by G. K. Parks
“Ms. Parker? Mr. Martin?” A gentleman in turnout gear approached. Since he wasn’t covered in soot, I didn’t think he’d been inside, and from the insignia he wore, I figured he must be in charge. He earned the right not to run into a burning building unless the situation absolutely required it.
“Yes.” I couldn’t even manage a grim smile as I watched another stretcher get loaded into an ambulance. Was that Tara, the elderly woman who lived on the fifth floor directly beneath me? I peered around the man, catching a glimpse of charred flesh on her lower leg. The sudden stench of roasted human flesh twisted my stomach, and the horror made my knees buckle. Martin steadied me, and I tried not to heave, which turned out to be a losing battle. But on an empty stomach, nothing came out. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Sorry.” I focused on the fire chief and told him everything about the case we were investigating.
“Hang on a sec.” He clicked his radio. “Payne, meet me at the front.” The chief looked back at me. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
“Don’t ask me that. Ask them.” I watched as a child was carried out of the building. From the radio chatter, it sounded like the building had been cleared. “The fire might be feeding off an oxidizing agent. It’s taken down a lot of other buildings.”
Lt. Ted Payne rounded the corner of one of the trucks, shocked to see me. “Ms. Parker?”
“Good, you two know one another. She’s been talking about an arson case and oxidizing agents.” The chief waited for Payne to corroborate or possibly elaborate. After listening to the best way to address the threat, the chief stepped away, barking orders to the men fighting the blaze. Now that they knew exactly what they were dealing with, they had more effective ways of extinguishing the fire.
“What are you doing here?” Payne asked. He glanced uncertainly at Martin but didn’t inquire.
“I live here. Lived here.”
“Shit, when we did an occupant check, I heard someone say Alexis Parker, I just thought it might be a different Alexis Parker.”
“No, same one.” A horrifying thought sprang to mind. “Martin, our apartment.”
Martin looked uncertain to leave me, but I was much steadier now than I had been. “I’ll make a few calls. I’ll be right over there.” He stepped away, edging closer to the barrier to give us some space.
“What’s going on?” Payne asked. “I thought this was your apartment.”
“It is. Was. I moved out two weeks ago.” I thought about the recent fire in our apartment and the safety check the fire department performed. Was this bad luck, or did the arsonist target me? “What do we know about the fire?”
“Right now, nothing.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Me and my team have been reporting to every call in case it’s related.”
“Before I left, you didn’t believe the fire at Sizzle was arson.”
“I said we didn’t have proof, and since that day, Dil’s done nothing but twist my arm. When Lucien Cross stepped in and the police got involved, we gave everything a second look. We won’t let this clever bastard trick us again. Even accidental fires are being assessed. We have to find this guy. I should have listened to you sooner. I’m sorry.”
I watched another ambulance pull away. “What happens to my neighbors now?”
“Anyone injured will be treated. When they’re released, they might stay with friends or family. If they have nowhere to go, we have a fund to help out. If it’s not enough, churches, charities, and the Red Cross will step in and make sure the necessities are covered and everyone has a safe place to stay. After that, they’ll either move back in or find a new place to live.” Another chunk of the roof collapsed, sending a cloud of dust into the smoky air.
“Our apartment’s okay,” Martin said quietly. He looked around, the devastating scene leaving a guilty taste in his mouth.
“Call Lucien. Tell him what’s going on,” I said. “I’ll speak to him as soon as I’m done here.”
Payne interrupted. “Get out of here. There’s nothing you can do. Sometimes, these firebugs hang around the scene. The police have been taking names. You might be able to help the PD identify suspects, assuming you have a list.”
“But…” I stared at the burning building, my heart breaking.
More radio chatter sounded, and the chief tapped Payne on the shoulder. “The fire’s almost out.”
Payne nodded. “I’ll be there in a second.” He gave me an encouraging look. “Go do what you’re good at. I’ll do what I’m good at, and we’ll meet first thing in the morning and share our findings.”
“What are you going to do?”
“We have to make sure the building is structurally sound and perform a search and recovery. I’ll find the point of origin, determine the cause, and see if our firebug had anything to do with this. Sometimes, fires are just fires.”
But that didn’t make them any less devastating. I trudged back behind the line, taking the phone Martin held out. “Lucien, what the hell’s going on?”
“Look, if there’s anything you need, just say the word.”
I recognized so many faces huddled on the sidewalk. The man I smiled at when we bumped into each other on the stairs. The mother with the twins who always dropped her mail. The grumpy cat lady who hissed every time I was too loud in the corridors. I didn’t know them by name, or even very well, but we shared a home. I had to do something to help them.
“I don’t, but a lot of people around here do.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll do what I can. I’ve already dispatched some lab techs and two security teams to your other apartment and a team to Martin’s house.”
“Thanks.”
“We’ll find this bastard, Alex.”
“I don’t doubt that.” I blew out a breath, unsure where to go from here when there were so many things I needed to do. “Where’s Renner? Is he okay?”
