Before the receptionist could answer, a man the size of a small grizzly bear came through the swinging doors leading into the rest of the station.
“Jake, welcome back,” Pierre Leduc said, reaching for the urn and stopping within inches of it. “Is that one of Min’s lunches?”
Jake laughed at the uniformed officer staring at the bag the way a man in the desert eyed water.
“Yes, it is. She’s afraid that, now that she’s not around to browbeat me at mealtimes, I’ll starve to death. I can’t wait for David to muster out and give her someone else to mother.”
The young officer changed direction, abandoning the urn in favor of the bag. “Well, don’t leave that lunch unguarded in the staff room. Those guys are like vultures, stealing and scavenging food left and right.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Jake said and chuckled, taking the bag back from him. “I’ve got this.”
Frank handed Lynette a bill.
“Hope things work out, Jake,” he said. “Come out and see us play. You paid a hell of a price for serving your country. Hope the bastards responsible got what they deserved.” He opened the door and left.
Pierre picked up the urn, his gaze on Jake’s lunch bag, a hound dog look on his face. “Well, if a lunch like Min’s is just lying around, it’s fair game.”
Jake chuckled. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll keep it in the mini-fridge I put in your new office and far away from the walking stomach there,” Everett said coming up behind Pierre and pointing to him. “He’s the one to watch.”
“Chief, you hurt my feelings,” Pierre said, “but you’re probably right. That lunch isn’t safe if I’m around.” He winked and headed deeper into the station holding the urn in front of him.
The police chief shook his head. “There’s one in every group.” He reached for Jake’s hand.
One of his closest friends, Ev reminded him of J. Jonah Jameson, the newspaper editor in the Spiderman movies, with his steel-gray brush-cut hair and matching mustache. He had piercing blue eyes and a no-nonsense air about him that made him perfect for his job.
“Jake, let me welcome you aboard officially. I’m glad you agreed to give this a go. Having you and your expertise on hand will make things easier. They may say crime statistics are down, but damn it, the weird shit just keeps going up. I heard that guy who decapitated a man on a bus a few years ago may be out soon. They claim he’s stable on his meds. I hope they’ll keep him on a tight leash. Here, let me get that.” He reached for the computer/briefcase. “Come on; I’ve got the guys waiting for you in the conference room.”
Jake followed the chief down the hall. He noted the freshly painted walls—why did they always paint them that cheerless shade of gray? When he entered the room where the station’s personnel were assembled, he was pleased to see familiar faces.
The chief called for attention and the room quieted.
“Before you go off this morning, I want to introduce Jake McKenzie who’s agreed to work with us as a special consultant, specifically profiling the arson cases in the area. Some of you know Jake from the work he did for us in the past. I’ve had Conference Room C converted into an office for him. I know you’ll give him whatever help he needs.” The chief turned to him. “Would you like to tell them where we stand?”
Leaving his cane behind, Jake walked over to the lectern, his wet palms the only sign of his nervousness.
“Thanks, chief.”
He turned to address the room. Licking his lips, he smiled, hoping to disarm the officers staring at him. Nobody liked having a hotshot walk in and take over, even if he was a homeboy come back to roost and lick his wounds.
“I realize everybody’s nerves are on edge thinking we’ve got a firebug in our midst, especially after you found that body in the ashes of Nate Simmons’s cabin. Minette’s been all over me like sand on a beach, encouraging me to take this job, so I guess the credit or blame for getting me here is all hers.” He opened his case and removed the documents he’d put there for this briefing.
“It’s standard practice to start these things by telling you a little about myself, which is a joke since I’ve known many of you since we were in diapers. For those of you who don’t know me, I may have grown up here, but Ottawa was home for most of the last twenty years. After I graduated from university, I went to work for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police as an independent criminal profiler. Five years ago, they sent me to Afghanistan as a civilian contractor to help identify insurgents and members of radical groups before they struck and to teach profiling techniques to the local police officers. A little over a year ago, I came back.”
