by G. K. Parks
“Y’know, I might not be the best or the brightest, but I do know how to ask relevant questions,” Voletek said as I waved him away.
I ran a background check on Ted Payne. He had an upside down mortgage that he was in the middle of correcting. He didn’t have a wife or children. As far as I could tell, he was a bachelor, which meant he wouldn’t have to account for his whereabouts to anyone.
After copying down his address, I went to his house, but he wasn’t home. The truck Voletek had seen wasn’t in the driveway. According to Payne, he had to work, so he shouldn’t be back for hours.
I parked down the street and opened the trunk. It was summer, which made it difficult to conceal one’s identity without sticking out like a sore thumb, but I’d rather look suspicious than be recognized. I slipped into an oversized hoodie, hid my hair underneath, tied a bandana around the lower portion of my face, and put on a pair of oversized sunglasses and leather gloves.
Payne had one of those stupid doorbell cameras, which was great at deterring thieves and porch pirates but not so great at keeping me out. I spotted it from the sidewalk and slipped around the back of the house. Either he didn’t have an alarm system, or he was smart enough not to post the notices in his windows.
Hoping it was the former, I cut the screen, jimmied open the back window, and hoisted myself into his house. I remained completely still, scanning the area for signs of motion sensors or surveillance cameras. A fluffy pillow moved across the living room floor. I blinked, realizing the pillow was a cat, probably a Persian, with silky, snow white fur. It turned to look at me with its sharp green eyes, which reminded me a little of Martin. It let out an annoyed meow, letting me know it didn’t appreciate the disturbance, and went into another room. That meant I didn’t have to worry about motion sensors.
I looked around the kitchen. Payne kept his house just as neat and orderly as his office and his appearance. The living room and bedroom were clear, except for the occasional catnip mouse shoved under the bed or a few loose strings hanging from the edge of the rug.
Opening the closets, I didn’t find any bulk chemical compounds. I closed the door and went across to the spare bedroom. Payne had converted it into an office. I skimmed the files on his desk. He had several copies of the cases I asked him to look into, but that didn’t tell us anything. A contraption about the size of a small microwave sat in the middle of the attached workstation. For a moment, I didn’t know what it was, and then I saw the name. It was a 3D printer.
I eyed it curiously, resisting the urge to touch anything. I didn’t know enough about the technology, but its presence might link him to Sizzle. Maybe he printed the key Voletek found inside the lock.
I turned away from the desk. A card table sat in the corner of the room with little miniatures of the city. I picked up a tiny plastic building. That’s why Payne had the printer. He was recreating the city. On a free standing corkboard behind the table were photographs of the skyline. It didn’t look sinister, but when I flipped the board around, a pit formed in the center of my stomach.
Photos of each of the fires Cross Security had deemed arson were pinned across the cork. Beneath each one was a copy of the inspection certificate, including Sizzle’s. From the printed dates on the copies, Payne had printed these before the two of us ever even crossed paths. It looked like a trophy board, but maybe he’d argue he was conducting his own investigation. This situation was so twisted, I wanted to scream.
I pulled out my phone and photographed the board. I checked beneath each photo and paper for notes or any other piece of evidence. Beneath Sizzle’s inspection certificate, I found a receipt. It was dated four days before the fire. I snapped several shots, searching for a name or credit card number. The customer paid cash, but maybe the server would remember the guy. We needed Easton or one of his former staff to ID Payne. It was the only way we’d stop him.
I looked back at the model of the city. From the looks of it, he’d only recently gotten started. I couldn’t find any of the burned down buildings. That could be a coincidence or intentional. Pocketing one of the smaller pieces near the end, figuring he might think his cat knocked it over should he realize it was missing, I left the same way I came in.
Thirty-eight
“He’s been lying to our faces this entire time. He knew the fires were arson, and he has a fucking receipt from Sizzle. Don’t tell me that’s not enough.” My emotions were getting the best of me, but I didn’t care. “What did Easton say? Did he recognize Payne?”
Voletek shook his head.
“Get out of my way.” I pushed past him and banged on Renner’s office door. “Bennett?”
“They left,” Voletek said. “Easton’s prepping for tonight. A security team took him to the store, and then they’re going to get his truck. Bennett had another issue to deal with.”
“What could be more important than this?” All right, I heard it then. The crazed, sleep-deprived irrationality that had taken over my already abrasive personality. “God, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. We all have bad days.” He glanced around, seeing the receptionist and one of the security guards watching from the end of the hallway. “Why do I feel like a known shoplifter walking around in a high-end department store?”
“Welcome to Cross Security.”
“There’s that smile.” His phone buzzed. It had been doing that a lot while I gave him a breakdown of what I ‘suspected’ he might find in Payne’s possession. “After reviewing the footage from your apartment and listening to the recording you made of your interview with Payne before I arrived, the DA says we have enough for a search warrant. I’m guessing after we search his home office, we might have enough to bring him in for questioning. It’ll depend on what we find. I don’t know what we should expect.” He winked. “I’ll call if I need anything else from you or Easton. I suggest you get some sleep. I’ll see you tonight at the launch of Easton’s Eats.”
