“I guess turnaround is fair play,” he admitted. “Since you opened up last night, I should be willing to do the same.” He finished his coffee and set the empty cup on the table.
“You said you’d looked at my bio. I assumed you knew this, too. The RCMP sent me to Afghanistan to help train the Afghani police force in profiling techniques. I wasn’t soldier material, but I was happy to help. When my brother found out, he decided to join me, and if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here. He’s a top-notch orthopedic surgeon. Dave’s still in Kandahar, but we all hope he’ll be home by Christmas.”
He was looking forward to being surrounded by all the members of his family, but if they didn’t catch the Fire Angel by then, that wasn’t going to happen. There was no way he would place them in that kind of danger.
“Earth to Jake,” Alexis said, sipping her coffee.
“Sorry. Most of the time, I was more a less a teacher giving lectures on techniques at the police station, but there were times when I did double duty as muscle for a shipment of medical supplies or food to our troops. We didn’t realize we had a mole in our midst and security had been breached. A particularly heartless band of insurgents managed to get information on the route our convoy was taking. We were no more than half a mile from the base camp we were headed to when a roadside bomb exploded. I’ve never felt such pain.” He stared into space, seeing it all vividly.
“Jake?” she asked softly.
“Where was I? Oh, yeah. The sound must’ve attracted attention from the base, because when I woke up, I was in the hospital. David did everything he could to save the leg, I know that, and without his skills, I would’ve died. Sometimes, especially at night when I’m tired, or if I move the wrong way, like I did Monday, or when the weather sucks like it did last night, the stump aches, but the worst part is the phantom pain—when it feels as if my leg is still there, burning and throbbing—I told you last night that I have issues with loud noises. To use your words, that and the leg are just little things I picked up overseas.”
He would carry the burden of guilt that he’d been the one to introduce the viper into their midst for the rest of his life. He’d been the one to bring Jasim, Irena’s brother, into the camp and had gotten him a job as an orderly. Talk about setting a fox among the hens.
She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Jake. I’ve had to deal with PTSD, too. It can be paralyzing.”
“Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. Fancy name for the guilt and everything else you feel that comes from surviving when others didn’t. It turns your life upside down and destroys what’s left of it. One day, you’re fine, the next, you can barely get out of bed ... You probably suffered from it again after that attempt on your life. It could explain your fear of the dark.”
Nodding, she sipped her coffee. “That’s what the psychologist says, too, but it’s slowly getting better—or rather I’m learning to cope.”
Leon showed up with their omelets accompanied by home fries and bacon, orange juice, and a carafe of fresh coffee.
“This looks delicious,” she said. “I’ll have to thank Minette tonight.”
Digging in, they ate in silence, both of them cleaning their plates in record time. Alexis leaned back.
“That was every bit as good as it looked. You made a comment about not being able to follow me everywhere. I understand now.”
He shrugged. “The leg won’t let me do everything I want to, but I’ve learned to adapt.” He stood. “When the new one is ready, it may be a different story, but for now, this is as good as it gets. If we’re right about him...” he pursed his lips. “If you’re ready, we can get our coats and go. The roads were slick this morning with the ice, but they’re fine now.”
“Jake,” She stood and touched his arm. “I’m sorry for dredging this up. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He smiled at her hoping that his sadness didn’t show. “You could never upset me, Alexis. We’re friends, remember?”
She grinned. “Well, friend, let’s blow this joint and get to work. I assume we’re going to Providence House while the scene is fresh?”
“Yes, but Linc says you have to follow orders from the men on the scene. Normally, when a place still has hot spots, he wouldn’t let a civilian within a hundred yards of it. We can head over to the house on Sycamore after if you want.”
Chuckling, she nodded. “We’ll see how late it is. I’m assuming that place still doesn’t have power. As far as being a civilian, that’s not quite true, but I get it. Captain Peters has strict rules about obeying the locals.”
Jake went into the apartment hallway and came back with her coat, hat, gloves and fire kit. He could still smell the smoke on them, but they were better than they’d been.
“When we get back, I have a spray to get rid of this scent,” she said. “But it’s way better than whatever was in the back of that cruiser.”
He burst out laughing. “That was definitely an aroma for the books. I don’t even want to think about what we were actually smelling back there. Just the memory of it turns my stomach. Tom might deny it, but for my money that was the grossest scent ever—and believe me, I’ve smelled some really bad stuff.”
Nodding to the security man—there was another one on the way now—he led Alexis out to the parking lot and the SUV.
* * *
As expected, the police officers and firefighters were still on the scene when they arrived at what remained of Providence House. Judging by the drooping shoulders and smoke-smudged faces, some of them had been here all night.
Despite the fact that the fire had appeared confined to only one side of the building, the whole thing would have to come down. There was no telling what kind of structural damage it might have suffered. If a wall collapsed or worse, if the fire had traveled between floors and walls, it could be smoldering there, waiting to erupt in a stage three blaze as soon as there was fresh oxygen to feed it. That’s what the team inside was doing now, looking for the tell-tale signs that the fire wasn’t dead, only hiding.