Memories best forgotten hovered on the edge of his consciousness. Would he ever be able to discuss his job without feeling the guilt of that one failure overseas?
“Being over there, I learned some hard lessons, one of which was not to get cocky. Another was never to underestimate the enemy. I’m a psychologist, trained in forensic and behavioral science. I study the way people conduct themselves. I examine the clues they leave behind. It’s my job to look at the photos, the diagrams, the recreations, the notes, and the crime scenes to figure out what kind of individual you’re looking for. It’s yours to figure out who he is and arrest him.” He took a drink from the water bottle the chief had given him.
“I’m not a miracle worker, nor am I psychic. If I were, I would still have two good legs. If you expect me to tell you that ‘I looked at the file and the arsonist is Joe Blow,’ then you might as well send me home now and save the town some money.” There was a scattering of laughter in the room that relieved some of his tension.
“As much as I wish it did, it doesn’t work that way. What I can do is describe the characteristics of the person’s mental and emotional state based on the evidence found at the scene of the crime. From those characteristics, I can extrapolate personality traits and quirks that will help you identify and catch this guy. I’m a long way from a complete profile. Here’s what I’ve come up with based on the evidence you’ve given me. I’m open to any suggestions or theories you may have, too. To get this guy, we have to work together.”
He turned to the white board and picked up a marker. He’d noticed that most of the people in the room had pad and pen in hand. He wrote as he spoke.
“In the past fifteen months, there’ve been six suspicious blazes in the area. The first one last June took out Ed Keller’s stable halfway between West Nipissing, what we used to call Sturgeon Falls, and North Bay. He lost a couple of horses in the blaze. The investigator concluded the fire started in a tin drum Ed kept in there for garbage. It was cold and rainy that night and the theory is that some vagrant—could be a runaway or a drifter, we’ll never know—was looking for a way to dry off and stay warm. He set the fire in the barrel but didn’t expect it to spread and took off when it did. Keep this in mind. When I checked that date on the calendar, I discovered there would’ve been a full moon that night had the weather cooperated. The second fire that took out the cottage on Bear Island in August last year was ruled accidental when the arson investigator concluded it had been started by a lightning strike. The first fire this year, mid-May, was a brush fire along the CPR track twenty miles outside of town. Could’ve been kids playing with matches, but for my money, it was the hottest and driest spring we’ve had in years. We’ve all seen sparks when a train brakes. It would’ve started slowly, and the engineer probably didn’t see a thing. The Calvin Volunteer Fire Department had it out in no time, and there was no damage. Any questions so far?” He paused and grabbed another page from the pile.
“It doesn’t sound as if there’s anything suspicious there,” Pierre said, taking a bite of the brownie he held, crumbs resembling brown confetti trapped in his rusty beard.
“You’re right for two of the three,” Jake agreed. “While I’m by no means an expert on fire, the first one stands out because of the moon. The last three concern me. I can see a vague pattern there, an
d in my line of work, patterns are important. I believe those particular fires are the work of one man, someone who could well have set the first one, too.”
“You don’t sound too convinced,” a man dressed in a wrinkled brown suit spoke up. He reminded Jake of Peter Falk as Columbo, the detective from the series he used to watch as a kid. Falk always looked like he’d just gotten up and didn’t have a clue, but he was as shrewd as they came and never to be underestimated.
“It’s hard to be certain of anything this early in the case,” he admitted. “From what I can tell, those fires have been set at the beginning of the month, roughly one month apart, and while there was ample opportunity for each one to spread, they didn’t. Nothing beyond the actual structures burned, and a controlled fire like that has to be carefully planned and orchestrated, especially in a wooded area like where the cabin was located.”
“So, who are we looking for?” Pierre asked, raising his paper cup of coffee to his lips, no doubt to wash down the brownie. The chocolate confetti had been wiped away.
