by Alex Kava
“So you’ll be able to give us a blueprint of what exactly he used to start the fire?” Tully asked.
“If it’s gasoline, the chromatography is so accurate I should be able to differentiate between makes and grades.” Ganza said this matter-of-factly. “Each grade has a different chromatography fingerprint, depending on the proportion of various chemicals present. Refineries make gasoline according to café standards for a variety of state and federal regulations.”
“Are you saying you’ll be able to tell where the gasoline was refined and possibly where it was distributed from?” Racine asked.
“In some cases the chemical breakdown can be so accurate we’ve been able to identify and trace the gasoline to a specific gas station. In one case we were able to trace it to a particular vehicle.”
“Smells like diesel,” Maggie said, walking around Ganza’s van.
Tully sniffed the air. Smelled like the bottom of his kitchen oven. One of these days he needed to learn how to clean that burned crispy gunk that stuck to the rack.
“Good nose,” Ganza said. “If it is diesel that’ll explain why the body didn’t burn. Diesel fuel is combustible, not flammable. Doesn’t burn as easily. Soaks in or dissipates before giving off enough vapor to ignite. Also narrows it down a bit. Not as many inner cities sell diesel. But the interstate is close by.”
“Interesting choice. Why make harder for him and easier for us?” Racine asked.
“Maybe he just used what was handy,” Tully guessed. “Most criminals don’t go out of their way to buy something special. They use what’s available. What they already have.”
“Or find at the scene,” Maggie added.
“But someone who’s done it before and is most likely planning on doing it again?” Racine didn’t buy their explanation. “Wouldn’t he be more careful?”
“Serial criminals don’t expect to be caught,” Maggie told her. “The fact that they’ve gotten away with it several times usually makes them more reckless, not more cautious.” She turned toward the alley. “Can you show me exactly where the body was?”
Tully led the way. Everyone else had gone. Ganza was the last to collect his samples. That’s why the movement at the other end of the alley was so easy to spot.
The man was hunched down, sneaking underneath the rusted stairs of a fire escape, staying along the far wall. He was about twenty feet from the alley’s exit. He froze and stayed low in the shadows, apparently unaware that Tully had seen him.
Maggie thumped the back of her hand into Tully’s arm. Racine stopped cold.
“So the body was by the Dumpster,” Maggie said casually, keeping her gait steady, her voice even.
Each of their steps came with a crunch, telegraphing their approach. Had the arsonist come back? It wouldn’t be the first time. He must have been waiting around and thought they were finally finished.
Racine reached inside her jacket. Maggie touched her elbow and shook her head. She waved her thumb over her shoulder and Racine got the hint.
“Hey, I’ve got to make a call,” she said. “I’ll catch up with you two later.”
She turned a bit too quickly on the balls of her feet, but otherwise Tully thought she did a fine acting job. Racine had just cleared the corner to the entrance when they got to the Dumpster.
The guy started slithering along the wall again, and Tully wanted to stop him. If he got to the exit a few strides ahead, he might get away. Tully tried to remember what was on the other side of the alley. Another street. He could hear the traffic.
He didn’t need to make the decision. The guy stood and broke into a full-throttled run. Tully did, too. The guy was fast. Not so fast that he couldn’t sling a backpack under Tully’s feet, and Tully came down hard. His elbow smashed against the pavement with a sick crack. Pain shot up his shoulder, all the way to his back molars.
CHAPTER 22
Maggie hurdled over Tully’s long sprawled legs. She glanced back and heard him yell, “Go, go. I’m okay.”
His face was contorted in pain and Maggie knew he wasn’t okay, but she kept going.
“FBI, stop,” she yelled at the man as he got to the end of the alley.
He didn’t even flinch. Slowed just enough to skid around the corner.
Maggie followed. Depending on which building Racine was coming around it could be Maggie’s footrace to lose.
The man looked over his shoulder. He saw how close she was and jolted into the street. He danced through traffic. Brakes screeched. Horns blasted. The hydraulics of a Metro bus whined and the man bounced off its bumper. He didn’t look hurt. If anything, it had propelled him a few steps more ahead of her.
Once back on the sidewalk the guy broke into a sprint, weaving and shoving his way through. There weren’t many people. Most were homeless. They moved slowly or simply stood and watched. Maggie was a runner, tracking ten to twenty miles a week. Ordinarily this footrace would be a cakewalk. Not today. The thump in her head was accompanied now by a ringing in her ears. But she stayed with him.
He darted around a corner. Just as Maggie got there a shopping cart came barreling into her. She grabbed the front. Kept the cart from tipping and spilling all the tattered possessions inside. Its owner came next. The poor woman screamed at Maggie, fists raised, ready to do battle. Maggie swung the cart over to her and started running again. She had taken her eyes away for only a second or two, but now she couldn’t see the man.
She stopped. Waited. Let her eyes check over the door wells. There were no alleys in this block. He couldn’t have made it around the corner and she didn’t see him across the street.
