“Sorry to hear that but there was nothing in the briefing about a stolen vehicle.”
“Well, call someone—if there’s anyone in the police department competent enough to answer the phone. No wonder the city’s crumbling around your ears, bunch of fools in charge.”
Leyton put up a hand. “Wait, wait, wait. We’re not here to listen to this—just to interview you about the fire. I’m sure the officers assigned to your case are doing the best they can to locate your property.”
“And I’m not. It’s been over a month now and nobody will return my secretary’s phone calls.”
Eve felt his pain. “Can we talk in your office?”
“What about my car?”
“Can you tell us where you were at approximately 11:00 p.m. last night?”
“Why?”
“Routine questioning.”
“I didn’t set the fire.”
“No one’s accusing you, but for our investigation we need to know where you were and what time you were made aware.”
“Oh, all right. Come in. This better not take long, though. I have to leave for a corporate meeting in Lansing in twenty minutes.”
The interview lasted long enough for Leyton to come to the conclusion that Marvin Crenshaw was a whiny little jerk. He kept trying to make the conversation all about him and the stolen vehicle, and Clark kept swatting him down like a bug. She did it professionally and emotionlessly, but she let him know who was in charge. Leyton interjected a question or two, but mostly he just sat back and watched her work.
“So, okay, Mr. Crenshaw,” Eve said, “let me make sure I have everything correct. You say you were with friends last night having dinner and drinks, and you got the call about the fire about midnight?”
“Correct.”
“Can I have the name of one of the friends so we can corroborate your statement? It’s routine.”
He gave her the name: Lavita Brown.
“And to your knowledge no one in the company or in its employ has received any threats connected to the mall.”
“Correct.”
“What about the building contractors or the vendors?”
When he didn’t reply right away, Eve looked up from the notes she’d been making and met his eyes. “Yes or no, sir.”
“Uh, no,” he stammered. “I didn’t have any contact with the contractors. That was handled by our architects and their people.”
“I understand,” she assured him with a faint smile.
He looked at his watch. “I really need to go. If you have any more questions, just call my secretary.”
“We’re almost done,” she said, effectively overriding his attempt to hasten their exit. “According to my briefing, this new development was your baby. You were the executive who spearheaded the whole project.”
“I did. But it’s clear they obviously don’t deserve it.”
“They, who?” she echoed questioningly.
“The citizens of Detroit. You try and be a good brother and help out and all you get is carjacked. Are we through?”
Eve studied him. She wondered if he’d been this bitter before being jacked. “For now, sir. Yes. Thank you for your time. If we need to talk to you again, we’ll be in touch.”
“All I want is my car.”
“I’m sure the detectives are working as hard as they can. Have a nice day.”
Once she and Palmer were back in the car, she turned his way and asked, “What do you think?”
“I think he’s an ass.”
She hid her smile. “Besides that?”
“I noticed the hesitation when you asked about the developer.”
“Me, too. Wonder what that was about?”
“I think maybe we should find out.” He looked through his notes until he came across the developer’s name, then pulled out his phone and dialed the number provided.
It was a short call and when it ended he explained. “His secretary says he called in sick yesterday. Flu. She thinks he may be in later this week. I told her to have him call me, but since I’m the suspicious type, let me make another call.”
“To whom?”
“To a friend over at the courthouse.”
When the friend answered, he asked, “Can you give me a quick and dirty on Phillip Brandywine and Brandywine Construction? Highlight anything that jumps out at you—warrants, liens, child support.”
He talked for a second or two longer, then closed his phone. “They’ll get back to us soon as they can.”
Pleased that the ball was rolling, Eve asked, “So, where to next?”
“I want to run down a few of the resident pyros, see if they know anything about last night.”
“These are arsonists you’re talking about, right?”
“Yep. Serial arsonists. Some do it for profit, some just for the high they get watching things burn.”
“Okay. I’m game.”
Before he started up the car, though, he said, “Crenshaw was a jerk but you handled him well.”
“Not that I need your approval, but thanks.”
Leyton meant it as a compliment, but evidently she didn’t need any of those either. “You’re a tough lady, you know that?”
“Can’t be ATF and not have balls, Palmer. The job expects it.”
“That why you wear the shades and no makeup?”
“Do you ask male agents why they wear shades and no makeup?”
He blinked. “Think I’ll start the car now.”
“Good idea.”
Driving out of the parking lot, all he could think to himself was, wow.
While they made the short drive back to Detroit, Eve had to admit that Palmer had hit the nail on the head. The shades, lack of makeup and the way she pulled back her hair were her attempts to render herself less sexual. With her curves shielded by the big windbreakers she favored, most people were forced to deal with her on a professional level. Of course, some men being men saw her as a woman anyway and took her refusals to say yes to their offers of sex as a challenge to their male egos. She looked over at Palmer. So far, he hadn’t come at her with any of that and that was good.