“He’s with Chef Easton and a security team. They’re safe. We have jammers in place, but if you need to speak to him, I can redirect your call to the landline at the safe house.”
“No, that won’t be necessary, but–”
“Trust me. I’ll make sure he’s safe and so is his place.”
We disconnected, and I handed Martin the phone. While I had been speaking to Payne, Martin sent Marcal to the nearest store to get whatever he could find. Marcal arrived with the town car loaded with bottled water, protein bars, snacks, and whatever towels, blankets, and clothing they had.
While Martin and Marcal unloaded the car, letting my neighbors grab whatever they needed, the delivery guy from the nearby deli came to help. He had thermoses, cups, trays of sandwiches, and bowls of soup. It didn’t matter this was a big city, we took care of our own. Most of my neighbors had already sought refuge inside the deli, and now that the owner and the delivery guys extended the invitation, more departed for the temporary shelter.
We left a few cases of water and sports drinks for the first responders. Two police officers followed behind the group, figuring questioning the residents in an enclosed, safe environment would help.
“Am I free to go?” I asked.
The cop I spoke to earlier nodded. “We have your name, number, and address. Since the fire department’s done with you, you’re free to go. I am sorry.” He jerked his chin at the building.
“That’s life.” And it sucked.
Thirty-four
“The test came back positive on your apartment building, the one you share with James.” Lucien cleared his throat, a sign he was uncomfortable.
“What about the house?”
“That’s the good news. No suspicious chemical compounds were identified, but I took the liberty of having my specialists review James’ security logs and feeds. Given what we know, you should take every precaution.”
“The construction crew?” I’d nearly forgotten Martin remodeled and had the walls repaired. It would have been the perfect opportunity for someone to spray the oxidizing age
nt all over the place or burn down his house, especially when we’d been staying at the apartment for the last few months. “What about them?”
“It’s okay.” My boss offered a reassuring smile. “It’s a completely different crew than the men Haskell suspects. I ran background checks on each of them and checked the materials they used. It’s safe. The arsonist hasn’t been there.”
“But our apartment. My apartment.” I paced Cross’s spacious office. “He burned down my apartment building, and he plans to do it again.” Images of Tara’s burns came to mind, and I fought back the tears. “It can’t be a coincidence.”
“Property records show your name on the lease. That’s probably how he found you. You must have crossed paths with him.” Cross steepled his fingers and tapped them against his chin. “How much more convincing do you need before you admit it’s Galen Strader or Dante Bisset?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” I screamed.
“Alex,” Cross said calmly, “you confronted both of them. You sat in on their interrogations. They aren’t stupid. They know Easton hired you to protect him, and you foiled their break-in and had them arrested. This is about revenge.”
“The police haven’t let them out of their sight.”
“Then maybe they sent someone else to do the dirty work.”
“Unless it’s Asher York.” The chef remained missing. The police figured he skipped town, but maybe he was just good at hiding. “According to building security at Martin’s apartment,” at the moment, that was the easiest way to refer to it, “York catered an event for the Ellington’s. He’s the only familiar name I saw on the guest list. Strader and Bisset haven’t been anywhere near Martin’s apartment.”
“York.” Lucien nodded several times. “Okay, I’ll bite. He’s a possibility, but the piece of plastic found in the lock at Sizzle is the same type of polymer Strader uses in his printer.”
“It’s commercial-grade. Anyone could buy that, just like the frickin’ lard.”
“I suppose. But how many people do you know with a 3D printer?”
“Don’t your techs have one?”
Cross glared at me. “I didn’t burn down Sizzle or your apartment.”
“I know. You weren’t on the list.” But come to think of it, Cross had been to my apartment, knew when I’d be returning home, and probably could have altered the investigation from the get-go. Shaking it off, I knew Cross wasn’t responsible. Logic like that was dangerous. That’s how he arrived at the foregone conclusion Strader was to blame. I wasn’t about to make the same mistakes he did. I rubbed my eyes. “Is there any way of determining when the oxidizing agent was sprayed in Martin’s apartment building?”
Cross shoved the paperwork across his desk. “It’s stable. The mixture of chemicals act like a preservative, preventing it from degrading. It could have been sprayed earlier tonight or years ago.”
“I wish the fire inspectors had known to check when they reported to the toaster oven fire a few weeks ago.”
“Where was that?”
“Fourteenth floor.”
He snatched the file away, even though I was standing over it, reading. “Which apartment?”
“1408.”
“Like the movie?”
“That’s the only reason I remembered.”
Cross’s lips moved as he silently read the words on the page. “We found the oxidizing agent concentrated on the fourteenth floor, all around the crown molding and along the baseboards. The techs found smaller quantities on several other floors, but the largest amount was near 1408.”
“So that fire wasn’t an accident either?” My mind was blown. “But wait, that would mean the arsonist had been inside the apartment right before the fire broke out, or the guy who lives there is the arsonist and nearly cooked himself.” Except those theories felt wrong.
