Burning Embers

by G. K. Parks

  “So you think it’s arson?”

  “If I didn’t, why did we just waste the last few hours picking our way through this steaming pile of shit?” At least we were finally on the same page. “The scary thing is most of the kitchen staff fit the profile.”

  “Since when do we work off profiles?” I asked.

  “We don’t, but it’s something to keep in mind. Arsonists tend to be in their teens to mid-twenties, lack impulse control, are poorly paid laborers, obsessed with fire, and have had previous run-ins with the law. That sounds like every single one of Bouillon’s staff. And the most common reasons for arson are revenge, vandalism, concealing another crime, and excitement with a possible sexual component. Based on what I’ve read, I’d say those are all possibilities.”

  When Bennett laid it out like that, I found it hard to disagree. “Do you think Easton was sleeping with members of his staff?”

  “He did when he was married. I think she was a waitress. She was too young to be anything else. She couldn’t even drink. She was still in college, probably trying to pay her way through school.” Renner shook his head. “Easton was a decade older and in a power position over her. It was sleazy.”

  “Was she the woman in the photos?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you ever see him with any other women?”

  “Just the one, but from what I know about Easton Lango, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “Maybe she left the threats.”

  Renner shook his head. “The moment Bridget confronted him, Easton broke it off, and his mistress quit. I kept on him until the divorce was finalized, but I never saw the girl again. That was over a year ago. She doesn’t fit the timeline. But it’s possible he could have been screwing someone else he worked with. And even if he wasn’t, none of these people are stable. Who knows what they might do if he pissed them off. Personally, I wouldn’t turn my back on any of them, and the scariest part is they’re responsible for preparing people’s food.” Renner cringed. “I might just stick to sandwiches and pre-packaged meals from here on out.”

  “You could always cook.” Unfortunately, based on our findings, everyone was a suspect.

  “Only if you want to see another kitchen burn down.” Renner’s words triggered a thought.

  “What about the competition? If Easton’s culinary skills are that impressive, every restauranteur and Michelin star wannabe would want to shut him down or worse.”

  “Why do I feel like this is only the tip of the iceberg?”

  I pointed at the acerbic conversation threads on the big screen. “Even if the fire was due to faulty wiring, someone threatened Easton. We have to find out who.” I reached for my notes. “We need to know who worked at Sizzle prior to the fire. If any of the kitchen staff, management, or waitstaff knew Easton before he opened Sizzle, they could just as easily be responsible for the threatening note and setting the fire.”

  “If they’re anything like the staff at Bouillon, I wouldn’t doubt it,” Renner said. “Let’s look into the vendors while we’re at it.” He removed the projected display from the big screen. “Cross Security doesn’t have its own arson investigator on the payroll, so we hire experts when necessary.” He pushed the phone to the edge of the desk. “Since I just spent the last forty-five minutes on hold with Bouillon’s GM, it’s your turn to make the calls. Ask an assistant to make an appointment with Dilbert Haskell. He’s one of the best, and we’ve used him several times in the past. Hopefully, he’ll be able to tell us more about the fire.”

  I picked up the receiver and made the request while Renner texted Easton for the information we needed. Hopefully, it would point us in the right direction. We had to narrow down the potential suspect list before we could move forward. Right now, Renner and I were spread too thin, even with Cross Security’s vast resources.

  “Haskell will get back to us tomorrow,” I said, hanging up the phone after the assistant verified the appointment. “I must admit, this place has excellent turnaround.”

  “It’s all in the name.” Renner’s gaze remained glued to his screen. “Can you check out Easton’s online reviews? He said most of the threats came in on social media, so I’m guessing the asshole probably crucified him on a review site too.”

  I looked over Renner’s shoulder, seeing a new list of names and companies. “Anything to avoid more background checks.”

  “Just remember that when you want a break from the insanity and hateful things people say while safely hidden behind a screen. I’m telling you, Parker, reading that shit will make your eyes bleed.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I saved the criminal record searches to Easton’s case file and switched gears. The hours flew by as I read hundreds of customer reviews, marking anyone who wrote something extreme on either end of the spectrum. One person’s review bordered on pornographic and concluded with begging Easton to put another food baby inside of her. Perhaps one of his superfans feared he’d fail or didn’t like the new direction the chef was taking his cuisine and threatened him in a misguided attempt to save him. I’d seen things like that before, which made limiting suspects that much harder.

  After a thorough search of customer review sites, I switched to reading reviews from food critics and bloggers. Unlike the crazed fans and angry customers, these were written by professionals. For the most part, the critiques were bland in comparison. Even the more vicious reviews disguised their disgust with colorful analogies and SAT vocabulary words. But what I hadn’t counted on was the comment section.

  Food critics and bloggers each had their own following. We lived in an age of celebrity, where everyone had a brand and dedicated fans. I skimmed the comments, searching for anything related to Chef Easton, Bouillon, Easton’s Eats, and Sizzle, Easton’s burned down restaurant. But the mentions I found didn’t relate to the fire or include any threats.

