Fire Setters

by Debra Erfert

  “Well, then, what took you so long?” Candice asked.

  “I took a little time to cruise your neighborhood, looking for that white dually truck. I also found three shell casings in your yard near the sidewalk. I assume you haven’t had any drive-bys in the recent past.”

  “I’ve never even heard gunfire on New Year’s Eve from my apartment, Detective.”

  “Call me Patrick,” he said. “Then I think I need to take a look around your place and try to find the bullets that missed you.”

  “Are you the detective on this case?” Alex asked.

  “I am. There are also two uniformed officers outside. One will take the initial report and then I’ll take over the investigation. But we’ll wait until the medics are done fixing her up. Is she going to the hospital?”

  “No,” Candice said quickly. “There’s no need for just a—a scratch.”

  “How’d it happen, Officer Delaney?” Donovan asked. She guessed he was done with her.

  “We were standing in the kitchen, and Candice was in front of the window when the first two shots came through. I got her to the floor before the third came in.”

  “Is there any doubt that she was the intended victim and not you?”

  Alex hesitated, and she thought she knew why. “Alex, it couldn’t have anything to do with my investigation. They’re just children! They certainly can’t drive.”

  “Are you talking about the arson case?” Donovan asked.

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “Candice solved it this afternoon.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Donovan whispered.

  “No. She followed a lead, interviewed two kids, and matched their prints up with the prints recovered from the fire scene.”

  “I was going to give you the report and my evidence tomorrow, Patrick,” Candice said. “Right after I gave it to my clients.”

  “What did you discover?” he asked.

  “Things that I’d rather not have, I’m afraid.” She opened her eyes and stared into the detective’s worried face. “I have a folder with my evidence on my desk in the office. Go ahead and take a look. I don’t have the report written yet, but I have their pictures lying next to the folder.”

  “I’ll show you, Detective,” Alex offered. He leaned down and whispered in her face, “I’ll be right back. I know I’m leaving you in good hands. Just keep your eyes closed if you think you might see blood.” And then in front of the medics, the firefighters, and the detective, Alex leaned down the last few inches and gently kissed her right on her astonished mouth. It felt like Alexander Delaney just planted his flag on Mount Shane. He needn’t be jealous of the detective. He wasn’t her type. And he was a cop, just like Alex.

  When she didn’t reply, Alex hesitated for a moment before standing, giving room for two more paramedics to take his place. One medic had a pair of scissors in his hand. “What are you going to do with those?”

  The gray-haired paramedic responded before the young guy could. “We need to cut apart your shirt to expose the wound,” he said. “The shirt is also covered in blood and bits of glass. You’re going to need to be careful taking it off or you’ll faint again.” He chuckled the last part of the sentence.

  “I’ll keep my eyes closed,” Candice said a little more sarcastically than was necessary, but it would’ve been inappropriate to slap the person cleaning up her wounds.

  “Candice! Oh, Candice, what happened?” Liz cried as she ran next to her side and pushed in between the two medics.

  “Liz! Calm down—”

  “You look horrible!”

  “Thanks a lot,” Candice mumbled. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. There’s no way you can tell me that,” Liz cried. “There are fire trucks, rescue trucks, and police cars surrounding your apartment, and you look like you’ve been through an explosion. Alex said you were shot. Oh, my gosh, why were you shot? How bad is it? Are you going to be okay? Is there—”

  “Liz!” Candice shouted, cutting her off before she passed out from lack of oxygen. She didn’t think Liz had taken in a single breath between each question. “Calm down,” Candice said a little softer. “It looks worse than it is.” She looked at the paramedic. “Right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a grin. “And it really doesn’t look that bad. I’ll put a small bandage over the fewer deeper cuts, but the others won’t need anything but some antiseptic. I’ll clean you up right,” he said softly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to him.

  “It’s what I do, ma’am.”

  “Call me Candice. Can you help with something else, sir?”

  “My name is Edward. What do you need?” He used an antiseptic wipe and gently dragged it along her forehead and worked his way down her face.

  “Does your department have a juvenile fire-setter class?”

  Edward stopped his hand and peered down at her closer. “Why would you need something like that?”

  “I, uh, have a client whose son is twelve years old, and he has a serious problem with starting fires. I also know of two younger boys about ten who will need to be in it very badly.”

  “Why?”

  Candice looked around at all the faces staring at her. “The boys set a fire the other night that almost killed four innocent people—”

  “Six, Candice. You and Alex could’ve died, too,” Liz said barely above a whisper. Candice remembered the smoky hallway and how hot it felt against her skin, and how scared she was when it seemed like they were trapped. The bump on her forehead gently throbbed at that moment, as if to remind her how close they came to dying last night.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Candice said with a catch in her throat.

  “Was that on San Marco Drive?” Edward asked.

  “Yes,” Liz confirmed.

  “You’re her,” Edward whispered. He gently touched her bruised forehead. “We heard about a civilian breaking into the house and getting the sleeping family out before they died. Something like that travels fast in our line of business. Now I know it wasn’t any ordinary civilian. You had training. You knew what you were doing. Is that when you got this?” he asked, touching the bump.

