“Okay, this one was easy. The accelerant used in the warehouse was definitely gasoline. We already know that the arsonist is using carbon disulfide, so unless he’s changing his pattern, it would appear that the warehouse fire was set by someone other than our arsonist.”
Jonas and Sean nodded, then Shamika leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Rumor has it that the body was Samuel Treyson. The brass has already been on the lab supervisor’s case to put it first ahead of all other cases. You know the media will have a heyday with this.”
He nodded. “That’s why we wanted a rush on your testing. I know it’s not conclusive as far as who set the fire, but at least we can let homicide know that the probability is very good that their killer is the one who set the fire... or at least it wasn’t our arsonist.”
Shamika shook her head, “Damn... Samuel Treyson, the Golden Boy. I don’t envy the homicide detectives having to deal with that mess.”
Not admitting anything, he thought of Brock. By now, Brock would be knee-deep in the investigation and wondered how the conversation with his dad had gone. Even with Chauncey King as the Police Commissioner, he knew Brock and his dad had little to do with each other professionally on a day-to-day basis. But with the murder of one of Hope City’s prominent citizens, he knew Chauncey would be keeping tabs on everything that was going on.
Walking back to headquarters, he felt Jonas’ stare boring into the side of his head. He glanced to the side, seeing Jonas’ lips twitching. “What?”
“I just wondered about the woman whose arm you broke.”
“I didn’t fuckin’ break anybody’s arm. I startled her, that’s all.”
“Then why were you sneaking up on her?”
“Jesus, when did you get so nosy?” When Jonas made no reply, Sean finally said, “There were some press still hanging around. When I first saw her, it didn’t dawn on me that she might be from the insurance company. I admit I yelled at her, but then she tripped when she tried to stand and fell backward with her weight on her wrist.”
“Well, at least you were a gentleman and took her to the hospital.” Shaking his head, Jonas grinned.
“Not my finest moment. I did apologize, but my parents raised me better than to go charging after a woman and try to intimidate her. Even if I thought she wasn’t in the right place.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ll probably never see her again.” Jonas turned back to the large whiteboard by their desk with each of the six arson cases outlined.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He reached down to pick up a pen, still feeling the soft touch of her hand on his fingers. The idea of not seeing her again settled like a stone in his gut. Shaking that thought away, he looked up at the board as Jonas moved the warehouse notes to the side so they could concentrate on their arson cases.
Two of the other detectives in the Arson Division, Beth Parker and Terrance Wheeler, walked over and leaned against his desk, staring at the board as well. “Warehouse not part of it?” Beth asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Gasoline poured in three places along the wall, probably to mask or confuse the murder. Amateur... not at all like our serial arsonist. I need to call Brock and give him the news.”
“I wonder if our guy is a firebug or a wannabe hero,” Terrance asked.
“I don’t know.” His voice was hard with frustration.
Their division’s open, active cases included several arsons-for-profit with insurance fraud, three arsons of gang initiations as part of vandalism, and an arson-for-hire by a woman who wanted her husband’s business to be destroyed when she found out he was having an affair. And the serial arsonist’s targets.
“Two abandoned houses, two sheds, another empty warehouse, and an empty store. All within a five-mile radius. Nothing to tie the places together. They encompass two different fire battalions and four stations, so no similarity there. No witnesses. Not on any cameras. All occurring between two and four a.m.” Jonas reiterated.
“And not one fuckin’ idea who the asshole is,” Terrance added.
“Carbon disulfide,” Sean murmured. “I’m convinced there’s a key in his accelerant.”
“It’s a common factor,” Beth agreed, “but a key?”
Scrubbing his hand over his face, he stretched his neck, hearing it crack, and sighed. “I don’t know, maybe it’s just something he can get his hands on. It’s used in the manufacture of rayon and cellophane. But it’s also used to fumigate warehouses, ship holds, barges, grain elevators, and railroad boxcars.”
“All of which we have in Hope City, with the exception of a rayon manufacturing plant,” Beth stated.
“Yes, and so far we haven’t been able to figure out where he’s getting it,” Jonas added. He cocked his head to the side and stared at his partner. “So, you think there’s something specific about why he’s using carbon disulfide?”
“It’s the only common denominator we have right now, besides the pile of rocks he leaves as his calling card, so that’s probably why I’m fixated on it,” Sean said.
“So, where the fuck is he getting it from?” Terrence asked.
The afternoon dragged on as they continued to look over the evidence and pitch ideas back and forth.
“Sean? Sean?”
He startled and looked across the desk at Jonas staring back. Shit, I zoned out again. Shaking his head to dislodge the cobwebs, he stood. “Jonas, I’m outta here. I need to crash and then I’ll be fresher in the morning.”
“I hear ya.” Jonas stood and grabbed his jacket also.
The two men walked out together before parting. Sean climbed into his SUV and pulled out of the parking garage. He inhaled deeply, and the fresh scent of Harper wafted by. At the end of a crazy, fucked-up day, thoughts of her lingered. Pale, flawless skin. Shiny, sleek hair. Plump lips. Eyes that hid nothing, giving away all her thoughts. Curves underneath her professional clothes. Overwhelmed with the desire to see her again, he grinned. I can always call and check on her tomorrow.
