by Aiden Bates
"Was he?" Sam lifted his eyebrows. He wasn't feigning his surprise. Maybe Oliver had been onto something. Sam had been very sympathetic to the Coucher ancestor, believing in the alpha's love for his omega, but Marsten made it sound like his own grandfather had loved Walter to an equal degree.
Neither side seemed to have considered Walter's feelings on the matter at all, at least not well enough to record them. Of course, the Couchers hadn't mutilated Walter and stolen his ring, but there was no proof that the Marstens had been the ones to do that either.
"Tell me," Marsten said, leaning back and crossing one arm over his body, "how did these things come to be at the site of such a devastating murder?"
"They were left there, after the fire was put out." Sam met Marsten's eyes.
Marsten didn't have any physical reaction to the news. "Good Lord," he said, in an entirely appropriate tone of shock. "And you think that they'll lead you to your killer?"
"That's the hope, Mr. Marsten." Sam rose. "Thank you again for your time."
He and Langer left the same way that they had come out. Sam couldn't get far enough away from Isaiah Marsten.
Chapter Eight
Oliver sat down and woke his laptop up from its slumber. The answer to the case was in here. More to the point it was in there, in the vast amounts of data stored in the agency's data warehouse. It was all well and good to get at the motivation behind the crimes. That probably counted for a lot, when it came time to get up in court and prove things to a jury. If they wanted to have a face to stick behind that defense table, though, they needed science.
Oliver knew that solving this case wasn't going to win Sam for him. Sam might say that he was doing this for Oliver's own good or whatever, but if he wanted Oliver enough he'd push through that. Oliver was going to solve this case because fifty people had died. He was going to solve this case because ten people had died after that. He was going to solve this case because a dispute between two families had spilled out to affect unrelated people.
He was going to solve this case because it was the right thing to do. He was going to solve this case because he was the best, or one of the best, and people who were good at their jobs didn't just let things lie.
He found the accelerant analysis report for the Cooper Block fire and stared at it for a few minutes. There wasn't a lot there that he didn't already know. Kerosene had been liberally distributed throughout the building, with larger pools near the doors. That was consistent with the high casualty count; people couldn't escape.
A chill ran down his spine. Oliver had known that this wasn't just destruction of property gone awry. He understood that this had been deliberate; he'd seen the evidence that some of the doors had been barred. Knowing how thoroughly the killer had erased any chance of the victims' escape turned his stomach.
Oliver had seen a lot of terrible things in the course of his work with the folks from Cold Case. He'd examined the remains of a teen-aged girl battered to death and left to rot. He'd handled the remains of organized crime victims. He'd processed the remains of victims of a serial killer, right down to an actual harvest of heads from the killer's home. He'd never felt this level of nausea before. Was this normal, or was he starting to lose his stomach for the work?
He pushed it aside and focused on the job. He needed to be here, and present, for those people who couldn't tell their own story anymore. Technology in 1967 wouldn't allow analysts to recreate the crime scene electronically, but Oliver could do it from their notes and crime scene sketches now.
He built an animated reconstruction of the crime based on investigators' notes and known variables, such as weather that night and the properties of kerosene as an accelerant. Then he tested it a few times, both to check his work and because arson was his favorite type of crime to investigate.
Next, he repeated the process for the second Cooper Block fire. His jaw dropped as he watched the crime scene take shape on the screen in front of him. It looked like the same crime, with the exception of the additional sprinklers and the less flammable materials.
The electronic records had a video attached this time. Some enterprising soul in the archives had converted the VHS security tapes to digital recordings at some point in the past few years. Oliver suspected that it was a project they'd given to an intern to keep them busy; it was useful, but not immediate, and it kept them from screwing up anything that would be called into court. Whoever had done it, the video had given them an invaluable resource that didn't exist with the 1967 fire. They had an image of the suspect on camera.
The 1992 arsonist was tall, about six-foot-two. The security footage on the film didn't offer close-ups, but the image analysts' notes said that he had a narrow build and had been wearing big suede gloves. There was no doubt that he was the culprit; Oliver watched as the man barred the door shut.
He was watching a man commit cold, calculated, deliberate murder.
He turned his head and vomited into his wastebasket. He couldn't go on like this, could he? If he was going to keep throwing up every time he saw someone do something bad, how could he keep doing crime scene work? Of course, his job rarely involved watching someone commit a crime. He might shudder away from the things that people did to one another, but he only got to the cases after the fact. By the time Oliver was involved, he could only process the aftermath. He didn't have to watch it happen.
He stopped watching the video and checked the image analyst's notes. They'd managed to get more from the video than he had. They got the fact that he had darkly tanned skin, with deep lines, and a long and pointed nose.
He made a note on his notepad and moved on. There were a few other fires at other Coucher properties, none with the level of carnage found at the Cooper Block fire. All of them, however, showed the same patterns. All of them used kerosene as an accelerant. All of them involved accelerant being poured into the doorways, forcing residents to escape by the windows.
