by Andrew Grant
Fate, and the timely demise of an old lover…
Chapter Ten
Sunday. Early morning.
Devereaux had lain awake raking over old memories until after two am, but he still managed to shut off the alarm the next morning before it woke Alexandra. He knew she liked to sleep late on Sundays so he slipped on a robe and tiptoed downstairs, fired up her fancy coffee machine, and made a triple espresso to take with him into the shower. He kept the sharp jets of water as icy as he could bear and didn’t set foot back out of the stall until he felt the caffeine begin to infuse some life into his sleep-deprived brain. Then he shaved, grabbed a shirt and some pants from the freestanding rack he’d brought from his apartment, and made the nine minute drive to police headquarters.
The fourth-floor conference room was Devereaux’s least favorite place in the building, other than Captain Emrich’s office. The procedural briefings that were frequently held there tried his patience—he hadn’t joined the department to be treated like a performing seal by a bunch of politically-correct paper-pushers who hadn’t walked a beat or made an arrest since the previous century—and on top of that the room simply had a depressing vibe. It looked like it hadn’t been decorated since Reagan was President. It smelled vaguely like a locker room. Its cheap, outdated furniture was on the verge of falling apart. Plus the last time Devereaux had been there the room was being used as the nerve center for a case involving a missing boy. Ethan Crane. An orphan. Devereaux had also grown up without parents, so the investigation had touched on areas that cut uncomfortably close to the bone for him. And it had also revealed some truths about his own family background that he was in no hurry to revisit.
Devereaux took a deep breath before opening the door, and wasn’t surprised to find that Garretty had already arrived. He was sitting on the far side of the battered, rectangular conference table, with a giant carry-out coffee cup in one hand and a half-eaten croissant in the other.
“Where is she?” Devereaux gestured toward the three empty mugs lined up near Lieutenant Hale’s customary place at the head of the table. “Getting more coffee?”
Garretty shook his head. “Collecting a couple of visitors from reception. One of them’s from the Bureau. She told me to give you a heads-up if you arrived before she got back.”
Devereaux shook his head and made his way around the table to take a seat near to Garretty. He found it strange that Hale was still so convinced he had an issue with the Bureau. He’d been seriously annoyed a couple of years previously when he’d been all set to join them, only for their acceptance to be withdrawn at the last minute without a word of explanation. But now, thanks to what he’d learned during the Ethan Crane investigation, he knew the reason for their change of heart. He couldn’t argue with it. And he’d made another discovery since his original application. The existence of Nicole. Transferring to the Bureau would have involved leaving Birmingham, at least temporarily, making it much harder to get to know his daughter. Or to patch things up with Alexandra. Plus he had certain financial interests in the area dating back to his pre–police department days that were better handled in person.
Devereaux heard voices from the corridor and a moment later Lieutenant Hale appeared in the doorway. She was wearing pale gray pants and a plain white blouse. She had on flat shoes, as usual—at five feet eleven in bare feet she generally tried to avoid anything that accentuated her height—but her shiny black hair was braided and intricately coiled on top of her head in a way that added at least four inches. And it did more than that. It hinted at a late night in swanky surroundings. Devereaux was intrigued, but he knew better than to ask where she’d been. Hale kept her work and private lives relentlessly separate, and wearing her hair that way to the office was the closest Devereaux had known her to come to bridging the two worlds.
Another woman entered the room after the lieutenant. She had the kind of piercing blue eyes and high, chiseled cheekbones that Devereaux certainly would have remembered if he’d met her before. But with her short neat blond hair, unremarkable black business suit, and boringly practical briefcase, he would have pegged her as a Bureau employee even without Garretty’s warning. Following behind her was a man in his early forties. He matched Hale for height, even with her fancy ’do, and seemed as broad as the two women combined. He was wearing a black baseball cap, steel-rimmed glasses, a short-sleeved white shirt with a gold shield above the breast pocket, and black utility pants. From the way the guy slammed his messenger bag down on the table, Devereaux guessed the newcomer was as unimpressed with the surroundings as he was.