  Candice nodded. “But I didn’t go in alone. Sergeant Delaney followed me in.” She cleared her throat. “What about that class?”

  Edward opened a new package of wipes. “Once a month we hold a juvenile fire-setting class coordinated by Antonio Barbarize. He’s an—”

  “Arson investigator.” She sighed. “We’ve met.”

  “I’ll get you his number later, but right now I need you to sit up,” Edward said. “Let me help you, and if you feel any dizziness, let me know.” She felt him push his hand under her back and then slowly lifted her until she sat upright. She could’ve done it herself as long as no one waved a blood-soaked piece of gauze in front of her face.

  “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

  “Okay.” The medic started to cut her shirt to expose her shoulder while Edward placed a tiny Band-Aid on what must’ve been one of the deeper cuts. She was lucky all the way around. She could’ve been killed tonight. Instead, she just ended up with some inconvenient scarring. She grabbed her hair and quickly pulled it around to the front of her shoulder and away from the sharp scissors. It was wet. She reflexively looked at her hand and saw blood smeared across her palm—

  Chapter 10

  “CANDICE . . . WAKE UP.”

  “What?”

  “Sweetheart, open your eyes now.”

  “Alex?” she whispered.

  “Yes—” he chuckled— “I’m here.”

  “Don’t laugh at me,” she said a little stronger, looking around. Candice was lying on the couch and the only people in the living room were Alex, Liz and Patrick. Everybody else was gone. “Am I ever going to be able to look at my couch again without fainting?”

  “Don’t worry. I helped change your shirt after they cleaned the blood off you and out of your hair,” Liz said.

  “I t
hink you’re safe for a while,” Alex said.

  Candice looked at her hand. It was clean. Her face blossomed with the heat of embarrassment at the thought of what had happened to her while she was unconscious. “How long was I out?”

  “Long enough for the paramedic to close up the cut on your shoulder and then remove every trace of blood they could find,” Alex told her. His dimples were a little irritating to her at the moment. “We didn’t want you to have to deal with it anymore tonight.”

  “The paramedic left you his card with an additional number of the arson investigator on the back,” Patrick said. “I left it inside that folder on your desk. Detective Delaney made the report for you, since you were, uh, unavailable, but I don’t need to wait to begin my investigation. I really started it when I found the shell casings, and I found where the bullets went, but I haven’t retrieved them yet.”

  “Why not?” Candice asked, sitting up and trying to guess where they had landed.

  “Because I wanted to warn you that I’m going to take the doors to two of your kitchen cabinets back to the station with me.”

  “Oh . . .” Candice got up, holding her head, and started for the kitchen, but as she rounded the breakfast island dividing the kitchen from the dining area, she faltered, not knowing what kind of damage to expect.

  “The firefighters spent some time in here, cleaning up the glass,” Alex said from behind her.

  “And the blood from the floor in here and the living room,” Liz added.

  “They hung up a towel over the window so you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable,” Patrick told her.

  That group of men, of strangers really, went beyond their job descriptions to help her. They didn’t have to do it, and they didn’t stick around for her to thank them, so they weren’t looking for praise. Taking a deep breath kept any tears from gathering in her eyes. But Alex knew how she felt, and he ran his hand down her arm. It was his way of comforting her—all that he felt she would allow. He didn’t know how much she longed for a hug from him.

  Seeing the ragged holes in the wooden cabinet doors made her realize how close she came to losing her life. She didn’t even feel that way when they were in the house fire. Last night, she felt like she had some control over the situation. After all, she voluntarily put herself there, but she had absolutely zero control over the indiscriminate pieces of lead that were shot at high velocity toward her body, and if it hadn’t been for the man standing next to her, she’d be dead. Candice turned and wrapped her arms around Alex’s back, pushing her face in the crook of his neck.

  “You’re okay,” Alex whispered into her ear.

  “I know.” She held him tighter. “Only because of you.”

  “Candice,” Patrick said quietly, “I need to ask you some questions.”

  She slowly released her grip around Alex and turned to face the patient detective.

  “Do you want to sit down?” Patrick asked.

  “Come on, Candice,” Alex said quietly as he guided her back into the living room and over to the couch where he sat beside her. Patrick sat down on the other side. She heard Liz in the fridge, and she truly hoped she was getting her an orange soda. She never did get to take her ibuprofen, and her throbbing head reminded her of that with every heartbeat.

  “Alex, would you get me some ibuprofen, please?”

  “Sure, I will.”

  Candice sat back and watched him pass Liz as she came out of the kitchen, carrying four sodas. Her intern was a psychic.

  “Candice,” Patrick said as he opened a small pocket-sized notebook. “Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt you?”

  “No, no, of course not,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve made anyone mad at me, except possibly Barbarize when I trespassed onto his crime scene this morning. But I seriously doubt he’d take a shot at me for it,” she added with a grin.

  “No, I doubt it, too,” Patrick agreed. “Do you have an old boyfriend that might be mad at you for getting involved again, or maybe mad because it’s with a cop?”