Leyton was feeling incredibly stupid. He knew he shouldn’t have asked her that question, but it came from him wanting to figure her out. At this point, a smarter man would probably opt to leave her alone and just focus on the job at hand. But he’d always been interested in people’s stories because it helped him understand who they were and how they ticked. He was intrigued by the prickly Agent Clark. When you looked past the facade, it was easy to see that she was a good-looking woman, which probably had a lot to do with her no-nonsense attitude. Tall, stacked and probably gorgeous when she ditched the shades, she was one the finest law enforcement agents he’d ever seen. Nowhere near as gorgeous as his goddess, though, and once again the memories of her floated back, and once again he forced himself not to think about her.
* * *
Leyton and Eve spent the rest of the afternoon combing the shadier neighborhoods of the city searching for his firebugs. He wanted to talk to two in particular: an old-timer named Sally and a younger man who went by the nickname of Blazer.
They found Blazer on the west side, sitting on his aunt’s front steps feeding two black squirrels. When Leyton and Eve got out of the car, the thin dark-skinned man stood, and the squirrels scampered off. Only when they came closer did Eve notice his haunting green eyes.
“Blazer,” Leyton said in greeting.
“Marshal. Who’s the babe?”
Eve answered for herself. “Clark. ATF.”
“Federales. Welcome.”
“Thanks.”
“So what brings you to the Ponderosa?” he asked Leyton.
“That fire last night.”
“Read about it in the paper. Wasn’t me. I was home with my mama watching Gunsmoke.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m also reporting regularly to my parole officer, and seeing the shrink once a month.”
“H
ow’s that going?”
He shrugged. “She’s in a bad marriage. I’m trying to help her through it.”
Leyton shook his head. “Give me your theory on the fire.”
“Paper said it was gasoline. Only an amateur splashes around a bunch of gasoline and throws in a match. At least have some style, you know? I’m surprised whoever it was didn’t blow themselves up.”
“We checked all the hospitals. No walk-in burn victims last night.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“Will you keep your ears open for us?”
“Anything for you and the lady marshal. But you have to promise that if I do get the itch and my fire jones comes down, she’ll be the arresting officer.”
“You got it,” Eve told him.
“Good.”
He watched them until they drove away.
“Quite the character,” she said once they were in transit again.
“Math genius. Got a PhD in Fractal Geometry at sixteen. In jail at seventeen for setting fires at one of the campuses back East. When he got out, he came back here. A year later, we sent him to jail for doing a warehouse. He got out again in 2005. We’re sure he’s set at least three fires since then. Just haven’t been able to prove it.”
“You think he was involved last night?”
“No. Like he said, splashing around a lot of gasoline isn’t his style. His accelerants are usually laid out pretty precisely.”
“Because of the fractals background.”
“Yep.”
Eve pondered that for a moment. Some serial arsonists had unique signatures and took a sick kind of pride in their work. Palmer would know his perps better than she would, so she was willing to go with his assessment of Blazer not being responsible for last night’s fire. The sun had gone down, and due to daylight savings time it would be dark soon. “What about this other person—Sally?”
“Yeah, we’re en route to his place now.”
“What’s his story?”
“Profit pyro only. The days leading up to Halloween are his money-makers.”
“Taking advantage of the whole Devil’s Night-Angel’s Night thing, I’m assuming.”
He nodded. “People across the country think all Detroiters do on Halloween is burn down the city. What the media doesn’t say is that this madness began when absentee landlords started paying people like Sally to set the fires. No sense in fixing up your property when you can torch it and make a profit instead.”
“I know. I’ve explained that to non-Detroiters, too. Usually gives them a whole new perspective on what’s really going on. When I was growing up here, Devil’s Night was for mischief—knocking over trash cans, soaping car windows. These fires are relatively new.”
“Yeah. The city changed the name to Angel’s Night as a nod to all the volunteers who keep an eye on the abandoned homes in their neighborhoods and spend the nights leading up to Halloween riding around in their cars looking for trouble spots.”
“I hear they’ve made a difference.”
“Absolutely. Be a lost war without them.”
He gave Eve the impression of being passionate about his work and his city. He was also a good-looking man, she noted. Not that it mattered to the job. She glanced at his strong hands on the steering wheel. No ring. With the long leather coat and cowboy boots he looked like a throwback to the old West. She bet the women he worked with were happy to see him walk into work every morning. Even though he was handsome, he was no match for her centurion, though. Then again, no man in her future ever would be. Refocusing herself, she asked, “Where’s this Sally live?”
He slowed to a stop in front of a two-family flat. The windows were boarded up with plywood. “Apparently not here anymore,” he responded wryly. He got on the phone. Dispatch told him that Sally Riggins was locked up for violating parole and was currently housed in Dickerson, one of the county lockups. He thanked the clerk and ended the call. After relating the info to his partner he added, “So much for that.”
“How long has he been in custody?”
“Five days, which means he wasn’t involved.” He ran his hand over his weary eyes. “How ’bout we call it a day? Not much more we can do until we get inside in the morning.”
She agreed. “You can drop me back at the fed house. My car’s in the lot.”
“I’d ask you if you wanted to grab some dinner but you’ve put enough holes in my hide for one day, so I’m taking myself home.”
