Once Upon a Holiday

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Point of origin found yet?”

  “Not yet. Place is still too hot. Once the engineers say the place is shored up and safe, we should be able to get in and look around.”

  “We’re talking tomorrow morning.”

  “At the earliest.”

  He watched her open up the file given out at the meeting and glance at one of the sheets inside.

  “Anyone talked to the corporate people?”

  “No. I’ve an appointment with a district VP later. You’re welcome to ride along.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. He’s a black guy named Crenshaw…supposedly the man behind the project. Probably not too happy this morning.”

  “Probably not.”

  Leyton wanted to ask her if the shades were prescription but decided to hold on to the question for now. She gave the impression of being prickly, a word his late grandfather sometimes used to describe a woman. Her height made him think of the goddess, though. Had it really been less than six hours since they parted? He shook off the thoughts. Although the height was right, he doubted Ms. Prickly ATF would be caught dead in a black leather catsuit.

  When they reached the scene of the fire, Eve surveyed what was left of the buildings. At the briefing by the chief, the complex had been described as a high-end mini mall. A big name supermarket chain, a major retailer and a hardware giant had come together to offer Detroiters a shopping experience usually reserved for the surrounding suburbs, and someone had burned it to the ground.

  Walking up to the charred remains, she could smell the faint scent of gasoline. Some of the brick walls on the huge hardware store remained upright, but much of the roof was gone. The other two buildings, although not as high, were in similar condition. She really wanted to get inside and start looking for the fire’s origination point. Determining that might shed more light on whether the incident had been accidental in nature or deliberate.

  “City had a lot of hope for this place,” Palmer told her as they ducked under the yellow police tape cordoning off the area. “And now?” he shrugged as if no further words were necessary.

  Eve agreed. It hurt her to watch her hometown being beat down in the media on what seemed like a daily basis. If she noticed the bashing in Chicago, it had to be up close and personal for the citizens of Detroit. They deserved better.

  They stood in front of the block-long rubble and looked around. There was still water from the hoses everywhere. At scenes like this one, fire investigators always wore sturdy boots. Not only because of the water, but because of what might be in the water. Eve’s well-worn hiking boots also kept her feet safe from broken glass, nails, splintered bricks and shards of wood. Mingled in with the debris outside of the supermarket were the remnants of burnt tin cans and the melted remains of plastic milk bottles and two-liter beverage containers. She was sometimes amazed at how capricious a fire could be when it came to what survived. She remembered a house in Ohio the year before that had blown up and burned down because of the meth lab in the basement. There’d been no loss of life, but the fire had wiped out everything inside except an old-fashioned cameo the owner said had once belonged to her great-grandmother. The flames hadn’t touched it.

  But she doubted she’d find great-grandma’s cameo this time. All she’d find here was the burnt-out husk of one the city’s dreams and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  “You know,” he told her, “the conspiracy theorists are convinced that the rest of the world has it in for the city of Detroit and are doing all they can to keep us from rising. When I look at something like this, I can almost agree.”

  She understood.

  They tracked down one of the structural engineers to get a report on the progress he and his team were making.

  “Hey, Leyton.”

  “How’s it going, Charlie? This is ATF agent Clark from Chicago. She’s helping us out.”

  He shook her hand. “Charlie Bates. Nice to meet you.”

  “Same here.

  Charlie looked to be near retirement age. His dark face sported gray eyebrows the same color as the hair peeking out of from under the edges of his yellow hard hat.

  “So where are we, Mr. Bates?” she asked.

  “Should have the place shored up and safe to enter by the morning. Budget cuts have us shorthanded, but we’re doing what we can with what we’ve got. It’s a big complex, so it’s going to take us awhile.”

  Both investigators understood.

  “Prelim police report say no loss of life,” Charlie said. “That been verified?”

  “Far as we know,” Leyton answered. “The only person working that night was a guard and he was the one who called 911.”

  “Okay. Just don’t want to find any surprises. Nice meeting you, Agent Clark.”

  Eve nodded. “Thanks for your work.”

  “No problem. Leyton, tell that pretty mama of yours I’m still waiting.”

  Leyton chuckled. Charlie’s crush on his mother went back to high school. “I’ll let her know.”

  With a wave, Charlie left to return to his duties, and Leyton and Eve headed for the car.

  Chapter 4

  As they left the scene and merged into the traffic on Jefferson, Leyton looked over at the woman riding shotgun. “I need to get something to eat. Hungry?”

  “I could use something.”

  “Preference?”

  “Doesn’t matter as long as we can get it quick. What time’s the appointment with the VP?”

  “One. He’s in Southfield. How long have you been in Chicago?”

  “Ten years.”

  “You must like it then.”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay. Different from here, though.”

  “In what way?”

  “Infrastructure works, the city works. Politicos go to jail just like here, though.”

  He pulled into one of the city’s famous Coney Island places and parked. “What can I get you?”

  “I can pay my way. I’ll come in.”

  “I can afford to treat you to a Coney dog, Clark.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  She got out of the car.

  He sighed and got out, too.

  Inside, they gave the kid behind the counter their order, then took a seat to wait for their food. Leyton had worked with a bunch of women over the years, and nine out of ten had been models of professionalism. But Clark—he was trying to figure her out. She was the personification of icy. It was as if she’d erected a wall around herself and had no intentions of letting anyone in, even to offer her a hot dog. He supposed the attitude was rooted in her being a woman in what used to be a man’s world. But he was just trying to be pleasant, nothing more. He’d worked with Detroit’s ATF agents in the past, and they’d usually partnered up well. They’d also been able to share a beer or a meal after the job and had gotten to know each other fairly well. This one didn’t appear to want to share anything, and she definitely didn’t have a get-to-know-me kind of vibe.

  Their food arrived. “Do you want to take a minute and eat here, or eat on the ride to Southfield?”

  She checked her watch. “It’s nearly noon. We should probably eat on the way. I know Southfield’s not that far, but I’m anal about being late for an interview.”

  “Up to you.” After his night with the goddess, and having to hit the ground running this morning on the fire, he’d really wanted to sit, eat and catch his breath. But apparently she’d gotten a full night’s sleep. He’d have to remember not to give her a choice next time. He stood and gestured toward the exit.

  Leaving the Coney Island when they did turned out to be a good thing. An accident on the northbound Lodge Expressway squeezed traffic down to a single lane crawl. Southfield was one of Detroit’s closer suburbs and normally a quick trip. Not today. The drive took nearly an hour and they arrived at the Morgan supermarket chain’s corporate office five minutes before the appointed time. Not that the promptness mattered. According to the secreta
ry who greeted them, the man they wanted to see was in a meeting and would be available shortly.

  Eve and Leyton shared a look, then took seats in the waiting area.

  Marvin Crenshaw came out to greet them thirty minutes later. He was short, had a shaved head and was wearing an expensive black suit that looked imported. His snow-white shirt had fancy embroidered cuffs. He didn’t offer an apology for making them wait. “Have they found my car?”

  Eve raised an eyebrow and looked to Palmer who asked, “Your car, sir?”

  “Yes, I was carjacked the night of the grand opening. A brand new BMW. Had it less than two days.”

  “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 haunt
ing 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.”

  “How’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?”