by Debra Erfert
“How did you get their prints?”
Candice grinned over at Alex before she said, “I told them who I was and then let them hold my ID and got perfect prints.”
“On smooth plastic?” The judge chuckled. “That’s a Gil Roscoe trick.”
“He taught me well,” Candice continued. “Sadly, I can place both boys at the fire scene.”
“Okay, that’s enough for me, Candy. Put the detective back on the phone.”
“I’m here, Judge Kravitz,” Patrick said as he dropped onto his chair.
“Get the warrants to my office and I’ll sign them. Are you taking Candy with you on the search?”
“Yes, Judge,” Patrick said. “I’ll be right over to your office.”
“Good.”
A moment later, the line went dead.
Patrick stared at Candice—hard. He opened his mouth once, and then again before he said, “You know Judge Kravitz.”
“I know a lot of people.” Candice shrugged her shoulders. “My granduncle is Homer Peabody.” Patrick’s eyes widened. “He knows every lawyer and judge in and around Arizona. I know them through him, and Gil Roscoe, the best private detective in the country. Why did I need to speak to the judge?”
“He said he wanted to hear firsthand from you how you got the prints from the boys,” Patrick said, grabbing two sheets of paper off his desk before standing up. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes.”
“Detective,” Alex said quickly, stepping fully into the office, “would it be possible for Candice to use your computer to access some old arson reports?”
When Patrick looked at her with lifted brows, she said, “I think it goes beyond Joshua’s house. I believe Zane may be manipulating the boys to burn down houses by more than just paying them.”
“What do you mean?” Patrick asked as he sat on the edge of his desk in front of Candice.
“Well,” she started, “I don’t want to tell you exactly how I know this, but I can tell you Zane blackmailed Joshua into giving him a key to his house, and I believe Zane gave the boys that key to get inside the Leavitts’ to start the fire.”
“Blackmailed him, huh?” Patrick asked quietly. “You don’t really have to tell me what that Zane kid was holding over his head. Although you could probably clear up an arson case if you did.”
When Candice stayed tight-lipped, he moved back to his chair and booted up his computer again. It was only another few moments before he moved out of his chair and motioned for her to sit down with a sweep of his hand. She practically jumped into his chair.
“Thank you,” she whispered. He leaned closely over her shoulder and began typing on the keyboard.
“If you scroll down you can read each page,” Patrick said quietly. “If you want another report, then you can call up the next case file in line. If you want to look under a certain name for a victim or a suspect, then type it in here and hit enter. It should bring up the case number. If you want all the aggravated assaults or burglaries—”
“Or arsons?” she asked.
“Or arsons, you type in this box and give it the parameters you want, between certain months, years, and then it will give you them, starting with the oldest report and working their way to today’s date. If you have any questions you can give me a call on my cell. I’m sure you still have my number,” he said softly in her ear. She wasn’t completely positive, but he may have smelled her hair.
“Thank you, Patrick,” Candice said. He didn’t bother to move back any when she talked to him.
“I’ll see you later,” he said and then walked quickly out of his office, leaving Alex and her alone.
The chair she’d been sitting in soon had Alex in it. Now he was staring at her like she’d done something wrong.
“What?” she asked him.
“He likes you, you know,” Alex said softly.
“I know,” Candice agreed. “But he knows that you’re my boyfriend, so stop worrying.”
“Actually, you told him I was your ex-boyfriend. And what makes you think that I’m worried?” he asked a little defensively.
Candice turned to Alex and gently held his face in her hand. “Your eyes told me, sweetheart.” Oh, she adored it when his dimples came out. She felt the way his skin dipped under her thumb.
“That’s the first time you called me that,” he said, putting his hand over hers. “It sounds good coming from your beautiful mouth.” He then leaned and gently kissed her.
“I can get used to this,” Candice whispered.
“That’s my intention,” Alex replied.
“Then you’re doing a wonderful job,” she said. She dropped her hand and turned back to the computer. “On a more serious note, do you think anything has been found out about the bullets taken from my cabinet doors yet? And maybe I can get my door back now?”
“I could go down to ballistics and find out.”
“That would save some time.”
Alex stood and headed toward the door. “I don’t know what kind of condition your doors are going to be in after the guys are through with them, but my dad has a garage full of woodworking tools, and I’m sure he’d be able to duplicate them, if it comes to that.”
“Do you think he’d let me help?” Candice asked. “I’d love to learn how to make furniture.”
“I’m sure he’d be happy to, sweetheart. He knows how much you mean to me.”
Candice held his gaze for several rapid heartbeats as she thought about the future with Alex, the bad and the good, and how that grand house of Grandfather’s would sound with children laughing and running marathons from one end to the other. A sense of calmness blanketed her heart as she gazed at her boyfriend.
“Are you all right?” Alex asked.
“I’m fine,” Candice said, shaking herself out of her reminiscing. “You better go. Patrick will be back soon.”
“Okay.” He nodded and strode out the door.