She was breathing hard. Adrenaline pumping. Ears now a high-pitched hum. The thump at her temple had accelerated. Between it and the hammering of her heart, she couldn’t focus. Her vision blurred a bit. She leaned a palm against the cold brick building. That’s when she realized that she could see her reflection on the windows across the street.
She started out again, slower this time. Walking and watching the reflections ahead of her. She stayed close to the building. Still, she didn’t see him. Could he have darted into one of these buildings?
She craned her neck to look for a business sign and noticed there weren’t any fire escapes on this side, not even a rusted ladder. There were no low windows. Only one doorway, and it looked bolted. All of these buildings appeared to be warehouses or storage facilities.
How could he have just disappeared?
Maggie bent over, hands on her knees, catching her breath, trying to quiet the rumbling in her head. That’s when she realized she was spending too much time looking up.
Steam billowed from the grates of a manhole cover. Steam was always billowing up from the District’s sewer system, especially on chilly days like today. But this cover lay askew, the lip overlapping the concrete. Someone hadn’t set it back correctly. Someone in a hurry.
Maggie stared at it for a moment, then looked up and down the street one last time. She noticed an old woman going through a garbage receptacle, picking out aluminum cans. Across the street a man in coveralls leaned against the corner of a building, tapping on his cell phone. Another man was chaining his bicycle to a lamppost. Otherwise there was no one else around. Even traffic had been intermittent.
She stood with hands on her hips. Stared at the manhole cover again. Why would the guy run if he wasn’t the arsonist? Did he come back to see if the dead body had been removed? The one that he put there. If he got away now, they might never catch him.
Maggie released a long sigh. Then she squatted down to shove off the manhole cover, letting the metal clank and thump against concrete. Just as well let the bastard know she was coming down after him.
CHAPTER 23
He wanted to tell her the guy with the backpack was a waste of her time. He was a nobody. One of those street people, a real loser. Still, he’d been keeping his eye on the man since before the fire. He hadn’t realized that he had used the poor bastard’s home—a crappy cardboard box—
for his dump site. So he’d been keeping an eye on the raggedy man, though the guy hadn’t even noticed him.
In fact, he had sort of forgotten about him, until the footrace.
Wow! She could sprint.
Her body looked like it was used to running, prepped and trained for the chase. He wondered how much faster she could run if she was the one being chased. There was that tingle again and suddenly he wanted very much to watch that. To see what her stride would look like when fear propelled her.
He didn’t need to follow too quickly. He knew exactly where the homeless man was going. He knew his routine. Wasn’t like the guy was bright enough to change it up. And usually when someone was frightened he always resorted to the predictable. That was one of the reasons he had started doing a double now and then. Of course, the conditions had to be right for doubles but that just added to the challenge.
By the time he rounded the corner she was already there—exactly where he knew the guy had dropped into his underground world. Actually an interesting world. He had followed the guy once before. A bit too confining for his taste, and the squirrelly bastard didn’t add much to the game. He moved like one of the displaced sewer rats, always looking over his shoulder. Nosier than hell. He was too annoying and stupid to kill. Much more fun to follow, let him know that he was being followed, then watch him squirm.
Just as he tucked himself into a dark shadow ready to observe, the woman cop did something he hadn’t predicted. She dropped down into the hole.
CHAPTER 24
Maggie texted Tully and Racine. She gave them her location. Told them she was going down under. She should wait for back up but the guy would be long gone by then. She could still hear the crack of Tully’s elbow hitting the pavement. Did that constitute assault? He was certainly fleeing after an order to halt.
No, she couldn’t wait. She gave one last glance around and then she started her descent down the brick-lined hole that reminded her of an oversize drain.
God, how she hated closed-in spaces.
The metal ladder crumbled rust under her palms and felt slick under her shoes. Hot, fetid air rose to meet her. She didn’t expect the bottom to be so deep, and halfway down Maggie glanced back up.
Big mistake.
Nausea churned her stomach and she pressed her body against the rungs while she steadied herself.
She’d just take a look. That’s all.
Finally the hole spit her out into a dimly lit tunnel, concrete and brick, pipes snaking alongside. Steam hissed. Valves cranked. Water slushed. She stepped off the last rung and put her foot into water, jerking it back and almost losing her balance.
Of course there would be water down here. What was she thinking?
A steady trickle soaked the bottom half of her leather flats, but she was relieved to have some space.
Two feet above her head a maze of monster pipes hung from the ceiling. The concrete walls swallowed any sound from above the street and replaced it with drips and gurgles and the swishing of water. Air hissed and Maggie could feel bursts of steam. Somewhere overhead metal clanked and scraped as valves opened and closed.
She told herself it wasn’t any different from a big furnace room. Pretend it’s not twenty feet underground. Pretend there are no moving vehicles and brick buildings right on top of you.
Incandescent bulbs lit the tunnel in front of her. Two others branched off to the left and to the right but those remained dark. Maggie’s fingers found the butt of her gun. She waited. And listened.
Her first impulse was to follow the brightly lit tunnel. But isn’t that what he’d expect her to do? Did he know the tunnel system well enough to use the darkened routes? Despite the twists and turns, she’d probably be able to see illumination if he was using a flashlight down one of those pitch-black tunnels.