“If we go with the idea that this guy is a pyromaniac, statistically speaking, our perp is a white male in his mid to late thirties,” Jake began.
“Isn’t that a little sexist?” a female officer interrupted. “Why a man? I can build a better campfire than my husband can.”
Jake nodded and smiled. She wasn’t a big woman, but he doubted there was an inch of fat on her. She carried those fifty pounds of gear as if they didn’t weigh an ounce. He would bet dollars to donuts that she handled herself quite well in a fight.
“I’m sure many women can. I’m not saying it can’t be one but given the choice of location and the fact that roughly 90 percent of those with pyromania are male, I’m leaning that way. Who knows? Once we have more evidence, we might discover there isn’t any pyromania involved and find out that our arsonist is a woman. It’s not impossible, just improbable.”
The officer nodded. “Makes sense.”
Jake picked up the dry-erase marker and began printing again.
“If everyone’s agreeable, we’ll stick with a male suspect until proven differently. If we dismiss two of the three fires, our firebug could be local, but a seasonal visitor isn’t out of the question since the fires have been set in June, July, August, and now possibly September if you don’t believe Willard’s interpretation of the dates. Most of the time, nothing about our man will raise flags, and he’ll be personable, as kind and friendly as the next guy, but he doesn’t like to be crossed. He needs to feel in charge of things, and if something happens that he can’t control, it could trigger a need to set another fire. By doing so, he manipulates his environment and gets the power he craves. Chances are, he’s self-employed, could be an itinerant worker, like a truck driver who can set his own schedule. He won’t like taking orders. This guy may even be a volunteer firefighter, but until we have more evidence, I’m not ready to commit to that theory.”
“George Lloyd, here,” an older officer said, his pale face suggesting he’d been ill. “Have you figured out how he controls it? How he keeps it from spreading?”
“Unfortunately, not yet. I’ve requested more information on last year’s fire since I think it may have whet his appetite, but I’ve been out west helping the RCMP with a missing person’s case and just got back last week when Ev drafted me, so I’ve been playing catch-up. I’ll be heading out to the fire scene with the technicians tomorrow. Everything I learn about this guy and the methods he uses may be crucial. So far, he’s done his work in isolated spots where no one will interrupt him—the old barn west of Mattawa in early July, the boathouse at Walker’s Marina in early August, and now the cabin.”
“A year’s a hell of a long time between fires for a pyromaniac,” Ev commented, rubbing his chin.
“Not necessarily. Once these guys get what they need from the fire, they can go quite a while between fixes, but there are other options,” Jake admitted. “He could be an arsonist starting small with something bigger on his mind. If you look carefully at the last three blazes, each one was bigger than the previous one. The blaze last year may have triggered something in him he was able to repress until now. If he’s not local, that time of the month could be when he’s in the area. He could be setting fires elsewhere in between. We need to check with other jurisdictions looking for the same MO. Hopefully, I’ll have a better handle on him after I study the files more thoroughly. I’m going to Go out to Ed Keller’s place and talk to him, although since the barn’s been rebuilt, I doubt that’ll help much, then I’ll visit the barn and the boathouse, but those scenes have been so contaminated, they won’t be much use either. I’m counting on the techs and the cabin to give me answers.”
He paused and took another mouthful of water. He could still be wrong about this. Keller’s barn could be exactly what they’d suspected. The one this year might have been a group of kids playing around, but something about the control bothered him. How could only one section of a building burn? Too bad the owner had pulled everything down before he could get a look at it. As far as the boathouse went, the owner wouldn’t be the first person to torch his own place for insurance money. But again, there had been that control. He licked his lips and continued.