“You look pretty tough to me, Palmer. You can take it.”
He heard the amusement in her voice so he took it in good spirit. “We’ll see.”
He drove her to the parking lot and waited while she walked over and got into her car. The nondescript, dark blue Ford called little attention to itself, a plus in a rough-and-tumble place like Detroit. The thoughts brought Crenshaw’s carjacking to mind and Leyton made a mental note to check the files in the morning. But if the detectives had no leads, he held out little hope of finding it. By now, a fancy car like that had more than likely disappeared down the rabbit hole into the city’s underground world of chop shops or been driven out of state for an illegal sale. As Crenshaw stated, he’d been trying to help, but apparently no good deed went unpunished.
Clark drove past him. She gave him a nod and headed off. Leyton put in a Miles CD and did the same.
* * *
Eve’s aunt and uncle were out at the movies when she got to the house, but there was food waiting for her on the stove and plenty of hot water in the tank for the long shower she took after her meal. After that, it was a short walk to the bed in the bedroom she and her cousin Shelly once shared. Back then her still growing body had almost fit the twin bed. But now, at her height, it didn’t fit at all, and she wondered if she’d be on the case long enough to have to make a decision about buying a bigger bed for the room. Putting that off for now, she lay in the darkness and let her weariness take hold. What a day. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been in full costume and getting ready for the night of her life with a man whose presence had quietly stalked her all day. Only now did she allow herself to think back to his kisses and the hot lust that had filled them both. She replayed the hard slide of him entering her and how good it had felt. The remembrance of how he’d toyed with her breasts and his fingers between her thighs soon had her nipples hard and her body craving more. There wouldn’t be more, though. He’d returned to his world just as she’d stepped back into her own. In a way, it left her sad, but the memory of their night together would be something she’d have forever and that had to be consolation enough.
* * *
Leyton lay in bed, and for the first time that day gave his mind permission to dwell on last night’s interlude. Where was she? It was a question he’d asked himself a hundred times or more over the course of the day, or so it seemed. Who was she? Yet another unanswered question. It left him frustrated. He would have liked to have been with her longer—not just in bed. He got the impression that they might have connected on a personal level as well as the physical had time not been a factor.
So there he lay, reliving the weight of her soft breasts against his palms, the taste of her kiss and the soft sounds of pleasure she’d given when his manhood slowly entered her warmth. The lusty memories made him hard, and that left him frustrated as well, so he decided to try sleep. It took awhile.
CHAPTER 5
The morning’s briefing was scheduled for eight in the conference room where they’d met yesterday. Wearing her shades and dressed in ATF gear, Eve arrived at seven-thirty. Only a few people were inside. Palmer was one. He was standing at the white chalkboard and drawing a large rectangle that she guessed represented the Morgan Grocery complex. At her entrance he looked up and stopped. “Morning, Clark.”
She liked his smile. “Morning, Captain.”
“Coffee in the back if you want it.”
“Thanks.”
For a moment he didn’t move and neither did she. Something unspoken flowed between th
em before he broke the connection and returned to his drawing. She mentally shook off whatever it had been and grabbed her coffee. After greeting the other people in the room, she took a seat on one of the folding chairs. Slowly sipping the steaming brew, she watched Palmer work. He was sectioning off the rectangle into four compartments and numbering them one to four. Today he was wearing an army green T-shirt under a short black leather jacket that was as beat-up as the long coat he’d worn yesterday. The jeans framing his hips and thighs had seen better days, too, but she liked the view. The face wasn’t half bad either with its strong lines and nice lips. She’d dressed for warmth. Her gray turtleneck was topped by a burgundy hoodie with ATF emblazoned across the front. Layered over that was a heavy insulated parka. They were going to be working in a burned-out, unheated building that was open to the elements. Only a few days before at her aunt’s birthday party, the weather had been warm and reminiscent of early September, but today the temperature was struggling to reach forty; November had arrived and it was alive and kicking.
The meeting began promptly at eight with reports from the teams. Each had been given specific assignments ranging from questioning witnesses to taking pictures of the site, to making arrangements with federal and state crime labs to handle any evidence that might be found. McBride, the young ATF agent, gave his report on the logistics and the canines that would be a part of the day’s team. Earlier, during Eve’s commute from the east side and his from suburbia, they’d had a brief phone conversation on how their agency might assist the investigation. The feds had more resources and money at their disposal than the locals to pay for necessary backup items such as canine support and forensics, and because the Morgan complex was a commercial enterprise and dealt in consumer goods that had crossed state lines, the fire fell well within ATF’s jurisdiction, thus qualifying the investigation for federal assistance.
Once the reports were heard and photos of the site passed around, Palmer drew everyone’s attention to his drawing on the board. He designated which teams would take each segment, and when everyone was clear as to their roles, he had two things to add. “For now, this fire is on the books as suspicious. If after the investigation it proves to be arson, the parent company of Morgan Foods will be offering a fifteen-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to an arrest and conviction.”
You Sang to Me ; Holiday Heat ; I'll be Home for Christmas ; Hawaii Magic ; Overtime Love Page 13