Burning Embers

by G. K. Parks

  “You called in sick,” York said. “What did you do?”

  Bisset didn’t answer. He looked like he might be in shock.

  “Did you set the fire?” I asked, my eyes on Bisset. Slowly, I slipped my hand inside my jacket. The electricity in the air made my skin prickle. Instinct said things were about to go from bad to worse, though I wasn’t sure why I thought that.

  “What fire?” York asked.

  “The one that destroyed Sizzle.” I watched Bisset fidget. With his beady eyes, he reminded me of a mouse caught in a trap. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide, and he turned to run, knocking into the side of the freezer and nearly bouncing off from the force.

  A knife flew through the air, and I spun in the direction from which it came and drew my weapon. “Everyone out now,” I barked at the few remaining kitchen staff and aimed at York, who had picked up another sharp utensil. Rage covered his face. I’d rarely seen that kind of animosity and unbridled fury. “Drop the knife, Chef.”

  He ignored me, spittle flying from his lips as he screamed, “You set the fire? Are you planning to burn down my restaurant too?” He took a step closer, and I sidestepped around the counter, putting myself between the chef and his protégé. “Is that what you do? You get pissed and angry because you’re a pathetic cook, so you destroy greatness?”

  “Whoa, take it easy,” I said. “The police have this place surrounded. Let’s not do anything crazy.” In the periphery, I spotted Renner taking up a position against the swinging kitchen door. Thankfully, his full stomach didn’t take him out of the game.

  York ignored me, his focus entirely on Bisset. “Answer me. Is that why you begged me to hire you? You want to destroy me too? Is this how you plan to make head chef? By eliminating the competition? You pathetic fuck.” He strode forward, raising the knife. He didn’t even notice I was blocking his path. Every cell in his body was concentrated on Dante Bisset. One more step, and I’d shoot him in the knee.

  But Renner came up behind York, grabbing his right shoulder and twisting his left hand behind his back. Renner shoved the chef against the waist-high prep station, knocking the knife from his hand and slamming his face against the shiny stainless steel.

  Bisset used the distraction to bolt. He pushed past me and ran for the swinging door. I raced after him. The sous chef collided with a table, his feet tangling in the tablecloth. He stumbled, tripping over the trailing white sheet.

  “Bisset, stop,” I bellowed. “There’s nowhere to go.”

  He scrambled to pull himself off the floor. A young man got too close, and Bisset grabbed the boy’s hand and spun himself around the kid, holding a steak knife against his captive’s ribs. “I didn’t hurt anyone,” Bisset said. “And now, because of you, that psycho wants to kill me.”

  “All right,” I held up my palms, “I’m sorry. You said you didn’t hurt anyone, so I don’t think it would be wise to start now. Let the kid go.”

  Bisset’s breath came in shallow, rapid gasps. His eyes were mere pinpricks. The rumble of the crowded restaurant turned into a muffled quiet as everyone held their collective breaths. Then the stampede started. Those close to the front door ran out. A few pulled out their cell phones, though I didn’t see a single one of them dial 911.

  “You don’t want to hurt him,” I said.

  Bisset released the kid, turned, and froze in place. The crackle of the stun gun buzzed, and Bisset dropped to the floor. Voletek looked around, holding up his badge. “Police,” he announced. He patted down Bisset and cuffed him.

  “Renner might need your help,” I said.

  “Watch him.” Voletek headed toward the kitchen just as Renner hauled Asher York out in cuffs. “You got him?”

  “Yep.” Renner pushed York down into one of the empty chairs at a now empty table.

  Voletek reached for his radio. Backup was on its way. “Sorry, everyone, the kitchen’s closed.” Voletek gave me a look. “I thought Cross Security was known for their subtlety.”

  “That costs extra,” I said.

  Nineteen

  “Go through it again,” Detective Voletek said. He reached for his mug and took a sip.

  “We’ve been over this three times.” Asher York was tired of repeating himself, but his attorney didn’t seem to mind. The man probably made $200 an hour. For him, time was money, literally. “I don’t have anything else to say.”