  I worried a scathing review encouraged one of the critic’s followers to commit an insane act. Had that been the case, I believed the follower would take credit for the crime to garner favor with the critic. But in case the arsonist was smart enough not to post publicly, I recorded the contact information for the food critics and bloggers and shut the computer. I needed a break. I glanced at Renner, who appeared to be in the midst of working on another case.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Sorry, Cross e-mailed me about our new client.”

  “Easton?”

  “No, Leopold Zedula. My lunch meeting.” Renner climbed out of his chair and stretched. “I need to run upstairs to check on something. Are you good here?”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “Thanks, Parker. I’ll speak with Easton again to make sure we didn’t miss anyone, but here’s the workup on the list he sent over.” Renner grabbed a stack of pages off the printer, handed them to me, and looked at the clock. “I should be back soon.” He retrieved a few files from his middle drawer and left me in his office.

  For the briefest moment, I thought about snooping. Hazard of the job, but I resisted. Bennett Renner wasn’t the enemy, and if he was, finding out in the middle of a case wouldn’t help us solve it any faster. Assuming, of course, this was actually a case and not the delusions of a paranoid chef.

  Instead, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed O’Connell. I was convinced Cross had the office phones bugged, and I didn’t want to speak to the police on his line if I could avoid it.

  “What do you want, Parker?” Nick asked.

  “Did you get a chance to look into Easton Lango’s claims? I spoke to him this morning and saw a copy of the police report, but it doesn’t tell me much.” I shuffled through the pages until I found it at the bottom of the stack.

  “It’s been a busy day. Hang on, I’ll see what I can pull up.” The sound of O’Connell typing echoed in my ear. “Okay, so it looks like Lango filed several reports in the last four months. One for online stalking. One for the fire. Another for the fire. And one alleging death threats, though he didn�
��t provide any proof or evidence.”

  “Does any of it track?”

  O’Connell fell silent as he read the reports. “Lango didn’t give us much to go on. He spoke to the desk sergeant, a few detectives, and the watch commander. It appears he’s crying wolf, but based on the shutterbug in the car and the way he peeled out, I don’t know. Unfortunately, patrols didn’t spot the car, but that’s no surprise.”

  “I found the car and driver, but it’s not what we thought.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Bennett Renner.”

  O’Connell let out a huff. “Son of a bitch almost ran over my foot. Why did he take off?”

  “Supposedly, he was following protocol. Cross Security doesn’t involve the police in an investigation unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Are you sure that’s a Cross Security protocol? You never follow it.”

  “Hardy har. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “I have a shit ton of cases to get through. Easton Lango doesn’t want our help, and he’s done nothing to help us help him. I’m inclined to agree with the rest of the police personnel who’ve looked into this matter. There isn’t a case here.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Okay, tell me what I’m missing. Do you have anything solid? A name? A lead? Evidence?”

  “Not yet.”

  “When you get one of those things, let me know, but until then, I’m leaving it up to you.”

  “Now you sound like Renner.”

  “Ooh, low blow, Parker.”

  Unfortunately, the police didn’t have enough to open an official investigation, which is what led Easton to Cross Security. And even though Cross didn’t want to take this case either, Renner and I were too deep to stop now. I’d find proof. I wouldn’t quit until I did. “I’ll call you back after I check on a few things.”

  “You do that.”

  Seven

  Ten minutes after Renner went upstairs to check on something, he was called away to Mr. Zedula’s estate. And since Leopold Zedula was Cross approved, that took precedence. Hours passed, and I was left to plow through Easton Lango’s past, present, and future by myself.

  “I’m never doing you another favor.” I glared at Renner’s empty chair, placed the sticky note in the center of his computer screen, picked up the Easton Lango files, and returned to my office.

  I caught the insurance investigator, Lou Hutton, just as he was calling it a day. Hutton remembered the scene. He’d seen dozens of similar fires over the course of his career. This one wasn’t special. As far as he was concerned, it was a run-of-the-mill electrical fire. As part of his investigation, he checked the building codes and contacted the construction company and electricians who originally built the restaurant thirty years ago. According to Hutton, the new equipment overloaded the cheap wiring, causing the outlet to spark and the power cord to overheat. The fire spread and, eventually, took down the building.

  I examined Hutton’s photos, but I didn’t know anything about fires or arson, so I made a note to do more research. Easton said he had the building inspected several times. I’d have to get names and put in more legwork in the morning. I already had a meeting scheduled with the fire department’s arson investigator for the following day. But patience was never one of my virtues, so I moved on to plan B.

  Renner wasn’t the only one who had friends in the police department, but I didn’t know Sgt. Chambliss, the officer of record. O’Connell or one of my other pals in blue would have to make the introduction. I grabbed what I needed, checked my messages, and headed for the elevator. I didn’t know where Renner went or when he’d be back, but it was getting late. Obviously, Cross intended to keep Renner so busy he couldn’t work this case. I wondered what tasks the boss would have waiting for me in the morning.

  I stopped at the front desk and smiled warmly at the assistant. “I need to fill out another personal leave request form.”

  “Short or long-term?”

  “Short. I’ll only be gone a few more days.” Unless Cross has other plans for me.