“Cooper, Tommy, let me introduce our guests.” Hale took her seat and gestured for the others to make themselves comfortable. “We have Special Agent Linda Irvin, who’s the new profile coordinator from the Bureau’s Birmingham Field Office. And Donald Young, Battalion Chief, Birmingham Fire and Rescue.” Hale waited for the murmur of acknowledgments to die down before continuing. “Thanks for coming in on a Sunday morning, guys. It’s not an ideal time, I get that, but I don’t want any grass to grow under our feet. We’re going to be seeing a lot of media attention on this one. And feeling a lot of heat from upstairs, too. A lot of taxpayers’ dollars went up in smoke yesterday, and folks get very angsty when that kind of thing happens. So, let’s get down to business. The first question is, are we actually dealing with a crime here? Chief? What do we know for sure?”
“That’s a good question, Lieutenant.” Young pulled a marker pen from his bag and pointed to a long sheet of lining paper that was taped to the wall next to the door. It was the last of the pieces that had been used to keep track of the Ethan Crane investigation—the others had all been filled up and then archived when the case was closed, leaving only rough triangles at each top corner where they’d been torn down by one of the civilian aides. “May I?”
“Please.” Hale swept a little pile of pastry crumbs onto the floor and rested her forearms on the table. “Go ahead.”
“You guys know as well as I do, arson’s the easiest crime in the world to commit.” Young got to his feet. “But it’s also the hardest to prove. Anyone can do it, and the fire itself destroys its own evidence. So does the water we use to put it out. But the good news is, we’ve got a lot of experience, and we know what to look for.” He drew a shape like a giant capital E on the sheet of paper. “Here’s the rough outline of the main Jones Valley school building.” He added an oval line, taking in the central bar of the E and half the depth of its trunk. “This is the perimeter of the damaged area. What we do is start here, collecting ash and other charred debris, and work back in till we can identify the exact point of origin of the fire. Sometimes with arson we’re looking at multiple points, but in this case there’s only the one.” He drew a large dot in the center of the oval. “Here. Then we look to see if there could have been an accidental cause—a gas leak, an electrical fault, even a dropped cigarette. We figure out how high up the fire started—cigarette fires usually start at ground level, gas leaks near the ceiling, and so on. This one started low down. Then we trace how the fire spread.” He hatched in a rectangle on either side of the dot he’d drawn. “This one burned hot and moved fast—hotter and faster than a naturally occurring fire would, probably due to an accelerant being used. The accelerant’s the key. If we can find evidence showing which type’s been used, then bingo. So we take all the ash and debris back to the lab, along with some control samples from elsewhere in the building, and run everything through the chromatographs. That’s when we can put it in writing.”
“How long till that’s done, Chief?” Hale rested her hands on the table.
“Another twenty-four hours.” Young sat back down. “Maybe forty-eight.”
“Any way you could put a rush on that?” Devereaux drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “It would be good to be sure what we’re dealing with.”
“No.” Young shook his head. “Can’t be done. We’ve got to wait for the last of the water to dissipate. Make sure the structure’s saf
e, physically, and that there’s no buildup of harmful gas. Check for hazardous materials, like asbestos. And in case it is arson, we have to make sure there aren’t any other devices in there. Either timed deliberately to go off later, or ones that failed to work before. My guys’ safety’s at stake here, and I can’t compromise on that.”
“We understand, Chief.” Hale brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose. “We know you can’t sign off on anything right now. But on the QT?”
“Between you and me?” Young shoved his pen back in his bag and zipped it closed. “Lieutenant, I’ve seen a lot of fires in my time, in everything from henhouses to high-rises. If this one got started on its own, I’ll show my butt on the town hall steps.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Hale nodded. “So, question two, where do we go from here? Next steps? Linda—any thoughts?”
