Illusive Flame

by Girard, Dara

  The other officer came in and patted him on the shoulder. “Did she read your fortune?”

  Grant quickly covered his notes. Braxton had a reputation to consider. If anyone found out about his housekeeper it would cause trouble they didn’t need. “Maybe next time,” he joked, but didn’t feel like laughing anymore. Victoria had made some good observations. She talked about the radio, which tied in with the walkie-talkie they found. So two people were involved.

  She mentioned three. The third man didn’t make sense to him so he’d start with the two that did: the firestarter and his lookout. She mentioned a man was injured. That could help them. He called up Braxton.

  “We need to check the hospitals,” he said.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Robert said impressed. “Because of the explosion it’s likely the fire-starter was injured or could be dead. My guess is the starter is seriously injured.”

  “Yea. We need to call hospitals and find out about any fire-injured patients.”

  Robert paused. “You sound certain. What tipped you off?”

  Grant smoothed down his tie and cleared his throat. “Just a hunch.”

  * * *

  Emergency department room nurse, Andrea Lederer, had had a hellish day the night of the fire. She’d worked until nearly midnight the previous evening covering for a geriatrics nurse who had food poisoning. When she got home she discovered her roommate had stripped the apartment bare and eloped with her boyfriend. That night she’d hardly slept then dragged herself out of bed for the afternoon shift only to find her car wouldn’t start. She ended up taking the bus.

  Today felt like half the city had shown up in the emergency room. When the phone rang, she grabbed it, eager for the brief escape from demanding patients. A man came on the line when she answered.

  “Hello this is detective Grant Elliot an arson investigator with the police department. How are you doing today?”

  He had a nice voice, but she wasn’t in the mood to care. “Don’t ask.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve had days like that myself.”

  Really? Then you’d know I don’t feel like talking. “How can I help you?”

  “We need to know if you’ve had anyone show up there either last night or early this morning with a fire injury.”

  Andrea rubbed her tired eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. “Hold on a sec.”

  She ran a finger down the clipboard log of admissions. Gun wound, eye pain, unexplained bleeding... “Sorry we don’t have any burn victims. Either last night or today.”

  “Thank you,” he said, but sounded let down.

  She fought back a yawn. “No problem.”

  * * *

  Grant hung up the phone. He stared at Robert who’d finished his calls earlier and had come up empty. “Nothing,” he said.

  Robert shrugged. “You look disappointed.”

  “She sounded so sure.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Who? You found a witness?”

  Grant shifted in his chair. “Uh, not quite.”

  “What do you mean, not quite?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I met your new employee and it seems she thinks she has a special gift.”

  Robert’s eyes darkened. “Tell me what happened.”

  * * *

  At the hospital Andrea wiped her eyes and pushed the clipboard aside unaware of the information on the second page of the admissions list A third way down was the name of a man brought into the hospital shortly after dawn suffering from second and third degree burns. A man who’d received emergency treatment then left, refusing to be admitted. A man some would say looked like the walking dead, and others would say was.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Victoria polished the wooden railing with extra vigor, chastising herself. She shouldn’t have gone to the police. She should have known better. The man she’d spoken to seemed nice, but she felt the atmosphere change when she mentioned Mr. Braxton’s name. Perhaps they’d investigated together once. Aunt Janet had never been specific what Mr. Braxton investigated. She heard the front door close then his heavy footsteps. She was getting used to the sound, almost surprised the earth didn’t tremble when he walked.

  “Ms. Spenser.”

  She glanced up. Blood drained from her face. Stark fury blazed in his eyes as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. She kept her voice level. “Yes, Mr. Braxton?”

  “In my study. Now.” He spun on his heel and left. She walked down the stairs, followed him down the hall then stopped. She didn’t know where his study was. She’d been kept on the east section of the house and had yet to get a full tour. She stared at the row of doors and began to open them. One was a library, another a gallery. She was about to enter a third when Robert stuck his head out.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Looking for your study.”

  He stared at her a long moment then sighed. “It’s here.”

  Inside the study she saw a worn shovel in the corner, newspaper clippings, maps and lots of books. He sat behind the desk making no attempt to hide his anger, but he kept his feelings controlled. He didn’t drum his fingers or fidget. He just sat completely still and watched her like dark creatures who liked to hide in the shadows. He then placed two fingers like a steeple and tapped them against his mouth, his eyes never leaving her face.

  After a few moments of this, Victoria lost her patience. “It’s better to burst than to boil.”

  His hands fell to the desk. “What?”

  “Speak your anger don’t suppress it.”

  He leaned back and twirled a pen on the desk. He lowered his gaze as though the sight of her hurt his eyes. “My dear woman,” he said in a quiet voice. “The level of anger I feel at this moment could not be expressed.”

  She folded her arms. “What have I done?”