Maybe he didn’t expect her to follow him down. Maybe he expected her to do the sensible thing, like wait for backup. Only now did she realize the wheeze she kept hearing was actually her own breathing. She tried holding her breath. Listened again. She could hear a faint echo of footsteps walking away from her, down the lighted tunnel.
She started to follow, slipping her gun out of its holster. She stayed close to the concrete wall, pressing against it in places to keep from touching the pipes and to avoid dripping water. She stopped before every bend, holding her breath and listening. She planted her feet, making sure they didn’t slip. Cringed when she saw the greasy water getting deeper. Damn! It was starting to seep inside her shoes.
But she could hear him up ahead, the thump of a steady pace. He was walking. Not running. He didn’t know she was behind him.
She paid little attention to how many corners she turned. She followed the lighted tunnel, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Something black in the water moved across her foot. Maggie stifled a gasp and kicked out her leg. The toe of her shoe caught the rat under its belly and flung it away.
Rats. Of course there’d be rats.
She took a couple of deep breaths, despite the smells that were getting more rancid. Then she started forward again.
A sudden pop behind her echoed through the tunnel.
A valve switching on? A pipe bursting? She couldn’t tell. She ignored it. Took another step. Another pop. This time she noticed the light behind her dim. Just as she glanced back, the third pop she recognized. Incandescent bulbs made a sound like that when they broke.
Could steam or water pop out a lightbulb?
That’s when she heard footsteps again. Only this time they came from behind her.
CHAPTER 25
Maggie tightened the grip on her revolver. Kept her finger on the trigger.
A brick ledge ran along the wall, about six inches wide and almost twelve inches above the water. Maggie stepped up onto it. Pressed her back against the wall and ignored dirt and concrete crumbing down into her collar. She could still feel the sting and pull of the stitches on her neck.
The popping sound stopped. She was sure it had been lightbulbs. She could see the tunnel she had just come from had become dark. Someone had smashed the bulbs as he came up behind her.
How the hell was he able to backtrack?
It didn’t make sense that the tunnels would wind in a circle. And now she couldn’t hear any footsteps. Only water gushing through the pipes. A drip started over her head. She didn’t move. Tried to focus on the sounds beyond the pitter-plat. Within seconds the familiar throb began at her temple. That’s when she saw his shadow. He had stopped to listen for her. Just around the last corner, unaware that she could see a piece of his shadow.
She held her breath, trying to quiet the pounding in her head and in her chest. She readjusted her grip on the revolver. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t fire down here. The bullets would ricochet. He had to know that. Probably counted on it.
She watched the shadow inch forward and she pressed tighter against the wall. The drip found her forehead. Damn! It wasn’t just water. She could smell it now. With a slow, smooth motion she switched her grip on the revolver, slipping her fingers down around the barrel, converting it from gun to club.
“O’Dell, where the hell are you?” Racine’s voice echoed through the tunnel, almost making Maggie fall off her ledge.
The shadow bobbed and ducked back out of sight. She heard a shuffle, a swish of water, and retreating footsteps. Maggie jumped off the ledge, jogged, and sloshed to the corner.
He was gone.
She tried to listen while her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. He had to have escaped down one of the dark tunnels. He could be standing halfway down in the pitch black, staring right at her, and she’d never see him. She felt a shiver. It didn’t help matters that her feet were soaked and her hair damp.
“O’Dell?”
“I’m here.” She finally yelled when she saw a flashlight beam dancing along the wall.
She sidestepped her way to Racine, keeping an eye on the black mouths of the tunnels. Now she realized that to catch him down here would be
impossible. He obviously knew his way around. But he was still there in the dark. She could feel him. Almost certain she could smell him. But there was nothing she could do.
CHAPTER 26
“What the hell did you think you were doing?”
Safely back aboveground, Maggie let Racine lecture her. A bit ironic—Racine was usually the one doing something reckless, running off half cocked. It didn’t matter. All Maggie could think about was that her feet were freezing. And even in the fresh cold air, she could tell she smelled bad.
“Do you have any idea how dangerous it was to follow him down there?”
“He probably knows his way around,” Tully said, holding his arm tight against his side.
Maggie had asked about his arm when she first came out of the manhole. He had looked at her like she was ridiculous, considering she was the one coming up out of a hole in the ground. But he had assured her that nothing was broken. She wasn’t so sure about that from the pale look on his face.
“You don’t want to go down there if you don’t know where you’re going,” Racine continued her lecture.
“You’ve been down there?”
“No, but I’ve heard stories. The tunnels go all over the place. You need higher security clearance these days to work in the sewers than to work in the Pentagon.”
“You think he’s our firefly?” Tully asked the obvious.
“Why else run?”
“Did you see him?” He wanted to know.
She shook her head. It was true. She hadn’t seen him. Now she wondered if she had really seen his shadow or heard footsteps. It didn’t make sense. Maybe she’d talk to Tully about it later. She wasn’t going to talk about it with Racine. That would be another lecture.
“He could just be some homeless guy,” Racine offered. “He was probably scavenging around after the fire and we scared the shit out of him.”