“You’re going?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I walked the detective to the elevator. When the doors opened, Cross waited on the other side. He stepped out of the car, glowering at the detective. “We gave you copies of the security footage and the recording. What are you still doing here?”
“Just leaving.” Voletek stepped into the elevator, unfazed when the security guard stepped in beside him. “Thanks for your help, Lucien.”
“Let this be the last time you rope my people into your problems.” Cross waited for the doors to close before glancing at the receptionist, who immediately busied herself with answering the phone. “Are you all right, Ms. Parker?”
“Fine.”
“Do we need to have a discussion about proper workplace behavior?”
“No, sir.” He must have heard or seen my meltdown in the hallway.
“Good,” he leaned an elbow against the reception desk, “order a car to take Ms. Parker to lunch and drive her wherever she wants to go.”
“I don’t need your charity.”
“And I don’t need you to get into an accident and crash the company car. You’re angry, and you’re tired. Those are the only two reasons I can see why you’re getting this emotional in my hallways. That means you shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a company car. I don’t need you to sully my reputation more than you already have.” For a moment, his cheek twitched and his eyes twinkled. Was Lucien Cross teasing me?
“Whatever.”
He reached across the reception desk and pulled a sheet of paper from the printer tray. “Here’s a list of Sizzle staff who worked the night in question. Go see what you can find out. The techs will notify you once we determine the type of plastic used in the toy you dropped off.”
Despite the months I’d spent at Cross Security, I still couldn’t make heads or tails out of Lucien’s motives. His actions often contradicted his words. “Great.”
He watched me trudge toward the elevator. “We protect our clients. That’s what we do here. Don’t f
orget it.”
Nodding, I watched Lucien disappear behind the closing metal doors.
* * *
By the time five o’clock rolled around, I found my second wind. The catnap I took at Martin Technologies when I dropped off lunch had been enough to sustain me through a dozen interviews. None of Easton’s former staff recognized Ted Payne. Easton recognized him, but only in regards to the arson investigation. The chef didn’t recall seeing him before, and even when I showed him photos and mock-ups of Payne’s truck, he didn’t know if that was the vehicle driven by the Molotov cocktail wielding prick.
Cross Security used the limited camera footage to run a comparison, but according to the experts, the results were inconclusive. However, the plastic polymer of the model I stole matched the plastic shard found in the lock. Whenever the police finished their search and ran a test, they’d discover the same thing we already knew. I just didn’t know if it would be enough. And since no one from Sizzle recognized Payne, I was starting to have doubts. Actually, I doubted everything at this point, especially my own sanity.
Desperate, I concluded my afternoon at the rehab facility. Asher York agreed to see me, and he apologized for his behavior at Delicious. “Throwing knives at my sous chef made me realize I was already at rock bottom. Actually, getting wrestled to the ground and arrested in my own restaurant was rock bottom.”
“Were you drinking that day?”
“I drank every day. A glass of wine at family meal. A few shots when the dinner rush kicked up. More wine later to relax when things slowed.” A blissful grin teased the edges of his lips. “And a snifter of brandy to call it a night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s my demon to fight. I never thought it was a problem. I didn’t think I had a problem. It was part of the lifestyle until it wasn’t.”
I wasn’t sure how committed he was to staying sober once he got out of rehab, but the first step was acknowledging the problem and committing to battling against it. “Take care of yourself, Chef.”
Asher looked up at me. “You work with the police. Make sure they know I’m taking steps in the right direction. Maybe you could pass word along to the prosecutor.”
I gave him a tight smile. He hadn’t told me anything useful about Easton’s enemies or why Galen Strader or Dante Bisset threatened Easton and broke into his house. Although, I was sure he’d been told to keep his mouth shut. Facts like that might be worth trading for a reduced sentence. The facts he wanted me to know and share were ones that would paint him in a positive light and show he was already attempting to reform himself. Rehab might have been nothing more than a suggestion by his attorney, but I could be wrong. Cynicism and skepticism were hazards of my job.
Returning to Cross Security, I trudged down the hallway to my office. Easton’s Eats planned to relaunch in roughly three hours. It wasn’t enough time.
“Parker,” Renner called, “how are we doing? Cross said the plastic was a match, but we didn’t get a hit on the truck. What did Sizzle’s crew say?”
“No love.”
“Damn.”
I bit my lip, trying to think through the problem. This shouldn’t be so hard. We had plenty of suspects. We identified the source of the threatening messages, but Dante and Galen didn’t start the fire. And neither did York. “I don’t get it. Payne doesn’t seem the type, but after what I found in his house, it’s clear he’s involved.”
“You don’t think he’s the arsonist?” Renner refilled his mug and poured a second, which I graciously accepted.
“Right now, I am spinning.”
“Okay,” Renner pulled out a chair, “let’s break it down. How much do we even know about Ted Payne?”