5
Harper tried not to stare into the rearview mirror as she pulled away from the warehouse, but her gaze was drawn to the retreating image of Sean. Her arm throbbed, but her mind stayed centered on the handsome detective who both caused her to fall and took care of her. When she finally turned the corner and could no longer see him, she felt a strange combination of relief and regret.
Resting her left hand in her lap, she drove with one hand, parking with difficulty outside the independent lab her insurance company used. She grabbed her evidence bag and hurried inside, delivering it to the technician that would run the tests. She knew it would duplicate the work that the police had done, but it was standard procedure for her company.
Not all fires were given a full investigation by the police unless arson was suspected, so Eastern Mutual Insurance had their own evidence collected and analyzed. She caught sight of one of the technicians, John Simpson, as he walked back into the lab from the hallway. He reminded her of a cartoon character... tall, thin, reddish hair, and big glasses. He was cute in a geeky way, and his enthusiasm for all things related to chemistry was fun to watch.
“Hey, Harper, what happened?” John nodded toward her splinted wrist while shoving several papers toward her.
She forced her lips into a smile despite the pain. “I had a little accident at the fire site.” She signed the forms, glad she was right-handed. “Just let me know when you have the results, and I’ll compare them to the detective’s findings.”
He lifted his brows. “Oh, the police are doing a full investigation?”
She nodded. “I have a feeling with several buildings catching fire in the city recently they’re going to investigate all suspicious fires to see if they tie in together.”
“You want to hit the pub later?”
She usually stayed and chatted with John for a little while and sometimes joined him for drinks with some of their other friends. She lifted her splinted wrist and shook her head. “Sorry, just
not up to it. All I want to do is go home.” She tossed a little wave with her uninjured hand. “Just send the results to my office, and I’ll call if I have any questions.”
He nodded in sympathy and offered a chin lift as she turned and walked out. She wanted to drive straight home, but her office was nearby. I’ll make a quick stop to report in.
Once more, she drove using her right hand and was glad for the employee parking lot so that she did not have to attempt to parallel park. Inside the building, she rode the elevator to the second floor, too tired to attempt the stairs. She offered nods to a few of her coworkers as she walked directly to Mr. Scheer’s office, glad for his open-door policy.
He looked up, motioned her to come forward, and she stepped into his office, gratefully sinking into one of the chairs facing his desk.
Martin Scheer was in his early fifties, fit and athletic, his dark brown hair shot with a bit of silver. He was friendly to his employees without being friends with them. She often wondered if he was not former military, his management style being precise and orderly. He had taken a chance on her two years ago when she requested to become specialized as a fire investigator for the insurance company.
After graduating from college, she had no idea what she wanted to do with her marketing degree. Unlike some of her friends, she hated to admit it, but she had never had a dream job. Envious of those who entered college or the workforce with a specific goal, she found lots of careers interesting but not overwhelmingly desirable.
Sitting at a desk all day seemed boring, but the most adventurous thing she had ever accomplished was leaving Wallburg, North Carolina, after she graduated from high school and moving to the metropolis of Hope City, much to the despair of her parents. She had sent her applications to lots of businesses, and Martin Scheer was one of the first to respond. After meeting him—and being desperate to pay her bills—she accepted the position.
Smart, tenacious, and willing to get out in the field, she had moved into the areas of loss control and risk inspection. From there, she worked to obtain the certification to become a fire evidence collection technician. Martin had seen and appreciated her desire to move up in the company and made sure she was placed in his division. Now, she was almost finished with her fire investigator program.
His gaze moved from her face down to her splinted wrist, and his brows snapped together. “You should’ve taken the rest of the afternoon off.”
“I wanted to drop my samples off at the lab and thought I would stop by just to give you a brief update.” Please let my voice sound stronger to him than it does to me. She stiffened her spine to keep from slumping deeper into the chair.
“I suppose with everything going on today, you probably haven’t had a chance to see the latest news.”
Crinkling her brow, she shook her head.
“The story just broke. There was a body found in the warehouse that burned. The body was Samuel Treyson.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God!”
“Obviously, the police will be making this case a priority, and the press will be all over it.”
“From what I saw and according to the detective, it was definitely arson. Whether or not it was by the person who has something to do with the death of Mr. Treyson, I don’t know.”
“Treyson Enterprises doesn’t own the warehouse where his body was found, but I need to tell you what has come to light since I sent you there this morning.”
She cocked her head to the side, curious at the tone of his voice.
“The warehouse had been empty for a number of years, but it had been previously purchased by the city government in hopes to revitalize some of that area. I got the call early this morning about the fire, since we had the insurance contract with the city to send someone to gather fire evidence. While you were gone, I got a call from someone else at City Hall telling me that it had been sold again.”
Eyes wide, it took a few seconds for that information to sink in. Bolting upright, she gasped. “So, I wasn’t supposed to be there at all?”
