “sniffer,” a small boxlike instrument that detected carbons like those usually left behind in gasoline or flammable liquids.
Glancing up at Terra, he was aware of Kiley in his peripheral vision. “The readout is negative for any kind of gas or flammable liquids. Right now it looks like the fire started with a match and a bundle of towels.”
“I don’t think the arsonist tried to hide it, either,” his new boss said. “Probably lit this bunch of cloth then waited for the fire alarm to trip.”
“They had probably already scoped out their position across the street.” Kiley glanced toward the front of the building. “And the fire was set close enough to the door for a quick exit.”
“Another sign of arson.” Collier’s stomach tightened at the cold calculation indicated by the scenario they were starting to piece together. Calculation that could’ve killed him this time.
Between that and the redhead behind him, his nerves were stretched taut. He shut the tackle box and rose. “From the obvious placement of the towels, I don
’t think the arsonist cares if we figure out how the fire started. The hardest blazes to determine are the ones with a single match and a little thought.”
“All the fires have basically been set in the same way and a rifle used in all four of them.” Terra braced a hand at the small of her back.
“The first fire at the high school gym and this one tonight were started before the shootings,” Kiley observed. “But the fires at the motel and in the victim’s garage were set after the victims were killed. Just to get the firefighters to respond?”
“I’d say yes.”
“Lisa Embry and now Lazano give us two vics from the same station. Miller was with Station Three and Huffman with Four.”
“Going through the first three victims’ shifts at their respective station houses gave us the calls they had in common.” Collier put a new roll of film into his camera. “We’ll check to see if Lazano’s work schedule coincides with theirs.”
“All the murders have occurred within the first week of the month so we should cross-reference those dates with the rescue call dates.” Kiley flipped a page in her notebook. “We still haven’t found anything in the first victim’s background to suggest someone would want to kill him. As for the second victim, we haven’t found the blond woman witnesses say Rex Huffman was last seen with at that motel.”
“What about Lisa Embry’s ex?” The third victim and her husband had gone through a nasty divorce and custody battle. He had ended up with the house and joint custody of the kids.
Kiley’s jaw firmed. “We should talk to him again, ask him where he was tonight.”
Terra picked up the thread. “Kiley and I will continue to work our way down the list of people who have died in fires within the last six months to a year. Or fatalities that occurred when any of these murdered firefighters were on the scene. The killer could be someone who blames the firefighters for the death of a loved one.”
“In the meantime, these guys are a bull’s-eye every time they respond to a call.” Collier couldn’t keep the rage out of his voice. “Just like Russian roulette.”
And he could’ve been one of the victims tonight. The cold knot coiling in his gut was more than nerves. It was a sobering sense of mortality that he hadn’t felt in a lot of years.
“We’ll find this murdering scumbag, Collier,” Terra reassured.
Kiley nodded, watching him with a fierce determination in her eyes and an understanding that made him pause. She pulled her gaze away to stare at the remains of the pallet, wrinkling her nose. “I like coffee, but not that roasted.”
Her remark served to ease the heaviness that had settled over them. Collier smiled and noticed Terra did, too.
“So, how does it work?” Kiley asked. “The towels catch fire, it spreads to a pallet then the coffee bags?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“What about a security alarm? The first patrol officer on the scene said only the fire alarm went off. Why didn’t the security alarm sound?”
“Are we sure they have one?” Collier asked.
“Good question.”
“I imagine they do,” he said, “but we need to make sure. The windows that were shattered were blown outward from heat, not inward as if smashed by someone trying to break in.”
Admiration flared in her eyes. “You’ve picked up a lot, seeing as how you’ve only been able to work with the fire investigator on your days off.”
“After a year and a half,” Terra said, “those days add up. I’m lucky that he wanted the job badly enough to do it.”
“And come Monday, I’ll even get paid for it.” Collier rolled his shoulders against the tautness stretching across his muscles. Russell had a way of looking at him that made him feel as if she were peeling off thin layers of himself that he didn’t want peeled.
He turned away, training his flashlight on the wall of melted aluminum sheeting. He took out his screwdriver and folded back a piece of the warped metal, checking underneath for electrical wires. Even though they believed they’d found the cause of the fire, he would make sure there had been no electrical glitches.
He would like it a lot better if Kiley Russell would move to the other end of the building. Or better yet, leave.
He could feel her behind him and itched to watch her, see how she operated. But he had a job to do and he wasn’t about to screw it up. Especially for a woman.
Kiley had spent the two days since the murder conducting interviews. She, Terra and Collier had split up after the walk-through with the agreement to call each other if they got a lead. Otherwise they would meet at the fire investigator’s office on Monday morning to view the video of the fire scene.