  “Just one more time, please.” Voletek flipped back to the first page of notes. “I can’t quite wrap my head around this.”

  “That’s because you’re a fucking idiot,” York mumbled.

  Voletek pretended not to notice, but his back stiffened. “When did you first realize there was trouble?”

  “When that woman burst into my kitchen and told everyone to clear out.”

  “Not before?”

  “No.”

  “See, this is all your fault,” Renner mumbled beside me. We had ‘accidentally’ wandered into the observation room while Voletek conducted the interview. “You’re the reason York attempted to murder his sous chef.”

  “Shh.” I put my finger to my lips.

  According to York, he didn’t notice anything amiss until I showed up. That’s when he realized Dante Bisset’s strange behavior, and after hearing the questions I asked Bisset, York insisted he feared for his safety and the safety of everyone else inside Delicious and attempted to neutralize the threat. Until I made those accusations, York had no idea Bisset was dangerous or had been up to no good.

  “Obviously, my client was acting in self-defense,” the attorney said. “You have no reason to hold him.”

  Voletek glanced at the attorney. “That’s not what the witnesses are saying. Until this gets sorted out, Mr. York will remain in custody.”

  York launched into another protest. “You can’t do this. I didn’t do anything. That psychopath is who you should be arresting, not me.”

  “Mr. Bisset is also under arrest. Any details you can provide concerning Bisset’s whereabouts last night would be invaluable. Maybe we can make a deal.” Voletek waited.

  “He sure takes the long way around.” I wondered why Voletek didn’t dangle the carrot in front of York sooner. The man was a chef; he could probably take that carrot and turn it into a nice soup or something. Voletek just needed to give him the opportunity.

  “That’s Jake for you,” Renner said. “He’s by the book when it counts.”

  “Then what’s the deal with the reward Easton offered and the bad blood between Voletek and Nick O’Connell?”

  “I said when it counts.” Renner glanced behind us to make sure we remained alone. He wouldn’t risk getting his buddy in blue in trouble over some harmless gossip. “One,” he ticked the points off on his fingers, “Jake’s a foodie. We’ve established this. He wants that dinner, and he can’t see what harm it’ll do. He also knows that I’d be happy to invite him to join me, so it’s no longer a bribe or reward. It’s dinner with a friend. That’s why he dropped this in my lap. Two, he’s a good guy. He wants to do the right thing. He only passes me cases when he’s sure there’s something to be done that he can’t do himself because of red-tape and regulations. It wouldn’t matter if Easton was paying us in peanuts, Voletek would still have asked for my help. Three, he and O’Connell were in the same class at the academy. They used to be tight until Jake tried to pick up Jenny. That’s when their friendship ended.”

  “Nick’s wife?”

  “She wasn’t Nick’s wife at the time. They just started dating, and Nick brought her to the bar across from the precinct. According to what I heard, Nick went to get a beer, and while he was gone, Jake did what he always does with badge bunnies.”

  “Jen’s not a badge bunny.”

  “Jake didn’t know that. And after he found out, he didn’t exactly back off either. He figured it wasn’t serious between Nick and Jen. It’s always the same old story with Jake. He never knows when to quit, whether it’s a case or a girl.”

  I turned my attention ba
ck to the window, unsure what I thought of Detective Voletek. As a show of solidarity and respect for O’Connell and his wife, I disliked Voletek on principle. But I didn’t think he was a bad guy. I didn’t think he was a bad cop either. However, after what I just heard, I knew he was a dog.

  “I don’t know anything.” York raised his bound hands as if he wanted to choke Voletek. “I would tell you if I knew. Hell, if I had any idea Dante was some crazy psychopath, I never would have invited him into my kitchen.”

  “Did he approach you for a job?” Voletek asked.

  “Yes.” York lowered his hands, deflating as he exhaled. “He has exemplary credentials and amazing skills. His classical training makes him an asset. But I don’t want someone unstable working in my kitchen. Tell him he’s fired.”