  She ran her pointer finger down the stack of baskets and handed me a sheet of paper. “You’ll need this form. Mr. Cross has to approve all absences. After you fill that out, leave it with his assistant, Justin.”

  “Thanks.” I tucked the form into the back of the folder and stepped into the elevator.

  By the time I arrived at the precinct, it was late in the day. Hopefully, shift change would work in my favor. The desk sergeant was busy dealing with nearly two dozen walk-ins. I glanced around at the assortment of people. The officers on duty had their hands full.

  The desk sergeant recognized me and automatically called up to major crimes. Detective Nick O’Connell appeared at the bottom of the stairwell and squinted through the mess of people filing complaints. He pointed at me and crooked his finger.

  “Parker,” he said, “do I want to know why you’re here? I thought you said you would call.”

  “I’m looking for someone.”

  “You caught another missing persons case?”

  “No. I’m looking for a cop. Sergeant Chambliss. Do you know him?”

  O’Connell nodded slowly. “He’s the watch commander. Does this have anything to do with the throng of visitors today?”

  “No, and for the record, the mess in there isn’t my fault.” I gestured toward the front desk. “I didn’t realize it was feeding time at the zoo.”

  “Lighten up, Parker. I’m just busting your balls. If you can’t take my teasing, you have no business speaking to Chambliss. He’ll eat you alive. What do you want with him anyway?”

  I slid a copy of the crime scene report out of the folder and handed it to Nick. “Bennett Renner just found himself a new client, and he left me with the Easton Lango case. I’m trying to get the facts straight and figured I’d start at the top.”

  Nick scanned the page. “Why didn’t Renner follow up with Chambliss? Did he do any work on the case before handing it off, besides attempting to run over my foot?”

  “Actually, Renner doesn’t know I’m here. He asked if I’d assist, and then Cross called him away.”

  “You’re probably better off.” O’Connell eyed the paperwork. “The investigation is closed. The fire was ruled accidental. What do you need Chambliss for?”

  “I didn’t realize you were his secretary.”

  “And I didn’t realize you were Renner’s,” Nick retorted. “Be straight with me. That’s how this works.”

  So I told O’Connell everything I knew about Easton Lango and the complaint he filed and the work I put in today. “Renner says Jake Voletek called and asked him to look into Easton’s case.”

  O’Connell’s eyebrows knit together. “Voletek? You’re sure he said Voletek?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Let’s take a walk.” O’Connell led the way up the steps. He opened the door to homicide, and I followed him inside. I didn’t spot any familiar faces in the bullpen, but most of my cop buddies worked major crimes, not homicide. “Jake,” O’Connell called, “I need to speak to you in private.”

  The scruffy detective on the phone held up his pointer finger, and O’Connell nodded before ducking into the break room. Bewildered, I followed Nick, who helped himself to a cup of coffee and popped open the pink pastry box. After selecting a donut with sprinkles, he shifted the box to face me.

  “You’re a walking, talking cliché, Detective.” But that didn’t stop me from grabbing the last chocolate crème and taking a bite. By the time Voletek joined us, O’Connell and I had devoured the evidence.

  Detective Voletek smiled, giving me the once-over. “Hi, I’m Jake.” He held out his hand and rubbed his thumb in a circle against my knuckles as we shook. “And you are?”

  “Taken,” O’Connell said.

  I glared at Nick. I had no interest in the homicide detective, but it didn’t hurt to flirt, particularly when I needed to convince someone to do someth
ing he didn’t want to do. “Alex,” I said.

  “Alex, huh?” Voletek dropped my hand. “What can I do for you, Alex?”

  Before I could answer, O’Connell asked, “Have you spoken to Easton Lango?”

  Voletek’s eyes darted to O’Connell’s. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” O’Connell said.

  “I don’t care how you take it,” Voletek replied. “Why do you care? Are things really that slow in major crimes that you got reassigned to the paperwork brigade?”

  “I don’t care who you speak to,” O’Connell jerked his chin at me, “but she does. And she matters to me, so play nice.”

  “Does Jenny know that?” Voletek asked, the testosterone level increasing by the second.

  “Of course, she does. Alex is one of her best friends. Got it?”

  Voletek took a step back, nodding. “Yeah, Nick, I got it.” I didn’t, but that was a conversation for another time. “Why are you asking about Chef Easton?” Voletek asked me.

  “I work with Bennett Renner at Cross Security. He says you suggested Mr. Lango speak to us. I want to know why.”

  “It’s simple. Chef Easton thinks someone wants to kill him. He asked to speak to a homicide detective about his case, and I volunteered.” Voletek’s gaze briefly flicked to O’Connell. “I’m sure you’ve been told the fire investigation is closed. They determined the cause was electrical. No signs of tampering or foul play, so without any evidence, there isn’t much the police department can do. But from what Chef Easton told me, the fire might not even be the worst part. Someone’s out to get him, and given the escalation, I wouldn’t be surprised if the person responsible doesn’t try something else in the future. That’s why I suggested he seek outside help. Cross Security’s the best in the business. If anyone can help him, it’s you or, rather, your firm.”