by G. K. Parks
The horrific images had derailed my train of thought. “How did you determine he wasn’t responsible?”
The lieutenant gave me an odd look. “Isn’t Easton Lango your client?”
“He is, and for the record, he did not start the fire. But given the destructive nature of the blaze and the burns on his hands, I just thought he might be a suspect.”
“Most fires aren’t crimes. People make mistakes. My prime suspects are unattended burning candles, questionable extension cords, inappropriately stored flammable materials,” he gestured at the photos, “electrical outlets, and unexpected sparks, not people.”
I nodded and flipped back through the photographs. I had no idea how fires behaved, but this one was terrible. Even Lt. Payne admitted this was a bad one, which spread inexplicably fast and ate through drywall faster than a mouse with a chunk of cheese. “What about the oddities?”
Payne smiled patiently. “That’s why my office investigated the scene. Things like this shouldn’t happen, but it looks like a poor layout and shoddy materials. Luckily, the fire spread in this direction.” He pushed the photos aside and pointed to a blueprint-like sketch. “When I spoke to Mr. Lango about it, he said he escaped out the back.”
“Is that odd?”
“No.” He sensed my confusion. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I take you to see it firsthand? Would you like that?”
“I would.”
He looked at his watch. “I have some time now, if it’s convenient for you.”
“That sounds great. Do you mind if I have an expert meet us there?”
The lieutenant ducked his head, attempting to conceal the unexpected bark of laughter with a cough. “I guess I’m not particularly impressive. Is it the shirt? Or maybe the tie?” He looked up, a twinkle in his eyes, and gestured at his tie clip. “It’s my fire engine tie tack, isn’t it? I knew no one would take me seriously with a fire engine tie tack.”
“It’s not you. I just don’t know what I’m looking at and might need someone to decipher it for me.”
“That’s fine. Why don’t I give you a ride and you can call your guy on the way? After we walk the scene, if you have any more questions, I’ll answer them on the ride back.”
“Sure, thanks for being so obliging. The police department hasn’t been nearly as friendly.” They were also accustomed to me asking for favors. Aside from the occasional odd jam, I normally didn’t pester the fire department. Hopefully, that wasn’t about to change.
He neatly folded the file and tucked it under his arm as he led the way out of the room and back to his office. He grabbed his hat and keys. Once we were inside the bright red SUV, he handed me the file. “Look through that and tell me if any other questions come to mind.”
“Actually, there’s something I haven’t been able to figure out.”
“What’s that?”
“Why didn’t the fire alarm go off?”
Fifteen
My question stumped Lt. Payne. He glanced at me before returning his attention to the road. “Dead batteries in the smoke detector?”
“The place was inspected prior to the fire. The batteries were checked. According to Easton, the alarm wasn’t beeping or acting up. So why didn’t it go off?”
“Did we test it?” He jerked his chin at the file. “There should be a note in there. It’s one of the first things we check.”
I searched the file but didn’t find any form or notation concerning the smoke detector. “I don’t see one.”
“That’s weird. The truck company that put out the fire should have checked the fire prevention system. I’ll contact their chief when I get back to the office. They might have forgotten to forward the paperwork to us. It happens sometimes. You saw the twin peaks on my desk. We have a lot of open investigations. Sometimes, things get misfiled in the jumble.”
Or rubberstamped. However, I didn’t mention my theory or add my two cents.
“Now that you bring it up, I’m wondering why the sprinkler system in the dining room didn’t slow the fire’s progression or put it out. That’s why restaurants are required to have a fire barrier between the kitchen and the rest of the restaurant and why the dining room has to have sprinklers. Kitchen fires are common, so these measures are meant to protect diners. The sprinklers should have saved the front of the building. Unless,” Payne rubbed his mouth, “I don’t know.”
“What are you thinking?”
“The fire most likely jumped rooms through the walls or ceiling. It’s the damn drywall. It shouldn’t have burned that fast or that easily. Sure, the paper burns, but gypsum doesn’t.”