  Voletek collected the paperwork and went out the door, nodding at the officer to move Asher York back into a holding cell. The chef shot a few final frantic questions to his attorney before being ushered out of the room. I didn’t care what he said; if I hadn’t stopped him, he probably would have killed or maimed Bisset. York was volatile, unbalanced, and obsessed. Bisset wasn’t the only psycho in Delicious’ kitchen. Based on York’s history of DUIs, I didn’t think the reason his hands shook while in the interrogation room had anything to do with nerves. He needed a drink. If he wasn’t released soon, things would only get worse.

  “What are you doing in here?” Voletek asked.

  Renner grinned. “I told you this wasn’t the break room, Alex.”

  “Out.” Voletek pointed at the door, and we stepped outside. “Did you provide your statements in writing?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “We handed them to the sergeant. We were told we’re free to go,” Renner said, “but we couldn’t just walk out without saying goodbye.”

  Voletek glanced around the empty corridor. “I’ll show you where the break room is,” he said. Once we were inside with the door closed, Voletek blew out a breath. “I take it you heard what York said.”

  “We might have caught a word or two,” I replied.

  Voletek rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Okay, so after you left Easton’s this morning, I spoke to Strader. He said he felt ill and had to leave work, but he doesn’t have an alibi. No doctor’s note. No trip to the pharmacy. Nothing. Since he has a record for assault, his prints are in the system, so we know he didn’t leave the print in the duck fat.”

  “What about Bisset? As far as I know, until a few hours ago, he never had any run-ins with the police,” I said.

  “He didn’t, but he was printed when we processed him. We’ll know soon enough if he left the print on the tarp. What happened with the bug you found planted in Easton’s kitchen?” Voletek rummaged in the fridge for the crushed swan, which Renner grabbed, along with my cake before we followed Voletek back to the station.

  Renner pulled out his phone and held it out to the detective. “This message came in when you were busy making York sound like a broken record.”

  Voletek scanned the intel. “You’re sure about this?”

  “Cross Security knows what they’re doing.” Renner had shown me the message, which is why I was itching to take another crack at Bisset. “The camera and GPS tracker are synced to a single device. The IP links to Galen Strader’s home address.”

  “You think they’re working together?” Voletek emptied the contents of the foil onto a plate and popped it in the microwave.

  “I do,” Renner said.

  “We do,” I affirmed. “I spoke to Easton. He didn’t sound surprised. Chefs of their caliber travel in small circles. It’s a close-knit community.”

  “Close-knit? It’s an incestuous, rage-filled clusterfuck of crazy,” Renner said.

  The microwave beeped, and Voletek took out the steaming dish. He grabbed a fork and put the plate down before taking a seat at the table. He seemed more interested in the food than in our speculation. He speared a meatball, covered in a thick, creamy sauce, and blew on it, waiting for it to cool while the sauce dribbled onto the plate. When it was cool enough to eat, he popped it into his mouth, closed his eyes, and savored the morsel.

  “The first bite’s always the best.” Voletek opened his eyes and wiped his mouth. He skewered another piece and held it in the air, waiting for it to cool. “As soon as I spotted the car outside Delicious, I knew we were on the right track. And after what transpired inside the restaurant with the chef losing his shit and the sous chef nearly taking a hostage, I thought it best to have the vehicle impounded. A preliminary search didn’t yield any damning evidence. I sent a few uniforms into Easton’s neighborhood. They’ll flash around some photos and see if anyone remembers anything.”

  “They won’t,” I said.

  Voletek bit into the second meatball and chewed thoughtfully. “I still have to try. Once the system updates with Bisset’s information, we’ll know if his prints are a match. Until then, everything hinges on what he has to say, unless either of you has an ace up your sleeve. You tracked the camera, which you neglected to tell me about, and helped the PD get details on the GPS tracker. Any idea where they were purchased?”

  Renner nodded. “They came from the big box store on the west end. The buyer paid cash, but from the security footage I’ve seen, I’m sure it’s Strader. He was alone. No sign of Bisset or the car.”

  “That’s gonna make this a lot more difficult.” Voletek rolled the last piece around on the plate. “I was hoping you had leverage, something to make him flip on Strader.”