Irvin laid her hands on the table, palms down, fingers spread, and leaned forward slightly for a moment before standing up and moving to the sheet of paper that Young had drawn on. She took out a pen of her own and started to write:
Insurance fraud
Vandalism
Revenge
Secondary crime
“Statistically speaking, these are the top four motives for arson in the United States.” Irvin struck through the first word she’d written. “We can discount fraud. Usually it’s top of the list, but it doesn’t apply here, as the school’s public property.” She moved her pen down to the last item on the list. “So, I’ve been trying to think—could anyone else benefit financially from the fire? Could it have been a cover for a theft of some sort? Was there anything of value in the building? Computers? Sports equipment?”
“Not in the area that was burned.” Young shook his head.
“I’ll put out some feelers, just in case.” Devereaux scribbled a note in his book. “See if anyone’s trying to fence anything educational. But I’ve got to say, it’s a long shot. There are much better places to steal computers from than a school, where grubby kids will have had their sticky hands all over them.”
“What about a contractor, looking to clean up on the rebuilding job?” Garretty scratched the side of his nose.
“I don’t see it.” Hale frowned. “How would anyone guarantee they’d win the contract? Or that there even would be a contract? Schools are getting consolidated right and left in Birmingham. The Board of Education will probably just move the kids to other schools, bulldoze the site, and sell the land. Too much risk for too little chance of reward, I’d say.”
“Agreed.” Irvin drew a line through secondary crime and moved the tip of her pen up to vandalism. “We have a problem here, too. Vandals usually start small and build up, but I’ve done some checking. There are no reports of smaller fires or similar kinds of damage in the neighborhood in the last three months. Therefore,” Irvin moved the pen down and circled revenge, “my money’s on someone with a grudge. And a box of matches.”
“A pissed-off student.” Devereaux nodded. “Just like in ’61. History’s repeating itself.”
“It could be.” Irvin moved back to her seat. “Or it could be a parent this time, feeling like the school had failed his or her kid. Or a staff member, who’d been fired or passed over for promotion.”
“Revenge. That’s an interesting angle.” Young eased back his cap to scratch the side of his closely cropped head. “Because here’s something else you guys might want to factor in. All schools have sprinkler systems, right? Well, Jones Valley’s was totally outdated. It was due to be replaced this summer, but the program’s running behind. If you wanted to do the maximum amount of damage, you couldn’t have left it much later. In another couple of weeks, the new system’ll be in place. After that, a fire like this one wouldn’t have half the impact.”
“How many other schools have old systems?” Irvin got back to her feet and drew a second ring around revenge.
“Only two.” Young pulled his cap back into place. “The others have all been switched out already.”
“Interesting.” Irvin twiddled the pen between her fingers. “Seems like the sort of thing a staff member’s more likely to know about than a student.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Young nodded.
“What about the Board of Education?” Hale steepled her fingers. “Someone there must know about the upgrade program, if it’s city-wide?”
“I would guess so.” Young shrugged.
“OK.” Hale put both hands on the table. “Good work, everyone. I can see the outline of a plan here. We’re going to pursue the revenge angle. Hard. We’ll need to take a good look at a lot of people. School staff. Board of Ed employees. Students, including recent graduates. And parents. Linda, can you pull a list together? And prioritize it? Let’s make this process as efficient as possible.”
“Happy to.” Irvin sat down and took a notebook from her briefcase.
“Tommy, I want you to arrange the interviews. Use anyone from the squad you need.”
“I’m on it, Lieutenant.”
“Good. I’m sure that’s our best move right now. But I want us to follow a second angle, as well. As insurance. Just in case we’re wrong. At least until the lab results are back. So, let’s play the percentages. Cooper, I want you to arrange a canvass of all the gas stations in the city. And all the home improvement stores. Anywhere that sells gasoline, or any other flammable liquid that could be used as an accelerant. I want to know about anyone making suspicious purchases. Or even asking questions about that kind of stuff. And I want someone talking to the hospitals. Checking for burn victims. Who knows, if we’re lucky, our guy might have hurt himself when he set the fire.”
“Got it.” Devereaux scribbled a quick note. “I’ll liaise with uniform, borrow some guys, and get them on it right away.”