“Harper, I’m so sorry.” Anguish filled his face and he shook his head.
Slumping back in her chair, she blew out her breath in a long, slow hiss. Observing the obvious expression of concern, she offered a half-hearted smile. “Mr. Scheer, it’s not your fault. When you sent me to obtain samples, you were under the impression that the insurance contract was still ours. Plus, it still counts for my certification hours in fire investigation.”
“It’s inexcusable that we had not been informed of the change in ownership, but…” his hands drifted upward. “I’m so sorry, Harper. And now you’re injured.”
Nodding, she blew out her breath and stood. “My samples are with John right now. I also have the card for the detective in charge of the arson investigation. If nothing else, I can stay in contact with him when I get the results.”
“Do you need to take a few days off to let your wrist heal?” Martin’s face held concern. “I can assign someone else to your cases.”
“No, I’ll be fine.” She walked out of his office, wondering why she did not agree to let someone else in the office take over. The image of the broody police detective moved through her mind and she gave a mental shake. Ugh… it must be the need for pain medicine that’s making me think of tall, dark, handsome, and grumpy. Bet he’d be thrilled to learn I wasn’t supposed to be there.
“So, tell me again how gorgeous this detective is,” Sandy pleaded.
On her drive home, Harper called her best friend to fill her in on her day’s misadventures. Paired as roommates during freshman year, they had discovered that opposites attract. Sandy loved sushi and cocktails and fell for cheesy pickup lines. Harper loved fried fish and chips and wine and only had sex after dating for a while.
They had planned on meeting at The Celtic Cock Pub after work, but she had to beg off. The pub was off the beaten path, not found by tourists, a place where many first responders gathered, and Sandy had discovered it several years ago, dragging Harper along.
Not only did the first responders make it safe, but the owners, Torin and Maeve, made sure everyone had a good time. Siblings, it was their grandfather who had opened the bar many years ago, passing it on to his grandchildren when he retired. As much as she loved going to The Celtic Cock, she knew she needed to rest.
Once her friend was assured that her broken wrist was well-tended, Sandy focused on Harper's story about Sean.
“I told you, he’s way taller than me—”
“Oh, that’s impressive,” Sandy interrupted.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, at five feet two, everyone looks tall to you, Sandy. Now, are you going to let me tell my story or not?”
“Sorry, sorry. Please go ahead. I’m dying to hear more.”
In spite of her throbbing wrist, Harper laughed. “He’s tall, broad, muscular. He has dark hair and a closely trimmed beard. His smile is friendly, but considering he hardly ever smiles, he just seems very serious most of the time. Maybe that was because he was irritated with me.”
“When do you get to see him again?”
“I doubt I’ll see him, but we’ll talk on the phone. Once I get the lab results in, I’ll call him to give him the results. That’ll be all.”
“Well, ask him out! Ask him to meet for drinks! Or tell him that you need to meet for lunch—”
“Slow down, Sandy! I don’t know anything about him. For all I know, he could be married with five children.”
There was a slight pause, and then a heavy sigh was heard. “Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.”
He didn’t wear a wedding band, but of course, that doesn’t mean he’s not married. “Anyway, enough about him. I’m almost home and am going to go in, take a pill, and sleep.”
“Okay, sweetie, I think that’s a good idea. I’m still going to The Celtic Cock at least to meet up with Bill. Maybe I can convince him to be my wingman tonight, although I’m sure he’d rather be with you.”
&nb
sp; Harper laughed again. She had met Bill Norton, an Hope City firefighter, the previous year at the pub. Serious flirting led to a few not-so-serious dates, and they both decided they were better off as friends only. “You know Bill and I are just friends. But, you go, girl, and have fun.”
Disconnecting as she pulled into her apartment parking space, she felt better having talked to Sandy. Her apartment was in an older, brick building in an area of Hope City that was very slowly trying to revitalize. Many of the row townhouses nearby were purchased, gutted, redesigned, and flipped. She wondered when the owner of her building was going to sell to someone who wanted to gut it and build loft condos that would undoubtedly be way out of her price range.
Eschewing the stairs, she opted for the old elevator to the third floor. There were four floors in her building, each floor slightly different in composition. The first floor contained apartments with two bedrooms and a small patio in the back. The second-floor apartments also sported two bedrooms with a small balcony. The third-floor apartments were one bedroom with a balcony, and the top floor had efficiency apartments with no balconies.
She sometimes wondered if perhaps she should consider one of the two-bedroom apartments and find a roommate to split the cost. She and Sandy had considered the possibility, but her apartment building was not close to Sandy’s work.
Just as she entered her apartment, the door across the hall opened and a friendly voice called out. “Harper, you’re home early.”
Turning, she smiled and lifted her injured arm. “Hey, Daniel. I had a little accident at work, so I thought I’d come home to rest.”
“What happened?” Daniel exclaimed, his eyes wide when they landed on her splint.
“Come on in while I fix a cup of tea and take a pain pill, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
A Hope City Duet Page 27