“Are you still convinced this wasn’t arson?”
“I’m not saying anything until I personally walk the scene. That file doesn’t answer a lot of questions. Who signed off on the final report?”
I flipped to the page and read the signature at the bottom. “You did.”
I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I could tell he was beating himself up for signing without paying attention. Perhaps if I had a mountain of paperwork to contend with on a daily basis, I might do the same. I suspected SSA Jablonsky had done that a time or two at the OIO. Good leaders trusted their people, but we were all human. And humans had bad days and made mistakes.
“You should know, Easton Lango received several death threats prior to the fire, and he’s still receiving them.” I watched Payne, curious to see his reaction.
The lieutenant shook his head, as if trying to shake off the guilt and blame he felt. “Under the circumstances, I think it’s a good thing we’re checking out the building. Depending on what I find, I’ll consider reopening the investigation. None of this makes sense. Maybe there’s an explanation, a misfiled report or lost paperwork, but if that’s not the case, I fear you might be right.”
We parked in the vacant lot beside a hunter green 4x4. A balding man sat inside, texting on his phone. At the sound of our doors closing, he looked up.
“Hey, Dil,” Payne said, clapping the balding man on the shoulder as soon as he stepped out of the car. “You might have your work cut out for you. Ms. Parker’s been telling me some pretty disturbing things about the owner of this place. The BFI might have gotten it wrong.”
“Ted, Ted, Ted,” Dilbert Haskell, the arson expert, made a tsking noise and shook his head, “I see the Bureau of Fire Investigation can’t function without me.” He poked at Payne’s tie clip. “You haven’t changed one bit. I can’t believe you’re still holding on to that stupid thing.”
“I can’t get rid of it,” Payne said. “A mean old bastard gave it to me and told me it was my lucky charm.”
“And you were dumb enough to believe me when I said it.” Dil turned to face me. “You must be Alexis. Cross Security’s certainly classed itself up since the last time we crossed paths. Nice to meet’cha.” He extended his hand. “By the way, let me apologize now for whatever this guy might have said about me.” He jerked his thumb at Payne.
“She didn’t tell me you were the expert,” Payne said. The worry returned and creased his features.
“Shit, son. I know that look.” Dil rubbed his jaw. “What’d you step in?”
“We’re about to find out.” Payne led the way into the roped off building, ignoring the neon yellow flyer warning trespassers it was unsafe to enter.
Dil gestured for me to go ahead, so I followed Lt. Payne into the destroyed building. Broken and burned furniture littered the floors. Dil came up behind me, letting the beam of his flashlight bounce off the blackened floor and what remained of the other three walls. Payne knelt on the ground near the front corner of the building, sifting through the rubble.
“I don’t get it,” he said. He held up a chunk of the wall. “The gypsum didn’t burn. Well, it burned but to the level we’d expect given the blaze.”
“So why did the wall come down?” I asked.
“The fire,” Dil said unhelpfully.
“No shit,” Payne parroted my thoughts. “But how oft
en do kitchen fires take down a commercial structure?”
Haskell bagged a small piece of rubble. “I’ll have the lab analyze this for accelerant or defects.” The arson consultant nodded at me. Obviously, he took his job seriously. After all, Cross Security only hired the best. “I’ll look around and see what else I find. You sent me a copy of the report from your client, but I’ll get the full report from my former colleagues at the BFI.” He glanced at Payne, who was examining the walls. “You’ll send it over, right, Teddy?”
“Yeah, once I piece it back together. Ms. Parker pointed out a couple of discrepancies.” Payne ran his hand against the wall and rubbed the soot between his fingertips.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It looks like the sprinklers activated.” He indicated the smoke and water damage. “Although, it’s hard to say for certain.”