Police officers patrolled along the yellow crime scene tape, ensuring no one got too close to the building. On the edge of the cordoned off area, men with cameras, those with lenses that stuck out a foot or more from the device, vied for the best positions and angles, chomping at the bit to get closer. Photojournalist. She’d seen them time and again, always looking for that one Pulitzer prize winning shot, not caring about the danger to themselves or others.
“Do you think they’ll let me in?” Alexis asked, noting the wisps of smoke rising from rubbish on the lawn that might’ve been a sofa.
“I don’t know. Pierre,” Jake indicated the officer he’d spoken to, “said there’s a team inside looking for hot spots. When they come out, you’ll have your answer.”
Nodding, she huffed out a breath, resigning herself to having to wait before she could explore any of the area, praying the firefighters wouldn’t compromise the scene. The smoldering couch on the lawn wasn’t a good sign. Things needed to be left in place, but if he hadn’t been there to start the fire, what could the burned-out shell tell her?
Steeling herself for what could be either a frustrating or terrifying experience, she turned to Jake.
“I’m hoping most of the crime scene will be intact this time, but in case it isn’t, we’ll have to go back to the station. That’s where they’ll have sent whatever evidence they’ve removed, right? I need to touch what he touched for this to work right, but if he wasn’t here to start it ... Why don’t you check out the gawkers. He may be here looking to know how well he did.”
He shook his head. “I hope the bastard burns in Hell for this. Ev called earlier this morning. Twenty-four dead including a pregnant girl and two kids,” he said, the emotion clogging his throat. “Hester Rollins, her sister, and two people helping her with the seminar, four bikers, Dwyane Crites’s wife, Gustav Albert’s niece—she was five months pregnant, three of the shelter’s staff members, four others who attended the lecture, and seven res
idents, two of those children.”
Tears brimmed her eyes. She nodded. This had to stop now.
“We’ll get him, Jake. We’ll get him and make him pay.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Alexis’s stomach roiled, and she swallowed the bile threatening to choke her. So many dead and this damn fire scene could well be a dead end of her own. For the first time in her career, she would be forced to use what she’d learned rather than her talent. Could she do it? Was she good enough for that?
There would be some comfort in being able to talk to those who’d been among the first to enter the building. Their observations and insights would be invaluable, and right now, it looked as if that’s all she would have for a while. She approached the fire captain on scene and introduced herself. He looked vaguely familiar as so many of the people in Paradise did.
“Pleased to see you again, Alexis. I’m Sam Quaid. I actually hope you don’t remember me.” He looked away, shuffled his feet, and shoved one hand into his fire coat pocket. “I used to hang around with James. I owe you an apology for being such an ignorant son of a bitch back then. I can’t believe some of the stunts I pulled, the words I said.” He shook his head. “After you disappeared, I took a real good look at myself, and I didn’t like what I saw. Pulled myself up by my bootstraps as my grandpa said. I managed to get my grades up and graduate. When James died ... Finding out about your uncle explained a lot, but it didn’t excuse my part in any of it.”
Alexis smiled awkwardly. “Well, it’s best forgotten. As they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” She was in no mood to hand out absolution at the moment—maybe later, but not now.
“Captain, what can you tell me about this fire?” she asked, reverting to the business tone she used on the job, indicating clearly that this topic was closed.
He nodded. “My men have been inside the kitchen and upstairs, and it looks like three ignition points—maybe pipe bombs detonated by a cellphone. We’ve sent a lot of items and photographs to the crime lab. It appears the third bomb detonated in the outside grease pit. Something blew the lid right off. The electrical panel shows that the power to the central panic doors was rewired into the smoke alarms, so that when the alarms went off, the doors closed.”
“Would that have required any kind of expertise?” she asked.
“Probably not. Most guys who do home repairs could figure it out. It’s an old system; you wouldn’t have to be an electrician to do it. Rewiring information is common on the web. It might have taken about an hour to do, but the control panel is in the basement, in the section of the building that didn’t burn, so unless someone went down there for some reason, no one would have noticed. Once I allow the forensic techs inside, they might be able to pull fingerprints from it.” His face grew even more serious as he continued his report. “There were six bodies in the hallway on the main level and eight upstairs, two of those were just kids, wrapped in their mother’s arms.” His voice cracked with emotion. “They must’ve clawed and pounded on those doors until they collapsed from the smoke. I’ve seen pictures of things like that in photos of fires in nightclubs, but I never expected to see something like it so close to home.” He shuddered.
Alexis empathized. Seeing those bodies would have been hard on anyone.
“We didn’t find any beer or liquor bottles—Chief Lewis asked us to look for them specifically,” he continued. “There was a metal box with a waxy residue inside it on the table in the kitchen—might have been a candle, but the heat from the fire melted it. I sent it to the lab along with some of the other things the chief asked for.”
“What about downstairs? Where were the bodies?”
“Other than in the hallway?”
She nodded.
“There were eight left in the lecture hall—one of the bombs went off near the dais—and another three in the kitchen where the third bomb must’ve been. Those were in bad shape. I couldn’t even guess at the gender. All the bodies have been removed. My guys took photographs before they moved anything, and everything has gone to the crime lab. With people unaccounted for, we had to get the bodies out. We need IDs sooner rather than later.”