  “I’ve convinced myself that you’re new to this country and perhaps financially strapped. Therefore, you wanted to make some income and decided to—”

  “If you are accusing me of something speak plainly.”

  His expression darkened. “I don’t think you would want that.”

  “I would like nothing better.”

  He pressed his palms together. “I think you’re a fraud.”

  Victoria straightened. “No, I am not.”

  “Didn’t you go to the police and tell them about your dream of the warehouse fire?”

  “It wasn’t a dream. It was a vision.”

  He raised his brows surprised. “So you don’t deny it?”

  “I have nothing to deny.”

  “Naturally. You no doubt believe your own delusion or you’re a very good liar.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No.”

  Robert pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay let’s see if we can understand each other.”

  She nodded. “Yes, let’s.”

  He paused, surprised by her challenge, determined not to let anger rule him. “You don’t deny that you went to the police station with information about the warehouse fire?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, you do deny it?”

  “No, I don’t deny it.”

  He nodded. “You also don’t deny confessing that you saw the fire in a dream, excuse me, vision?”

  “Yes, I don’t deny it.”

  “You also don’t deny hoping for a monetary reward for your services?”

  Victoria folded her arms.

  He grinned triumphant “Ah, so you have nothing to say to that?”

  She lifted her chin. “My mother told me that silence is the best answer for a fool.”

  His grin fell. “And Emerson said that pride is the never-failing vice of fools.”

  She met his accusation without flinching. “Pride is not a vice.”

  “It is certainly not a virtue.”

  She smoothed out her collar. “Pride in a woman scares most weak men.”

  “Don’t confuse pride with confidence
.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Pride is merely a form of conceit.”

  “To some, but if no one is proud of you, what else can you have but pride in yourself?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Pride can be a barrier to other feelings.”

  “Such as?”

  “Compassion.”

  “I do have compassion for others.”

  “That’s why you create a false idea that makes you believe you’re special in some way?”

  “I didn’t create anything. I spoke truthfully but will not waste my breath trying to convince you.”

  He smiled faintly. “We’ve gone off the subject.”

  “The subject, if you’ve forgotten, is your belief that I am an liar. I happen to disagree.”

  “So you’re determined to stick to this charade?”

  “It’s not a charade.”

  He turned away in disgust “You’re all the same. Con artists and thieves. You don’t care who you hurt.” He looked at her again and bit his bottom lip. “However, you surprise me. Your type usually likes to get paid first.”

  “I spoke the truth.”

  Robert stared at her in wonder. “I gave you a job and you still lie to me. Very convincingly I might add.”

  “I’m not lying. I saw the fire.”

  He pounded the desk with his fist, rattling the pens. “Then why was your vision wrong?”

  She stared at him startled. “What?”

  “There were no reported fire injuries. We called all the hospitals and came up with nothing.”

  “There was a mistake.”

  He pointed at her. “You either knew we’d not find anything because you’re a fraud or you know something and you’re pretending to use this supposed gift to cover yourself or someone else.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you realize how cruel it is to build up people’s hopes just to make yourself feel important?”

  “I went to the police because I wanted to help. The vision was real. I wanted to help before someone got killed.”

  “Where were you the night of the fire?”

  Her eyes widened. “Now I’m a suspect?”

  “Where were you the night of the fire?” he repeated in a harsh tone.

  “At the house with my aunt. We went out that evening to go to church.”

  “Which church?”

  She gave the name. “Don’t worry. They’ll remember me.”

  “Of course they will.”

  She folded her arms tighter.

  “Why didn’t you come to me first?”

  “Because the psychic on the TV went to the police.”

  Robert rested his chin in his hand glad he was getting somewhere. “So you got this idea from the TV?”

  Victoria lowered her gaze.

  “Then next time you have a supposed vision, you come to me first.”

  “I prefer to go to someone who believes me,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “You think people at the station believed you?”

  “One man seemed to.”

  Robert shook his head amazed by her act. “He was humoring you, darling. It’s what you do with crazy people.”

  “Don’t call me darling.” She glanced up. “And I’m not crazy.”

  “No, you’re not. You’ve just convinced yourself of this special power. You’re under the delusion that the nightmare you had last night was in direct correlation with the warehouse fire.”

  “No.”

  He took a deep breath. “I don’t think you heard me correctly. So listen carefully.” He leaned forward and enunciated every word. “Your...vision...was...wrong.”

  She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. Someone made a mistake.”

  “Yes.” He tapped his chest. “I did.” He opened his drawer. “I’ll give you two weeks pay so you can look for another job.”

  A quick look of panic flashed in her eyes. “You want to get rid of me because of this? I’m speaking the truth.”

  “Ms. Spenser—”

  “I was with my aunt. You can ask her.”

  Robert hesitated, then closed the drawer. “If I were to let you stay, I don’t want to hear anything more about this vision thing.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  “Except—”

  He buried his face in his hands a moment then looked at her. “Except what?”