Early Sunday evening, Collier left a message on Kiley’s cell phone while she was asking the owner of Rehn’s warehouse some follow-up questions. He had found something on the videotape of Lazano’s fire scene he thought she and Terra should see.
About an hour after he left the message, she pulled up in front of a quaint rock house and double-checked the address the department secretary had given her. Yes, this charming thirties-style cottage next to an historically registered house was his.
An unfamiliar black Corvette sat at the curb between McClain’s house and his neighbor’s. Terra’s red SUV wasn’t here, and Kiley considered waiting in the car until the other fire investigator arrived. She didn’t relish the idea of being alone with Collier, not now and not in two weeks when Terra went on maternity leave. But staying out here was silly. This was all about the case, and judging from his cool professionalism at the scene the other night, it would stay that way.
She flipped off the ignition, palmed the keys and stepped out of her car. The fat snowflakes that had begun falling while she spoke to the warehouse owner clung to her hair and cheeks as she walked to Collier’s front door.
Whatever McClain had found must be good. For a man whose normal speaking voice was a slow-hands drawl, his words had been crisp and urgent. She wondered if he ever got that hot and bothered over a woman.
Her interviews with the firefighters from Station Two had unearthed some interesting and impressive information about the man who had taken up more of Kiley’s thoughts than she liked. He was a third-generation firefighter and great at his job. He was someone you’d want to lead you into a blaze or watch your back. And until eighteen months ago, he had been engaged to Gwen Hadley, a wealthy, gorgeous blonde Kiley had seen in Oklahoma City’s society pages.
Thanks to Collier, she already knew why he’d broken off the engagement, but his brother firefighters had felt the need to tell her, as well. Her sister, whose job as secretary to the city attorney put her in a position to hear most scuttlebutt, added some bits that Collier and his friends hadn’t shared.
She didn’t blame him for keeping the details to himself. He hadn’t just walked in on his fiancée and his friend kissing. A half-naked Gwen had been wrapped around a half-naked Dan Lazano, and Collier had caught them in the act. The shock and cruelty of such a betrayal made Kiley’s chest hurt.
Standing on his small, protected porch, she stabbed at the doorbell. The night was clear and cold. She shivered under her lined uniform coat.
“Hello?”
A masculine voice sounded behind her, and she whirled. “McClain, you move quieter than anyone—”
She broke off as the man stepped into the wedge of pale-yellow light. He was tall and handsome and not Collier McClain.
A glance back at the large black numbers to the right of the door post confirmed that this was the address she’d been given. “I’m looking for Collier McClain.”
“Just my luck.” The man gave her a flirty smile, startling her with dimples in the exact place she’d seen on Collier. His dark brown hair was mussed, the sleeves of his plaid flannel shirt rolled up. “I’m his brother, Walker.”
“Hello.” She pulled her badge from her coat pocket and showed it to him. “I’m Detective Russell with the Presley PD.”
Amusement glinted in his eyes. “Is thi
s about work or do I need to get him a lawyer?”
She grinned. “It’s about work.”
“He’s inside. C’mon in.” He turned, jamming his hands into the front pockets of his well-worn jeans and hunching his broad shoulders against the cold.
She stepped off the porch and followed him down the sidewalk to the garage. He was as long-legged as his brother. “Do you live here, too?”
“No. I’m helping him put down the floor.”
Ah, that explained the grimy knees of his jeans, and probably the ’Vette. She followed Walker through the garage, struck by the spotless interior. There wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere on the gray painted concrete floor. A shiny white and chrome pickup was the lone vehicle. A row of cabinets lined the wall in front of her, and tools hung in a precise line to the left of where she entered. “I didn’t know McClain had a brother,” she said.
“And a sister.” Walker opened a door in the garage and ushered her inside the house. “How long have you known him?”
The question was mild enough, but Kiley read curiosity in the man’s eyes. Now she could see they were the same dusky green as his brother’s. “Not long. We’re working some cases together.”
“So you’re not here to arrest him?” Laughter marked his words.
“I could probably be persuaded.”
He chuckled as she followed him through a cozy, charming kitchen done in clean white tile and navy stripes. On closer inspection she discovered that what she thought was wallpaper was actually paint. He must have a great decorator.
Modern appliances belied the decades-old charm of the stone house, and window blinds rode up to reveal a winter-brown landscaped backyard. They passed a small room housing the washer and dryer. An old redbone hound with more gray than red on its face lay in front of the dryer. As she walked past, it looked up sleepily, then closed its eyes again.
They walked through a small formal dining room, which her mom would’ve loved, and into a cozy living area where a fire burned in a stone fireplace. Taupe carpet provided a warm counterpoint to the navy-and-burgundy-plaid sofa and two navy leather recliners.