Lucien reached for the keyboard and typed in the owner’s name. “Does he look familiar? Did he pop up in any of the research you’ve done for Easton?”
I moved behind Lucien’s desk, the first time I ever stepped behind the curtain. “No.”
“Okay.” He picked up the phone and asked the computer techs to check the footage for the date of the fire.
“How do you have access to that?” The reason I moved to that building was because of the top of the line security, but if Cross could hack it, it couldn’t be that secure.
“Would you prefer if I wait for the police to come through with their court order?”
“No, I’d prefer if you answer the question.” A photo near the computer caught my attention, and I looked at the tiny frame. It was a picture of the busty redhead from Vegas. Her hair was shorter than it had been, so the photo couldn’t be recent.
“James asked them to provide me with access. They respect my reputation and know whatever I discover will not be fodder for the press.”
“I’m surprised they fulfilled his request.”
“You’ll be hard-pressed to find more than a handful of people in this city unwilling to fulfill James Martin’s requests.”
I found that hard to believe, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I went back to pacing. Right now, the police were questioning the apartment manager and staff. Professional crews were testing and cleaning the building. One fire nearly took down a building. I wouldn’t let it happen again. Staring out the window, I wondered how many other places the arsonist targeted. How was he getting in to deliver the chemical compound?
“Until now, the attacks didn’t appear personal, with the exception of Chef Easton. The fires were about damage, not inflicting injury. But with Easton, it could have easily escalated to murder.”
“What about tonight?” I swallowed. No one called yet, but Payne said the firefighters performed a search and recovery. They thought the building was clear, but during the second walkthrough, who knew what they would find. And that didn’t include the number of victims carted off to the hospitals. I’d seen enough TV shows to know people in fires didn’t always make it. Smoke was deadly. Burns were deadly. Honestly, I couldn’t imagine a worse way to go. And I’d had some pretty nasty close calls, but fire was different. It might have been the thing that scared me the most. It had to be the most painful, the most devastating, and the most frightening. I shivered. “Why haven’t we figured this out yet? We’re supposed to be the best fucking investigators in the city. What’s wrong with us?”
“We didn’t know,” Lucien glanced up at me, “and the police aren’t helping.”
I swear if another disparaging comment came out of his mouth, I’d slap him. “Who’s the woman in the photo? The one I saw you with in Vegas? The one with the tattoo?”
“I don’t see how this is the time.”
I shook my head. It wasn’t, but I needed to shift my focus and give my subconscious a moment to catch up. “I want to know.”
“It’s not your concern.”
“Is she local? Did you take her on vacation?”
“I wasn’t on vacation. I was pursuing new partnerships. It was a business trip.”
I took a seat across from him and reached for a notepad and pen and began doodling in the corner. “Did you take her with you?”
“No.”
“So she lives there?”
“What does it matter?”
“Her tattoo,” I pointed at him with the pen, “when I got shot, you told me you could recommend a good tattoo artist to cover up the scar.” I stopped. “What happened to her?”
Lucien’s look could have killed. “We are not discussing this now.”
And that’s when brilliance struck. “Shit. The arsonist came to Martin’s apartment building after the fire, not before.”
“You’re sure?”
“It’s the only reason the building’s still standing.”
Despite Cross’s sour expression, I knew he agreed. Reaching for the stack of files, I had a hunch. If I was right, this case was about to become even more unsettling. A firefighter set the fires. They were the only peop
le with access and knowhow who knew I was investigating on Easton Lango’s behalf.
Thirty-five
“Alex?” Voletek knocked on my open door. During normal office hours, someone from reception would have escorted him, but it was the middle of the night and Cross Security was operating on a skeleton crew since he had teams and investigators scouring the city for evidence. “I just came from the apartment fire. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I remained hunched over my computer screen. Martin stood and stretched, nearly causing Voletek to jump out of his skin. Voletek’s hand moved half an inch for his gun before realizing Martin didn’t present a threat. I ignored the detective and focused on Martin, who’d only drifted off a few minutes ago. “Go home, handsome. It’s late.” Earlier, I wasted twenty minutes trying to convince him to stay with Mark Jablonsky or the O’Connells, but he wouldn’t budge.
“I’m heading to my office since you have work to do. I’ll take a page out of your book and catch a catnap before Luc shows up.” Martin rubbed his eyes. Remembering his manners, he held out his hand. “James Martin.”
“Jake Voletek, homicide.”
“Nice to meet you, Detective.”
I slid out from behind the desk, and Martin hugged me. Normally, he wouldn’t kiss me on the mouth in front of people we just met, especially at work, but tonight wasn’t a normal night. Or maybe he called Nick, and O’Connell warned Martin to mark his territory.
“Call me at lunch and let me know you’re safe,” he whispered in my ear. “And get some sleep.”
“You got it.”
Martin nodded at the detective and left the office.
“Do you guys need a place to stay?” Voletek asked, hovering near the doorway.
I shook my head and scooted my chair to the side to make room behind my desk. “Let me catch you up.”