  “You’re going to investigate the site, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please. Please check the north center of the building.”

  “The north center?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think I’ll find something?”

  Victoria nodded.

  Robert sighed. A part of him felt sorry for her, another part wanted to wring her neck for succeeding at such a convincing act. “Okay, if I discover something, I’ll consider what you believe; if not, you drop this game for good.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap. “Okay.”

  He pointed at her, his voice firm. “I mean forever. Never mention it again. Are you still confident?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “Or just stubborn?”

  She raised a mocking brow.

  He reluctantly smiled. “Yes, I know. I’m stubborn too.”

  ***

  At the burn site, Grant shouted to Robert over the loud roar of the nearby crane operators lifting twisted I-beams and slabs of debris. “Did you talk to her?”

  Robert nodded. “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing interesting.”

  Grant let the matter drop and turned to what remained of the warehouse. “There were no signs of forced entry.”

  “Hmm.”

  “If this is arson, the intruder knew how to get in.”

  “Key?” Robert guessed.

  “Maybe, or he knew of some other way to get in without setting off the alarm. For example, hiding himself in a container, like Victoria said.”

  “She said she smelled plastic and felt it was cramped and dark that could mean anything.”

  “It means a container.”

  Robert ignored him. “If he knew the building or had a key...”

  “Perhaps a disgruntled employee?” Grant finished.

  “Or the owner.”

  “The owner’s a woman. Women rarely set fires.”

  “She could have hired someone.”

  “True. Unfortunately, we won’t know how successful business was until we get some papers.”

  Robert stared at the site thoughtful. “The starter probably used a timer so he could escape before the thing blew.”

  “Either that or he didn’t escape.”

  Robert opened the trunk of his car. “Time to get some questions answered.” He put on his gear—heavy turnout boots, fire hat, SCBA (self-contained, breathing apparatus), two-way radio—then entered what was left of the warehouse. The warehouse now resembled a dark, blackened tomb with puddles of water slickened by oil. Smoke still oozed from the ground like a trapped ghost in the gloom. Unidentified black things cluttered the building; Robert stumbled over them because he could hardly see. He flashed his wide lens flashlight to guide his path.

  The place felt like an oven. He could feel the heat through his boots, as sweat rolled down his back and trickled down his armpits and legs. A rush of excitement pushed away the discomfort He felt like a pathologist. Instead of human corpses, he had a cadaver of steel and wood. He knew the warehouse had died of fire, but an investigator went past the how to the why.

  He now had the chance to use his knowledge of the elements in the fire triangle—heat, fire, and oxygen. He knew how they created certain burn patterns. Flame behavior was his specialty and he would let the building tell him the story. He checked the windows for signs. Smoldering fires cracked them like spider webs leaving them with a greasy residue, but fast-burning fires created an explosive rush and blew glass apart before smoke could glaze them. He also
looked for fire cones, heat lines, trailer marks, accelerated residue, and char depth.

  He radioed Grant. “You could lose the remains of the Titanic in here.”

  He eventually determined that the flashpoint had occurred almost simultaneously at several different locations. He guessed the fire had ignited suddenly, which was an indicator of arson. He hesitated to be certain because there had been cases were multiple points of fire were accidental. He doubted this was the case.

  Walking was about as easy as dancing on shifting sand; he kept losing his footing. He made his way to the north center and thought of Victoria. He didn’t believe her vision, but he wouldn’t mind finding something useful, plus a part of him wanted her to be right, though he didn’t know why.

  He reached the north center and saw nothing. He walked a few feet then staggered and fell. He landed in a field of five-gallon hard plastic jugs, his facemask slipped from his face. He quickly replaced it and swept his flashlight across the jugs. He stared in surprise that so many jugs were intact. A large amount had their caps off.

  He read the label. It said the jugs contained kerosene. He doubted it. Kerosene was slow burning. There was no way it would be considered the accelerant that created the explosion and resulting fire, but he couldn’t go on hunches. It was the lab’s job to find out what it was. He took one of the jugs that had residue inside.

  By the time he emerged outside, his eye was swelling shut and his forehead began to burn from whatever his face had touched when he fell.

  He saw Grant and held up the jug. “There are dozens of these in there, many with no caps. I think there’s something toxic in them and I don’t think it’s kerosene.”

  Grant looked at him, as Robert removed his gear. “She led you to the jugs, didn’t she?”

  “Actually, I fell on them.”

  “You know, there are people who can see crimes.”

  “Yes,” Robert grumbled. “And there are also some people who can see fairies and little green people.”

  “Not all psychics are con artists.”

  “No, some are just mislead. They believe in things that make no logical sense.”

  Grant nodded. “Right.. So how many ladders have you walked under recently?”

  Robert tossed his hat in the trunk.