The dining room was completely destroyed. Between the fire and the methods used to extinguish the blaze, nothing was salvageable. The few chairs and booths that remained intact were covered in layers of soot. The wood had warped and buckled from the heat and water damage. I had no idea how anyone could make heads or tails out of what happened inside. I was out of my depth. No wonder there were so few arson investigators. It looked like chaos, a scene out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting.
Payne pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands on it. “Let’s start in the kitchen. It’ll make more sense to follow the path the fire took.”
“Sure.”
By now, Haskell had already wandered deeper into the restaurant. When we entered the kitchen, we found the consultant examining the outlet. “There’s no doubt this is where the fire started,” he said. He indicated the scorch marks around the outlet and wall. Kneeling down, he found a thick, frayed, and burned cord. “This is your culprit.”
Payne flipped through the photos in the file, verifying that’s what the fire investigation had noted. “Looks like we’re in agreement about the cause.”
Haskell smirked. “That’s because I taught you right.”
I gave Payne a quizzical look.
Haskell watched the exchange. “Teddy was my protégé. Before I retired, I worked at the BFI for fifteen years. He came up through the ranks under my command.”
“Ah, I see.” Although, it was common for private sector consultants and experts to have learned the ropes while collecting government paychecks, I couldn’t help but wonder if that would bias Haskell’s findings since Lt. Payne was his prized pupil.
“Don’t worry,” Payne said, “he gets a kick out of pointing out the BFI’s shortcomings. He doesn’t think we function well without him. If we missed something, he’ll find it because he wants to rub our noses in it.”
“How else are you gonna learn?” Haskell asked.
Payne scowled and turned away. Until now, they’d been exceptionally buddy-buddy, but I could see the digs were weighing on the lieutenant, probably since he figured they missed something and Haskell would find it.
“I don’t see a smoke detector,” Payne said. “Truck must have taken it to test.”
That’s when I surveyed the kitchen. Even though the fire started here, the kitchen didn’t look nearly as bad as the dining room, probably since most of the hard, metal surfaces didn’t burn in the blaze. The stove and appliances still resembled charcoaled versions of what they used to be. The one thing I did notice was a lot of broken glass due to the extreme heat.
The fire spread in two directions from the outlet. One path went down the wall and across the floor while the other went up the wall and across the counter, leaving burnt ash where the flare-ups occurred.
“Cooking oil,” Haskell said, shoving a lopsided and broken shelf out of the way to expose deep burns across the wall, floor, and shelving. “It really set in and cooked here. These burned longer and harder.” He indicated the bubbled and pocked tiles. “If this had been liquor, the burns would be focused on the surface, not down beneath the grout and tile.” He pried one up, exposing the damage beneath. “Since it’s so close to the rest of the restaurant, the fire could have traveled through the vent,” he kicked a grate near the floor, “and jumped the barrier.”
“Could someone have used common kitchen items as accelerant?” I asked.
Haskell nodded. “That’s entirely possible. I’ll collect samples but what you’re asking would be impossible to prove. We’d have no way of knowing if someone spread the fire intentionally or if it spread naturally due to the location of the flammable materials.”
“Unless we find scorch marks or a burn trail,” Payne said. He brushed the rubble away with his foot. “I don’t see a clear path on the floor.” He moved to the remaining countertop and brushed away some dirt. “What do you make of this, Dil?”
Haskell leaned over Payne’s shoulder and looked at the charred trail that ran up the side of the counter and across the top. “I’m gonna grab my camera from the car and take some photos.” Without another word, he ducked through the opening.
“Does this mean something?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It could have been a spill on the counter. Kitchen fires are difficult to evaluate.” Payne followed the trail where it ended at the sink. From there, the fire took to the walls, before leaping back down and licking the counter on the other side before migrating across the three foot expanse to the shelving. “Honestly, there isn’t enough scorching to indicate accelerant. It looks like bad luck. I’ll know more once I locate the reports on the smoke detector and fire prevention system.”