Only one or two had any security camera footage. Oliver declined to watch the video himself and turned to the analysts' notes. Every one of the arsonists apparently looked the same—dark and lined skin, six-foot-two, big suede gloves.
Oliver wrote up his findings and sent them to Nina and to Sam. He'd already heard about how he wasn't supposed to be interacting with Sam anymore, not privately. He tried to swallow his resentment about that. He'd done everything right, damn it. He'd stayed away from him, treated him with professional distance. It had been Sam who'd showed up at his house. Why should Oliver be the one to get censured?
It wouldn't do him any good to get upset. All he could do was send his report and get rid of the shameful evidence of his illness. Only then did he notice that Jake was walking into the office.
In different clothes.
Crap.
Jake was too observant not to notice that Oliver hadn't left. In fact, Jake narrowed his eyes and changed his stride, making a beeline for Oliver right away. Oliver couldn't avoid it. "Were you seriously here all night?"
Oliver hunched over. "Maybe?"
Jake sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let me guess. Cooper Block?"
"Okay, yeah, but not because I'm trying to impress anyone. I got really into what I was doing. I honestly didn't realize that I'd been here all night until I saw you walking in." He looked into Jake's eyes and saw only suspicion. "Oh come on, Jake, you know how I get with arson."
Jake pressed his lips together and grabbed his arm. "Come on, we're going to go talk to Nina."
Nina took a similarly dim view of things until she opened his message. "I see. Hey, Jake, get a load of what he was actually doing all night."
Jake circled around her desk to watch Oliver's animations while Oliver stood on the other side, holding his wastebasket liner and feeling like a recalcitrant little kid. "That's kind of awesome. And I can see where it would be pretty absorbing." Jake glanced up at Oliver. "Okay, I'll believe you this time."
"Thanks ever so much." Oliver waved his arms. "Can I go throw this
out now?"
Nina bit her lip. "Take the rest of the day off, Oliver. It's okay. You've been here all night, the hours are fine. Don't make a habit of it, but this is really extraordinary."
Oliver frowned. "I'm being dismissed?"
Nina held her head in her hands. "Oliver, you need to take care of yourself. There are times when we have to pull all-nighters. I get that. But this wasn't one of those times, okay? I'm grateful for the work. And this isn't a punishment. But we can't have you making yourself sick so you're out when we really get slammed."
"Yes, ma'am." Oliver hung his head and slunk out of the office. He tossed his bin liner into the dumpster on his way to get his bike and headed home.
Just to make the morning complete, the skies opened up when he was halfway home.
He took a long, hot shower when he got inside. Why not? He had the place to himself for now, and nothing felt better after an accidental drenching than a long, hot shower. Okay, maybe he didn't know what would feel better. He knew what he thought would feel better. A nice nap in his alpha's arms, skin pressed into skin, would probably feel amazing, but he had no context for it. All that he had were fantasies born of romantic novels and urges he'd spent his entire life suppressing.
Alphas didn't do that. They didn't do comfort. What Oliver was going to get was a long hot shower, by himself, so he might as well enjoy it.
Once he'd warmed himself up, he did go and take a nap, on the brand new bedding that he'd found for himself the morning after Sam left. He liked this new bedding. It didn't smell like anything or anyone. He could never go back to pretending that he'd never turned away from his values, but at least here in the privacy of his own room he could re-dedicate himself to science.
After his nap, he felt a little bit better, and he got up to do some housework. He'd just finished decontaminating the bathroom when Jake came home.
Oliver checked the time. "Hey. Isn't it a little bit early for you?"
Jake shrugged. "I've got some time. You're not the only one who banks hours, you know." He grinned, and then he sobered. "I figured we should talk."
Oliver groaned. "What did I do this time?"
Jake huffed out a laugh. "It probably does seem like everything's coming down on you, doesn't it?"
"You think?" Oliver washed his hands and went to sit down at the table. Jake followed him, pouring him a glass of wine. "I did everything right that last time, with the exception of letting him into my house in the first place. But I'm the one who gets in trouble."
"You're not in trouble, Oliver." Jake poured himself a glass of wine, too, and sat down. "I know that Nina probably made it seem like you were. And, uh, I might know why."
Oliver held himself very still. "Why is that?"
"I was kind of worried about you this weekend. Because, you know, you'd kind of lost the power of speech and stuff." Jake grimaced and took a sip from his wine. "So I called up my dad, and he made some noises. So after I told him to stay the hell away from you I talked to Nina about making sure my dad stayed the hell away. I might have threatened my dad once or twice."