  “Technically,” Candice said while gazing at Alex coming from the kitchen, “Alex is my ex-boyfriend, and since he’s the one who saved me from . . . from the shooter, it couldn’t have been him.”

  Patrick stared at Alex for several seconds before resuming his questioning. “Then do you think someone has a crush on you, who may pay you more attention than you’d like?”

  “Like a stalker?” Liz asked quickly. She sat on the floor in front of the couch and passed Candice one of the sodas. “That guy at the grocery store is always asking you if you need help out to the car, remember?”

  “Liz, they’re supposed to ask that,” Candice told her.

  “Yeah, but then he stares at you and asks if you need help carrying your bags into your house. I don’t think he asks that of the little old ladies who shop here.”

  “He’s seventeen, Liz.” Candice moaned. “He flirts because he has too much testosterone for his IQ.”

  “Well, who can blame him? But let’s rule out the grocery guy,” Patrick said, chuckling.

  “Here, Candice.” Alex handed her the ibuprofen. She took them with a generous amount of soda while Liz distributed the rest of the cans.

  “You said this didn’t have anything to do with the arson case. How do you know it didn’t?” Patrick stared at her with his red brows pushed tightly together. He obviously had his doubts, and quite frankly, after she thought about it, she guessed she had hers, too.

  “I . . . oh, I don’t know, Patrick.” Candice sighed. “They said that they had never been over to the Leavitts’ house, yet I have their prints inside. I know those two boys were there and probably set it on fire, but I don’t know how they got in or why, exactly, they did it.”

  “What do you mean exactly?”

  Candice pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to force the pain in her head away, and then maybe she could think clearer. “I believe they were paid to do it.”

  “What?”

  “When Alex and I talked with them, we noticed they both had very expensive bicycles and portable game systems that were brand new. It didn’t look like the family could afford that kind of equipment. I think it’s more than a coincidence, don’t you?” He must’ve with the way he scribbled quickly in his notebook.

  “I’m going to get two search warrants tomorrow morning with the evidence you gave me.” Patrick looked up and asked, “Do you want to be there when we serve them?”

  “Yes,” Candice responded hastily. She didn’t expect an offer like that, but then again, Donovan seemed to be a different kind of detective.

  “All right,” he said with a smile. “I’ll swing by and pick you up around eleven?”

  “I’ll bring her to the station, detective,” Alex told him.

  Candice felt the testosterone level peak around her. “But I still don’t think either of those boys took a shot at me,” she said, trying to change the subject.

  “Who paid them?” Patrick asked.

  “Good question,” Candice muttered. “I asked them for Zane’s phone number and they both got scared that I’d asked them about him.”

  “Did they say they knew him?” Patrick asked.

  “No, Lito lied unconvincingly and said he didn’t know him and then ran away like—” she sighed— “like a frightened little kid. Three kids who know who Zane is, and three kids who seem terrified of him.” She gazed into Alex’s compassionate eyes and asked, “Why?”

  “What do they have in common?” Alex asked as he slipped his hand around her waist.

  The first thing she thought of was, “Fire.”

  “And this Zane person,” Patrick added. “I started going through some old reports and I didn’t see any reference to anybody with that name. I’ll keep looking.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the bullets into the lab and get them processed. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the gun has been used in another crime.”

  “How is that lucky for me, Patrick?”

  H
e stopped taking notes and stared intently at her for several heartbeats. “There’s a chance that this was a random drive-by and it had nothing to do with our arson case at all.”

  “That would be too easy.” Candice sighed, leaning into Alex’s side.

  “I can see you’re tired, Candice, so I’ll be going. Can I have what’s in that folder now? I’ll use what you told me verbally along with the physical evidence to get the search warrants.

  “Sure, go ahead. I’ll print out another copy for my clients.” Candice got up. “I’ll get a screwdriver for the cabinet hinges.”

  “Good. And then I’ll get going so you can get some sleep.”

  “I could use a good twelve hours of planned unconsciousness,” she said softly to no one in particular as she wandered into the kitchen. The electric screwdriver was hanging on the wall next to her mixer, but the moment she headed toward the cabinet with it, Alex stopped her.

  “Let me do that for you.”

  “Alex, I refinished each of these cabinets without your help, and I’m perfectly capable of removing six small screws even now,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and even, not letting her temper rise.

  “I have no doubt that’s true, but I’m fairly sure you hadn’t just been shot an hour before.” He had a point. She turned over her favorite screwdriver and marched back to the couch to lie down, leaving the ‘man job’ to the men. Liz followed and covered her with a throw blanket she brought out of the bedroom.

  “Liz, what are you doing back here, anyway?” Candice quietly asked as she sat on the floor in from of her.

  “I forgot my backpack in the office, and I came back to get it on my way home from the bank. I’m glad I did. You probably wouldn’t have called me about this, would you?” Liz’s voice held a touch of sadness. But she had a point.

  “I would’ve told you about it . . . tomorrow,” Candice whispered.

  “Candice, I’m your intern. You’re even paying for my college tuition. I hope that means we’re friends, too, and that I’m not just some stupid little airhead trainee you’re putting up with.”