I nodded, aware of the familiar twitch at the back of my brain. This was intentional. No chef of Easton’s caliber would leave a messy kitchen. And since the staff had gone home for the night, the place would have been pristine. The only possible reason the kitchen would be messy would be if Easton was working on a recipe. While I had clients who lied in the past, I didn’t think Easton would make us go to this much trouble if he was to blame for the fire. Someone wanted to sabotage and potentially kill him. I just wondered if they had snuck inside his kitchen to do it.
Since Easton said he had been in the back office when the fire broke out, I went down the narrow hallway, past the walk-in freezer, and to the office. The hallway had significant amounts of smoke and water damage, and I could see the burn marks on the walls. No wonder the doorknob was hot when he touched it. Luckily, the blaze hadn’t moved past the office door, and Easton managed to get out without being cooked alive.
The thought made my skin crawl. It would be a sick and poetic way for a chef to die. I shook it off as I entered the office. Aside from a thick layer of soot, the office appeared relatively undamaged. The filing cabinets were empty, as were the desk drawers. Easton must have salvaged as many things as he could.
I examined the door, growing queasy at the crunchy brown-red smudge on the handle that had probably been the skin of Easton’s palm. Burning alive would be a terrible way to die, possibly the worst. And it was something I didn’t want to think about.
I left the office and continued down the narrow corridor to the back door. From here, the building looked fine. No one would ever know it had been the scene of a horrific fire. It was strange how different things could look based on perspective alone.
By the time I returned to the kitchen, I understood why the fire investigators, police, and insurance wrote this off as an electrical fire. It would be too difficult to prove it wasn’t. But Easton Lango knew it wasn’t, and the death threat told me he was right. Now I just had to determine who would do something like this.
“Ready to go?” Lt. Payne asked.
Dil Haskell was on the phone with his office, requesting his techs come by to photograph the restaurant and collect additional samples. He hung up and smiled encouragingly at me. “I should have the results in forty-eight hours. I’ll forward my report to Cross Security as soon as I reach a conclusion. If you want to discuss my findings further or have any other questions, call me.”
“Thanks, Mr. Haskell,” I sa
id. “Bennett Renner or I will be in touch.”
He nodded, clapped Payne on the shoulder, leaving a sooty handprint on the otherwise pristine dress shirt, and climbed into his truck.
Payne wiped at his shoulder, only making the stain worse. “I don’t think there’s enough here to prove the fire was arson. The blaze was triggered by an electrical fire. Depending on what I find in the reports, that will determine how we proceed. You must have a million questions for me.”
“Just one. How much skill is needed to make an intentional fire look accidental?”
“You’re still convinced it’s arson?”
“I’m convinced someone wants my client ruined, and this is how he did it.”
Sixteen
“What did he say?” Renner asked.
“Officially, it’s not arson. The cause of the fire checks out. It was electrical, but I can tell Lt. Payne has doubts.”
“What about Haskell? What does he think?”
“Hell if I know. He exchanged some friendly jabs with the arson investigator, took some photos, and collected samples. He said he’d get the results back to us in forty-eight hours.”
“That means he thinks there’s something to find. Haskell’s on board.”
“Yeah, but from a legal standpoint, I doubt we have enough to convince the police to open an investigation.”
“Have you spoken to Jake yet?” Renner asked.
“No.” Renner was the first person I called when I left Lt. Payne’s office. I peered out my windshield as I slowly circled the parking garage for Bridget Stockton’s car or any car that might fit the description. “Has he called you? Did he identify the car or owner yet?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Renner said. “I’m not liking this. Voletek begged me for a favor last week, but now he’s tromping all over our case. What did he need us for?”
I ignored the rhetorical question. “Are you still at Easton’s house?”
“No, I’m at the office. The food truck wasn’t tampered with, but we found a tracker planted on the bumper of Easton’s Eats. The tech department is in the process of tracing it. Once I get a location, I’ll pay the masked bastard a visit.”