“If our man’s a pyromaniac—and that’s still a big if at this time—he’s getting his jollies watching the fires, plain and simple. If he isn’t, then the guy’s got an agenda, and that makes him far more dangerous and deadly. I can’t say there will be another fire, but by the same token, I can’t say there won’t. Willard seems to believe the fires are set on the first night of the full moon, hence his specific date of August thirty-first. Three of the other fires also occurred when the moon was full. Coincidence? I don’t believe in them, but until Willard gives up his source, I won’t know for sure—but I won’t ignore it either.”
A few chuckles filled the room.
“Since most of the seasonal people don’t close up for good until after Thanksgiving and given the guy could be a local, we could well see something else burn soon. The full moon’s on Saturday night. I suggest you increase patrols around isolated locations similar to those we’ve seen so far. Look for a recurrent visitor to the area since the arsonist will need to do some recon before he sets his fire.”
He noted concerned frowns on many of the faces in the crowd. It was all well and good to claim there would be another fire, but not knowing when or where didn’t help.
“Until we know who was in that cabin, we can’t make any assumptions. The possibility exists that our arsonist didn’t even know he was there. I’m waiting for the medical examiner’s report. Once I have that, I’ll know where I’m going. In the meantime, I’m just feeling my way through this maze, hoping not to run into too many walls.” He closed his computer case. “There’s no such thing as the perfect crime. This guy has left clues behind. We just have to find them. Once we do, we’ll hunt him down and put him away. Thank you.”
A rousing round of applause followed, and then, one by one the officers got up to go out on assignment. The man in the brown suit, his tie askew, approached.
“Matt Conway, liaison with the Ontario Provincial Police,” he said. “I moved to Paradise three years ago and work out of the station here, too. Everett speaks highly of you.” He held out his hand.
“Pleased to meet you.” Jake reached for the extended hand and shook it. The man had a strong grip. He liked that. “I hope I can live up to Everett’s expectations. Where were you stationed before?”
“Stratford.” He laughed. “They get less snow here, so it’s a win-win situation for me.”
“Hard to believe the snowbelt is actually farther south than we are.”
Glancing around, Jake watched the room empty. The briefing had gone well.
“You’ve done a good job already and it sounds like we’ve got our work cut out for us. Let me show you to your office,” Everett said, picking up the bag. “You probably need to sit for a while.”
As much as he would lik
e to deny it, Jake couldn’t. The hinged prosthesis hadn’t fit properly from the beginning, and while he waited for the new custom-made biometric one, he had to tolerate the pain and discomfort. He grabbed Min’s lunch and nodded.
“Mind if I tag along?” Matt asked. “Not to pilfer anything from that,” he indicated the lunch bag. “It was all Pierre Leduc could talk about after he brought in the coffee. I had to send him back for the baked goods.” He chuckled. “I’ve got a few questions for you. I know the guys have to get out on patrol, and I figured I could pick your brain without holding them back.”
“Sure thing,” Jake said, following Ev, Matt by his side.
The chief stopped before a door halfway down the hallway, handing Jake’s bag to Matt.
“I’ve got a couple of calls to make, including one to the Centre of Forensic Sciences in Toronto. Maybe I can light a fire under them—pardon the pun. Settle in and we’ll talk later,” he said before heading across the hallway to his own office.
Jake looked in front of him and shook his head. He hadn’t agreed to do this until yesterday morning, a mere twenty-four hours ago. If this was Ev’s idea of keeping a low profile, he was in big trouble. J. J. McKenzie, Criminal Profiler stood out against the frosted glass. What had the chief done? Hire a crew to work double time last night? The paint was probably still wet. He shook his head. When Ev was on a crusade, there was no stopping him.
Chapter Three
Using the key Ev had given him earlier, Jake unlocked the door and entered his new office. The small meeting room had been transformed into an efficient work space. There was a desk, a credenza, and an ergonomic chair. All of the furniture had been laid out in such a fashion that he could get around the room on foot using his cane, with crutches, or in a wheelchair. A small beverage fridge had been brought in, and a quick glance showed that it had been stocked with pop and water. A cordless printer sat on the credenza next to the phone.
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