In the last twenty-four hours, we learned a lot. His stellar record, personal recommendation letters written by his mentor, and commendations given to him by the city made him look like a hero. But the items on his corkboard said otherwise. He had photos from the fires and copies of the inspection certificates printed weeks before we ever crossed paths.
“When exactly were they printed?” Renner asked.
I scrolled through the photos on my phone, zoomed in, and read the printer’s timestamp. “It varies. The oldest dates back a few years.”
“What about more recent trophies? Like from last night’s apartment fire?”
I shook my head.
“Did you notice any lab equipment or a workstation where he creates his custom fire feeder?”
“Fire feeder? You should trademark that.” I rubbed my eyes, searching my memory. “No, he didn’t have anything set up like that. His only workstation was a neatly organized desk with files and cases and his 3D printer and play area.”
“Play area?”
I showed Renner the photo of the miniature city. “He looks like a hobbyist, but he could be using that to pick his targets.”
“That’s right. We don’t know how the arsonist picks his targets or how he’s getting inside the buildings. No one spotted Payne at your apartment prior to the fire. From the footage Lucien found, it doesn’t appear Payne visited these other locations prior to the fires either.”
“The oxidizing agent doesn’t degrade. He could have planted it anytime, maybe while conducting an inspection.”
Renner thought for a moment. “If he wore regulation gear, no one would recognize him, and they wouldn’t think twice about a firefighter checking out a building.”
“It could be any of them. All this asshole needs is access to the gear.”
Renner went to the door. “Send me the photos you took. I have a hunch. I’m gonna check on a few things.”
“What is it? Did you see something?”
“I don’t know yet. You did pass those along to Cross, right?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded, the wheels turning, though I wasn’t sure why. “Good.”
Thirty-nine
“You’re late,” I said.
Detective Voletek looked around the fairgrounds, taking a seat on the bench beside me. “We arrested Lt. Payne on suspicion of arson and attempted murder.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It must be why he lawyered up. Payne’s claiming he’s been conducting his own off the books investigation for the last few years, ever since Haskell started researching construction companies and insisting one of the crews played a role in the area fires. Payne said he pulled the inspection certificates and made copies of the photos from the fires as part of his research.”
“If that’s true, why didn’t he say something to me when I approached him about Sizzle being arson?”
“Obviously, he’s lying. When I confronted him with the receipt, he said he found it on his desk and held on to it in case it was relevant. As if he expects me to believe evidence just materialized out of thin air. We printed it, but aside from some partials, the only identifiable prints belonged to him. We also found some old turnout gear in his trunk. No name was stenciled on the back, so he could have been one of the unidentified firefighters who conducted the evacuation and inspection at your boyfriend’s apartment. He probably concealed the accelerant inside his coat, sprayed down the fourteenth floor and a few other places, ditched the gear, and came back inside to conduct official business. He’s probably been doing it for a while. He could have doused every building he inspected or any place where he responded to a call. Either he waits for a fire to accidentally start, or he goes back, like he did at Sizzle, and sets it himself. Officers are still searching for where he keeps the compound and the delivery system, but we’ll find it.”
“Bastard.”
Voletek watched the shutter roll up on the order window of the food truck. “Easton looks nervous, not that I blame him.” Voletek glanced around, noticing the earpiece in my ear. “Is that a fashion accessory?”
I shook my head. On Bridget Stockton’s orders, Cross pulled out all the stops. Four teams covered the opening. Two men stood guard at either end of the food truck. Another team milled
about the fairgrounds, blending into the crowd while assessing potential threats. I jerked my chin at the third team, who were seated throughout the food court pavilion. The rest were monitoring the entrance for strange activity or incoming bogeys.
Easton peered out the window at the waiting crowd. He caught my eye and waved. I pressed the button on the radio. “How’s it looking? Are we clear?”
After several affirmatives, I gave Easton a thumbs up. He opened the window and fired up the grill. Easton’s Eats was officially open for business.
Voletek saw the clustered people form a line, and he got up from the bench. “Do you want anything to eat?”
“I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.”
The detective got in line, and I scanned the vicinity again. The crowd outside the club during Easton’s Eats’ first run was nothing compared to this, and the club had been filled to capacity with screaming music fans, who just happened upon Easton’s food truck. Tonight, the screaming fans were here for Easton. Thankfully, none of them were screaming, but the crowd was easily three times larger. The social media blast Easton sent out must have gone viral. Within a minute’s time, a line snaked around the pavilion, looping all the way out the front entrance.
“Are the police working crowd control?” I asked.
“Affirmative.”
Several patrol cars were parked near the front entrance. A few had even parked inside the fairgrounds. Though, they might have been here to serve and protect actual fair-goers and not just Easton’s fans. How did a chef garner such a following? I didn’t understand it, but I didn’t understand the intricacies of posting images of breakfast, lunch, and dinner online either.
Lucien moved stealthily through the crowd, suddenly appearing beside me like an apparition. He sat down and watched Detective Voletek inch forward as Easton worked at breakneck speed to feed the hundreds of people waiting in line. “The police made another arrest.”