Chapter 14
CANDICE WAITED UNTIL Alex had closed the door before typing the date from a year ago in the arson category and hitting enter. She didn’t want him to see what she had planned. Before either man could catch her, she’d have any arson reports that might even be similar to Joshua’s printed and tucked away in her backpack. Her idea about a juvenile fire starter ring might be more than just a theory. After a few schizophrenic flashes, it settled on an arson fire from exactly one year ago, almost to the day.
“A trash bin fire on El Camino Del Sol,” she read softly, out loud, to help her remember. “A glass bottle with remnants of a burnt fabric was found at the bottom of the bin with gasoline used as an accelerant. Ah, a Molotov cocktail. Neighbors said children were seen playing in the area shortly before the fire began. No one was identified as the arsonist but two neighborhood boys, eleven-year-old Kelly Carson and eleven-year-old Louis Mendoza, were questioned. Okay, one unsolved within the past year.”
She hit the print icon. The next report intrigued her more than if she’d found buried treasure. It sounded eerily familiar with what Joshua did for Zane.
“What’s the date?” Candice checked. “Three weeks later, an empty house on Glendale Avenue was destroyed. The origin and cause was found to be lighter fluid on the living room carpet. The estimated damage was two hundred seventy-five thousand dollars.” She sat back. “Wow. Not bad for that neighborhood. It must’ve been a dump for it to have been burned down and only cost that much. No suspects were questioned. I wonder if any kids were seen playing around before the fire started. Let’s see . . . the time it was discovered was oh one-thirty. In normal person time that’s one-thirty in the morning, so people would be sleeping.” She hit the print icon on that one, too.
So far there had been two names of minors given. Those names, she knew, if she had gone through channels, would’ve been blacked out by the office personnel to protect the privacy of the children. But right now she had a back-door chance to get some names and dates of crimes committed by kids that may be criminals, and at least one
whom she felt deep in her heart had a fighting chance of changing. She kept her eye on the time so Patrick wouldn’t catch her.
“On to the next report,” Candice said, after she guiltily glanced around the room. “Seven—eight days later there was a fire in a newly completed house . . . blast it, in the small subdivision of Cresta Gila. Their homes have to start in the low four hundred thousands, and it was a spec home, so it belonged to the developer. That’s a lot of money to lose. That’s what Daryl said about the place he patrolled, that they hired Beachwood Security. Let’s see . . . the cause was, hmm, not so original. The drapes in the living room and family room were set on fire with a lighter found at the scene. One partial print was lifted from the back door.” Her finger automatically hit the print icon to spit out a copy of that report and fingerprint.
Twenty-four more reports later, spanning over the next six months, she was convinced that transients trying to find a place to stay warm didn’t commit these arsons. There were ten trash bin fires started with either gas or lighter fluid, and all of them had a least two kids questioned the same night or the next day. There were also four out-buildings set on fire, and eleven more arsons of empty homes within those six months, but also five more newly constructed spec homes in small subdivisions.
Candice glanced at the time. She had time for one more report. “Six months ago Robert Westinghouse, Junior was questioned in the suspicious car fire in the alley between 900 San Marcos Drive and Del Pueblo. Oh, Bobby. You do like to play with fire.”
She couldn’t push it any longer. Her time was up. She had all the reports safely tucked inside her backpack before she cleared the search. She still wanted to look for reports closer to the Leavitts’ fire, but she could try Detective Adams again, although he probably wouldn’t let her print them out—if he stayed in his office while she used his computer. He still owed her a favor. Maybe the library would be a better option. It would have newspapers on microfilm.
Since Patrick hadn’t returned yet, Candice had time to hit the bathroom before going on the warrants. She swung the door open and heard Patrick urgently yell, “Candice, go back!”
In the next instant, a crazed man slammed into her at a run, grabbing her tightly against his odorous body, making her lose her grip on her backpack. The man’s iron arm around her chest took her breath away while his other hand clutched her throat. The uniformed men and women crowding the hall had their guns drawn and aimed at her—at them, as he dragged her farther down the hallway. She had no idea where he was taking her or when she could take in her next full breath.
The officers were frantically working their radios while an alert tone sounded every few seconds. Obviously, the man was an escaped prisoner and she was his hostage.
“Hold it, Johnson. Let her go,” an officer commanded with his gun slightly lowered. Patrick was next to him in the same position, and then she noticed Alex’s face in the back of the crowd, and he just saw her. He blanched. She knew he was wondering if she was a magnet for trouble. She began to wonder the same thing the farther down the hall the maniac took her. His arm muscles were rock hard. She could feel them with one hand while keeping her other hand on his wrist. That was how she felt the handcuffs dangling. Now she needed him to let go of her throat because she had no doubt that with the strength in his hand, he could snap her neck before she could scream, “Don’t snap my neck!”
To say she was surprised to find them suddenly outside would be a gigantic understatement. The maniac managed to find an exit and get them through without getting stopped. He must’ve believed he was in the clear—until they were met with three more officers standing in front of their cruisers with shotguns aimed at them. She wanted to go back inside.
To their credit, they immediately lifted their barrels upward and away from her as the officers from the hall came crashing through the door the maniac had dragged her out of a few accelerated heartbeats ago. Now they were surrounded, and she could tell Maniac was panicking with how his arm tightened around her chest and moved in a circle.