  “Why don’t you arrest Strader?” I asked. “You have him for trespassing and illegally recording Easton, not to mention the B&E.”

  Voletek finished eating and washed the plate in the sink. “Uniforms will pick up Strader as soon as Cross Security sends us the evidence they’ve collected. In the meantime, I have to get Bisset to tell me what the two of them were doing at Easton’s house.”

  “We already know what they were doing,” Renner said.

  “Do we?” Voletek arched an eyebrow. “What were they doing? Nothing was stolen. We have property damage, but Easton wasn’t hurt. I need the evidence you collected, and I’ll see what I can get to stick.”

  Renner went to make a call, and Voletek cleaned up the mess he made. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and offered me one.

  “No, thanks.”

  He poked at the container holding my cake. “Don’t forget to take this with you when you leave. If it stays here too long, one of the vultures out there is sure to eat it.” He shut the fridge and turned with a grin. “Or I might eat it.”

  “Is that the going price for convincing you to let me sit in on Bisset’s interrogation?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

  O’Connell let me a time or two, but I didn’t think mentioning it would help my case. “You know, I have served as a police consultant in the past.”

  “Yes, but now you’re with Cross Security. The department didn’t approve you for a consulting gig. My hands are tied.” He moved closer, stopping just a few inches from me. “Why don’t you tell me what you think I should ask Bisset?”

  “Ask him why he set the fire.”

  “You’re sure he’s guilty?”

  I wasn’t, but I knew the fire was no accident. “Fine, then ask where he got the car. I ran the records. The GTO isn’t registered to him. So where’d he get it?”

  “It’s his aunt’s.” Voletek consulted the notepad in his pocket. “She lives in an assisted-living place. She doesn’t drive much anymore. He gave her his subcompact and took her car. Officers checked. She verified they traded vehicles a while ago. The GTO was too much for her to handle.”

  “Does she know what he did to her car?”

  “She said he customized it.”

  “It sounds like they’re close.” I narrowed my eyes at his notepad, trying to read upside down. “What did you say her name is?”

  “I didn’t.” He closed the notepad. “Didn’t you promise to share
your intel with me? You and Renner have been keeping me out of the loop.”

  “You’ve done the same thing. You never called to tell us how the conversation with Strader went.”

  “Fine. Stay here and watch me interview Bisset or don’t. That’s up to you, but I don’t want you speaking to Violet Arnaud at Shady Groves. Do you understand?”

  I smiled. “Absolutely.”

  He returned my grin. “Good.” When I didn’t immediately retreat, he realized I wanted to see what Bisset had to say. “You spoke to the arson investigators earlier, right?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t heard back from them yet. I don’t have anything conclusive.”

  “I doubt you ever will.” Voletek led the way out of the break room and toward the interrogation rooms. “I performed my due diligence. We don’t have proof. Everything says it was electrical.”

  “Dante Bisset had a key and access to Sizzle’s kitchen. To top it off, Asher York believed he did it. That’s why he assaulted Bisset and threatened to kill him. There has to be a reason York jumped to those conclusions so easily.”

  “All right. I’ll try to work with that. Stay here.” He gestured inside the adjoining observation room. “Let me do my job. If you’re struck with an epiphany, tap on the glass.”

  “Hey, Jake,” I said, forcing him to stop in the doorway, “check his hands for burns. Lt. Payne said it’s common for those who set fires to get burned in the process.”

  “Cars, burns, anything else?”

  “Check his pockets for red markers like the one used to scrawl the threatening note.”

  “Officers didn’t find any weapons on him when he went through booking, but maybe they missed a few spare bricks,” he said sarcastically.

  “You never know.”

  Voletek rolled his eyes and sauntered into the interrogation room. Hopefully, he’d take a different approach with Bisset, or we’d be here all night.

  Twenty

  Like most men under arrest, Dante Bisset insisted he was innocent. He claimed he didn’t throw the brick or plant the tracker or camera at Easton’s house. When confronted with nearby traffic cam footage, Bisset denied it was his car. Though the work order Voletek dug up from the auto body shop said otherwise.