“Excellent. Any other ideas before we wrap this up?”
“Nothing from me.” Young reached for his bag.
“Nor me.” Garretty drained the last drop from his coffee cup.
“I have one other suggestion.” Irvin put her pen down on the table. “Whoever did this, their behavior pre and post offense will be quite distinctive. Beforehand, I’d expect a buildup of tension to an intolerable degree. Afterward, they’ll be noticeably different. Erratic. Any alcohol or drug use is likely to increase. Anxiety will build up tremendously, as they worry about being caught. It could lead to a complete meltdown. So, my thought is this: We release an appeal to the public. Ask people to report any of their friends or relatives whose behavior shows the kind of changes I’ve described. Stress that it’s for their own good. A help us to help them type of thing.”
“Interesting.” Hale picked up one of her mugs, swirled the dregs of her coffee around for ten seconds, then put it back down. “I see where you’re coming from. But I’m wary of the volume of calls that might involve. We could end up drowning in absolute dross.”
“Sure.” Irvin clasped her hands together. “There could be a lot of calls, and they’d have to be managed effectively. But I’m wary of the prospect of more fires. There could be more damage. Maybe casualties as well in the future. And if extra call-screening facilities are needed, I’m sure the Bureau could help.”
“OK.” Hale lined her mugs up so that the handles were all pointing the same way. “Go ahead and draft something. But let’s not put it out just yet. Let’s wait and see what we can dig up on our own, first. Now, is there anything else? Anyone?”
“I was thinking about Jeff Nelson’s photograph.” Devereaux looked up from his notebook. He’d actually been thinking about Kevin, the arsonist he’d known years ago, and drawing doodles of snakes. “Remember the mystery guy he caught on his camera phone? He didn’t come forward. None of the other witnesses mentioned him, and no one knows who he is. So what if we’re on the wrong track with this thing? Fraud, revenge, these are all rational motives. But what if this is something else? What if someone set the fire because he just likes setting fires? The guy in the picture, maybe? Hanging a
round, enjoying the destruction he’d caused.”
“I’ve heard of cases like that.” Hale frowned. “Chief? Any thoughts?”
“Not really.” Young shook his head. “Psychology’s not my field. I do the what and the how. The why’s up to someone else to figure out.”
“OK.” Hale picked her mug up again, as if she was hoping that some fresh coffee would have magically appeared. “Linda?”
“It’s certainly possible.” Irvin paused for a moment. “And if it’s not inappropriate to say so, it would be excellent from my point of view. Much more interesting than someone trying to screw a few dollars out of State Farm or get back at their eighth-grade math teacher. But I’m sorry. I have to put my practical hat on here. The odds are way, way against it. You know, Ockham’s Law. Hear hoofbeats, think horses. Not zebras. Not unless you’ve got a very good reason to.”
“You’re probably right.” Hale stood up and hooked her index finger through the handles of all three of her mugs. “But I hate loose ends. Let’s make sure we find the guy, even if he’s just another witness.”
Chapter Eleven
Sunday. Morning.
In her heart, Alexandra knew that Devereaux wasn’t going to come. But she stood outside the Trinity Presbyterian Church for another five minutes anyway, tuned out the roar of a leaf blower in a nearby yard and the drone of the cars passing by on the street, and poured all her mental energy into the vain hope that he’d miraculously appear in time.
Part of her was worried about Devereaux in case he was bleeding to death on a filthy floor somewhere. That’s what he’d told her had happened to his father, who’d also been a cop. But mostly she was embarrassed. The one thing about living as a single mother that she hadn’t enjoyed was enduring the looks she received from the other worshippers at the church she’d attended since she was a baby. No one said anything unpleasant about her. Not openly, anyway. But she could read the disapproval on their faces. She’d hoped that would go away once she was reunited with her child’s father, as unlikely a companion on the road to redemption as Devereaux may be. And yet here she was, alone with Nicole again. And she wasn’t just back to square one. It was worse than that. It wasn’t just the judgment she was dealing with. Now she could sense pity, too.