“Johnson, let her go—now!” the same officer commanded again as he moved a little closer. Candice shook her head and held her palm toward them, to tell them to stay back, and then Alex emerged from the doorway.
Candice mouthed, “Keep them back. I’m okay,” before she winked and smiled at him. His dark brows pinched, but he nodded as he whispered to the men around him. The other officers looked confused, but that was all right; they’d soon find out she could take care of herself—just as soon as the slimeball let go of her throat.
“I want a car or I’ll kill her,” Maniac shouted to the crowd of blue uniforms.
“Ask for a helicopter,” Candice managed to squeak out.
“What?” he asked with his face next to hers. He sorely needed a breath mint. Talk about nauseating.
“A helicopter. Ask for their police helicopter, not a car. It’s faster and you can’t be followed,” she said calmly to the maniac with acute halitosis.
“Stupid broad. I can’t fly a chopper,” he growled.
“I can,” she said. “I’m a pilot.”
“Nice pilot’s uniform,” he said lowly.
“I have my ID in my pant pocket,” she said, and she started to reach for it with her good hand, but he stopped her by releasing her throat and catching her wrist, like she hoped he would.
“No, you don’t. What do you think I am? Stupid or something?” He then let go of her arm and moved his hand to her pocket.
After a couple of satisfying breaths, and as his arm moved down to her side, she grabbed his thumb before it went into her pocket and bent it into his wrist at the same time she slammed the heel of her boot into the front of his knee. He released his hold around her chest. She then swung his arm over her head and pushed his injured fist up his back while he fell to the parking lot. She finished with her knee pressed against his back. The whole maneuver took only three seconds.
Candice couldn’t help shouting in his ear, “Yes, you maniac. I think you’re stupid!” a heartbeat before someone grabbed her around her waist and lifted her off the cretin. A half-dozen uniformed officers took her place and had the prisoner quickly re-handcuffed.
A moment after her feet were set on the asphalt, Candice was swung around and enthusiastically embraced. She knew the broad shoulders. It was Alex.
“Candice,” he said with a laugh, “remind me to never get you mad at me.”
~*~
“No, Alex, I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Candice said firmly as she listened to the maniac being loaded into the ambulance. She was sitting on the back bumper of the rescue unit that responded along with a battalion of emergency vehicles who were dispatched after he was taken into custody. He was still crying about his knee, his elbow, and his thumb as they closed the doors. For as big as the scumbag was, he whined worse than a two-year-old child. “I’m not hurt.”
“Candice, I can see bruises on your neck,” Patrick said.
He was standing next to Captain Gleason and Chief Patterson. The fracas brought out all the top brass from their offices. The patrol officers who assisted in the recapture still milled around the rescue unit like they had nothing better to do but watch her get checked out, and the guys were as thorough as ever. They took her blood pressure then checked her eyes and the bruise on her forehead. They even replaced the tiny Band-Aids on the cuts on her face. They offered to check the stitches on the back of her shoulder, but she didn’t want to disrobe in front of a small populace of men, and she certainly didn’t want to reach around to see if she’d pulled the stitches apart and had bled. No more fainting, she silently commanded herself.
“I’ll just add them to my collection,” Candice said with a shrug of her sore, bruised, gunshot shoulder. If they could see her back, they wouldn’t complain about the tiny little bruises the idiot put there with his fingers. “Besides, I don’t feel them, so how badly can I be hurt?”
Alex chuckled. “Not as badly as the guy you took out. He�
�s going to be limping for a very long time. You were able to do that all from your Taekwondo lessons?”
“Heck, no. That was from a self-defense course I took after I got mugged.” His eyes popped into horrified orbs of dark blue and white. “I’m sorry, Alex.” She probably shouldn’t have said it so bluntly. He sat down on the step beside her and took her hand.
“I guess there are a lot of things we need to catch up on, aren’t there?”
“You’re right,” Candice whispered. “I know it sounds easy to pick up from where we left off, but it’s harder than it seems. We need time to talk. And I still have two cases I need to work on, and the day is half over.”
Alex played with her hand. “I’ll make sure you get the time you need to be sure about . . . us.” He looked over at the back door. “I was in ballistics when I heard the commotion of our fleeing felon and I came to investigate. I hate to tell you this, Candice, your bullets are behind about three different shootings the guys have to work through first.”
“So—how long will that take?” Candice asked, feeling her temper rise. Of course, she didn’t really want to know because she wanted it right now, instantly, like one-minute oatmeal.
“Randy said to check on Monday.”
“Monday!” Candice yanked her hand away from him. “I might be dead by then.”
“What does she mean, Sergeant Delaney?” Captain Gleason asked, moving closer to Alex but keeping his eyes on Candice.
Patrick answered him. “She was shot at through her kitchen window last night. One bullet grazed the back of her shoulder and then went into a cabinet door. Two more bullets came through. but Officer Delaney was with her and able to get her out of the way before they hit her. We have the doors in our lab.”