"Oh." Oliver sipped from his wine glass and put it down. He felt completely disconnected from his body, somehow. "I'm not sure how to respond to that. I mean, I should be pissed, you know? Blah blah, shouldn't have interfered, blah blah. And I think I am a little pissed on some level. But it's like… you also care enough to step in when you think someone's not treating me right. No one else does."
Jake nodded and looked down. "Look, I know it's wrong to interfere. I do. Dad doesn't listen to anyone, not really, and I had to find a way to get through to him that he's hurting you." He sighed. "So, what I wanted to talk to you about was what's going on. Yeah, your expertise with arson is crucial to the investigation. But you could have done that from the lab, the whole time."
"What's your point?" Oliver gripped his glass.
"Nina went to Devlin to light into him about Dad. And Devlin apologized. Apparently he'd requested the arrangement, putting you in the field with my dad, to bring you two closer together." Jake's face twisted into an expression of unfathomable disgust. "It was a ploy, a prank. He was trying to manipulate you and my dad. He admits that it backfired."
The room went out of focus. Oliver couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. His stomach turned and his body clenched. Nothing made any sense. "Why would he do that?" he asked, once he found his voice again.
"I don't know." Jake put a hand on his shoulder. "But to say that Nina was pissed would be an understatement. You're not the one being punished here. Even telling you to have no contact with Dad, that wasn't her being mad at you. That was for your protection. She lost her mind at Devlin, and then she went and told Ryan Tran everything."
Oliver's face burned with shame. "Why would Sgt. Tran be interested in what happens with me?"
"Because he's the most senior omega officer on the entire force, and because he has a very special hate-on for my dad. He's going to make sure that none of them gets to hurt you, or any of us, again." Jake squeezed Oliver's shoulder. "He's pissed."
Oliver hunched in on himself even further. "But… I mean… I said yes. I let myself… I let him use me."
"I know. You were manipulated. That whole mess was manipulated."
Tears sprang to Oliver's eyes. "Does it matter? I'd always have said yes to him. It doesn't matter what Devlin instigated or pushed."
Jake wrapped Oliver up in his arms. "I know, bro. I know. And I don't know if this helps or not, but Dad would never have made a move on you, because he didn't feel that he could offer you what you needed. He would never have made a move if he hadn't been manipulated into it." He sighed and rested his chin on Oliver's shoulder. "I think that Devlin was probably hoping that he'd get over himself and do right by you, but this is why he shouldn't have interfered."
Oliver let the tears flow. He didn't know if it was helpful to have that information or not, but it didn't matter. The fact was that Devlin's interference had cost him, and dearly. Before, Oliver had the fantasy. Maybe he would have found another alpha that he wanted someday, but in the meantime he had a dream of an alpha whose mere scent made him weak at the knees. In his dreams he had someone who would care for him, and hold him through the night.
Reality came with a hard lesson. He mourned his innocence, more than his literal virginity. He regretted the loss of those dreams and knowing that waiting had done nothing but set him up for disappointment. The fact that it had entirely been done to amuse a third party was just salt on the wound.
***
Sam sat down at his desk on Wednesday morning to find a message from Oliver waiting for him. Part of him cringed away from it. What if Oliver was taking him to task for cutting and running on Friday night? What if Oliver was taking him to task for not reaching out between then and now? Okay, so Nina had almost certainly told him not to, but surely he'd be angry about how Sam had left things.
He had every right to be.
As it turned out, Sam needn't have been concerned. Oliver hadn't reached out to chastise Sam for being more of an asshole than he'd ever been before. Oliver hadn't reached out to declare his undying love for Sam, either. No, he'd sent a report about the Cooper Block fires as well as about several smaller fires that had taken place over the past few years. He cc'ed Nina on the message, too.
Sam's hand shook as he clicked on the attachment. He shouldn't be surprised. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? He wanted separation. He wanted a professional relationship. He wanted Oliver to move on and find someone better suited for him, even if it was a little painful for both of them. It was the right thing to do.
Maybe Oliver and Joey would hit it off.
He watched the animations that Oliver had made of the fire. His first instinct was to dismiss them. After all, anyone could say that the fire had done such-and-such. Backing it up in court would be a different story. Then he remembered that Oliver's master's thesis had been on exactly this sort of thing, and he'd always focused on arson investigation.<
br />
He made himself go back and read the technical details about the background information that made up the animations. As near as he could tell, they were impressive. He couldn't pretend to understand everything, but he was willing to accept that Oliver did. And each and every fire turned out to be the same, right down to the clockwise direction that the fire spread.
There was no possible way that the fires had been the work of more than one person.
Well, that wasn't necessarily true. It was possible, even likely, that the Cooper Block fires had required accomplices. The way that the accelerant had been distributed through the entire building without being detected suggested the work of more than one individual, but someone had coordinated that. And, of course, someone had struck the match. That was one thing that was incontrovertible. The ignition point had been the same at each fire—one of the pools of accelerant in the doorway, which led to ignition of the rest of it.