She nodded, the sorrow on his face telling her how deeply this had affected him.
“I know. Thanks, Sam. You’ve been a great help. And I’m glad things worked out for you.”
“Ditto.”
She turned and walked away. It hadn’t been Sam’s fault that she’d left, so there was no reason to blame him. She didn’t remember him, or what he was supposed to have done. James goaded his followers to tease her and make her life miserable, but he’d been the only real monster other than...
“Sam, wait a second,” she called, stepping over to him. “Did James put you up to leaving the dead things for me to find?”
He frowned, pulling back in surprise. “James? Are you kidding? Hell, no. He might’ve put jelly and gummy worms in your boots that day, but touch dead things? No way. I can’t imagine anyone in the gang doing that, either. Are you sure someone left them specifically for you? Maybe it was your neighbor’s cat. James hated that thing. He claimed it dropped half-eaten mice all over the place and terrified his mother.”
“It wasn’t Muffin. I thought that myself at first, but he usually just left the parts he didn’t eat. He was more feral than domestic. For the record, that wasn’t jelly and gummy worms.”
Sam cocked his head to the side and made a face, mirroring his disgust.
“You mean it was the real thing?”
“Yup, guts—don’t ask me from what—and worms. I threw the boots away and scrubbed my feet until I thought they would bleed.”
“No wonder you ran away. If someone had done that to me, I would’ve taken off, too. Is the rumor I heard last night true? Did this so-called Fire Angel leave a dead carcass of a bird on your doorstep?”
“It was a stuffed owl with a dead mouse in its claw. Back then, the ‘gifts’ if you want to call them that, were primarily mice and small rodents.”
“Essentially what that owl ate.” He shook his head. “I heard they think the whack job might be local. While we might’ve been asses, no one in that gang could do something like this.” He indicated the ruin.
“Rumor seems to know more than we do,” she answered, unable to keep the frustration and bitterness out of her tone. Lynette blabbing again? “Who told you about the bird?”
“I’m not sure who said it first. I was getting an oxygen break last night. Dr. Shillingham was having a look at some of the older guys ... Someone mentioned it. You know, now that I think about it, there were a couple of kids I thought of as oddballs who might’ve done something like you mentioned back then. Dwayne Crites, he’s the local exterminator, took over the business from his father. He would’ve had access to dead rodents.”
“Who was the other guy?” she asked. She’d heard that name before, but couldn’t place it.
“Not sure. Frank Arthur’s father was a trapper as was Ansel Curtis’s. There was a Temagami kid, too, but I can’t remember his name. I do remember he put a snake in Ms. Williams’s desk drawer and got kicked out of school.”
“Thanks.” She would pass that information on to Jake. “Any idea when I can go inside?”
“Not yet, but I doubt it’ll be today. Too many hot spots still. I’ll let you know and when it’s safe, I’ll take you through myself. I’m considering taking the courses at the college and getting certified in Fire Investigation. It’ll be educational to watch you do your thing.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Just what she needed. Someone else looking over her shoulder, but since her gift probably wouldn’t be much help here, there would be things she could teach him that had nothing to do with it—like leaving a scene as undisturbed as possible.
Alexis looked up and saw Jake coming toward her and met him halfway.
“There were multiple targets,” she began, speaking softly, standing close beside him so that none of those behind the barrie
r could hear her. “I think the staff were the main ones he wanted to punish and the biker gang and those attending the seminar were bonuses. Knowing how big an impact he was making must’ve been quite a thrill. It explains why he was so mad when he found me inside his head. I ruined it for him. As far as his usual MO goes, Sam says there was a gift box in the kitchen with waxy residue that’s already been sent to the lab. I hate the fact that they’re stripping the scene, but I get why they’re doing it. He confirmed there were no bottles of beer or alcohol upstairs. Since he couldn’t control things here the way he has, I think I’ve been focusing on the wrong aspect of his ritual.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, scowling.
“The candle matters. It has to be there, but it doesn’t have to start the fire. The kids told me the bikers had shared some weed someone had given them—probably him if he had Slaney’s stash—so I’m pretty sure he didn’t need Rohypnol this time. By activating those doors, he sedated the building. The people he wanted to kill were all in that section. They couldn’t leave. By the way, rewiring the doors would’ve taken less than an hour and wouldn’t have required an electrician to do it. The electrical panel was in the basement, in the section that didn’t burn. No one would’ve noticed it, so it’s hard to pinpoint when he did it, but maybe the techs will get prints this time.”
“Good. Let’s hope we get a break. I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day—different accelerant for each scene, different positions for the bodies. In the first fire, the body was lying down, in the second, they were sitting upright, in the third, they were bent forward, as if in prayer, except for the priest who looked like he was forgiving them. Those people in the hall were all standing, pounding on the door, begging to be let out until the smoke overcame them. Lying, sitting, bent forward, possibly kneeling, now standing for the most part. The ones close to the pipe bombs would’ve been broken and scattered, like the bodies I saw in Afghanistan. This son of a bitch is messing with my mind, Alexis, and I don’t like it.”
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