Burning Embers (Alexis Parker Book 17)

by G. K. Parks

I tucked the gun into my holster instead of leaving it in the top drawer, where it had been most of the night. Painting a smile on my face, I said, “That’s fine. Can you tell Renner to call Jake?” She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Payne entered, dropping to his knees to help pick up the fallen papers. He sorted them into a neat stack and placed them back on my desk. “I don’t blame you for being jumpy. If now’s a bad time, I can make an appointment.” He grinned as if it were an inside joke.

  “Actually, I was just about to call the police to get an update and then check in with your office.”

  “No wonder my ears were burning.” Payne picked some fuzz off my client chair and took a seat. “How are you holding up? Last night, you looked like you were about to kill someone.”

  “Jury’s still out.” I sized him up, wondering if he was fucking with me. “What can you tell me about the fire? Was it arson?” I eyed the folder tightly tucked beneath his arm.

  “Which apartment did you say was yours?” He already knew. It was a matter of public record.

  “None of them. I just moved out.”

  “So your apartment would have been empty.”

  I stared at him. This was a man I originally thought of as an ally, but now I wondered if he wasn’t just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. These questions might be a game. A taunt. Did he know I was on to him? “As far as I know. I haven’t taken inventory, but I’ve been told the movers were thorough. Before you ask, I do have an alibi. I’ve been out of town for almost two weeks. I just got back last night. I was on my way to the apartment to make sure nothing had been left behind when I saw the fire engines.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t believe you’re a suspect.”

  “So it was arson.”

  He nodded, opening the folder and pushing it across to me. “It’s the same man who’s been torching the city. We found trace amounts of what remained of the oxidizing agent sprayed across the hardwood floor. The fire originated in your apartment. Again, it was meant to look like an electrical fire. The point of origin was the wire behind your refrigerator.” He removed a photo from the folder and placed it on the desk between us.

  I stared, numb. I didn’t know if it hurt me to look at it, but I knew I shouldn’t hurt for myself. I should hurt for the other people who lived in that building, who lost their homes, their possessions, and maybe even their lives because I pissed off some asshole with a fire fetish. But I didn’t feel remorse. I didn’t feel anything but anger.

  Payne pulled another photograph out, showing an obvious trail across the kitchen floor and into the living room. “Basically, the fire would have been contained to these areas. We didn’t find the presence of oxidizing agents anywhere else in the building.”

  Memories of last night flooded my mind. “The roof collapsed, partially. Twice.”

  “That was from the venting. It happens a lot in fires.”

  “Why did it spread? Why didn’t it remain here? There was nothing else inside my apartment to feed it. Why did the building burn?”

  “It wasn’t supposed to.” Payne blinked. “It shouldn’t have.”

  Those words sounded like a confession. It took every ounce of restraint not to lunge across the desk and strangle him where he sat. Surreptitiously, I hit the record button on the computer, activating the mic and webcam. Though the camera faced me, Payne’s voice would register loud and clear. Now I just needed to get him to incriminate himself further. Either he didn’t know we were on to him, or he wanted to gloat, just like last night.

  “Why did it?” I asked. “How did the fire spread?”

  “It was concentrated in this area. In the center of the room. It probably would have burned itself out, maybe taken out a good chunk of the floor and your downstairs neighbor’s ceiling if left unattended, but the smoke detector and fire alarms should have alerted the fire department. Under different circumstances, it would have been extinguished before doing any real damage.”

  “How did it spread?” I repeated.

  “Do you know the woman who lives below you?”

  “Tara.” I remembered the burns on her legs. The rest of her body had been covered when she was loaded into the ambulance. “She was burned. Is she…did she survive?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You son of a bitch,” I whispered, covering my mouth with my hand and hoping he didn’t hear me. Idly, I wondered if I shot Payne if Cross would cover it up. He didn’t like the police. He wouldn’t want dozens of them lurking around in the offices. The techs upstairs must know a foolproof way to dispose of the remains. “How did this happen?”

  “She was a hoarder. Did you know that?”

  I shook my head. I’d never been inside her apartment. She always just seemed like a lonely, old lady. When I first moved into the building, I figured she was the ghost of my Christmas future. Now she was just a ghost. I hid my shaking hands in my lap.

  “Newspapers. The Times and the Post. She must have had decades’ worth of newspapers, piled from the floor to the ceiling. Literally. It acted like tinder. The whole place went up, and it spread quickly after that. By the time the fire department arrived, most of your neighbors had evacuated. A few were frozen by fear, hiding in the bathroom or under the bed, but we got them out. From the reports I read, aside from Tara, no one sustained any serious injuries. Only a few minor burns which were treated on scene. Three people were sent to the hospital for smoke inhalation, but their prognosis is good.” Payne slipped the disturbing photographs back into the folder, and I wondered if he kept copies as trophies. “Do you have any idea who this bastard is?”

  Was I crazy to think I might be looking right at him? “How do you know what kinds of newspapers she had?”

  “What?”

  “You said she had the Times and the Post. How do you know that if they burned?”

  “We found burned up scraps throughout the fifth floor. We could read a few words here and there. Even some dates. That’s when we realized how many thousands of papers must have been saved inside that woman’s apartment.”

  “What about the toaster oven fire?”

  He cocked his head to the side as if the question didn’t compute. “What toaster oven? The fire started when the power cord on your fridge sparked, igniting what may have been leftover packing materials or a cardboard box, which then fed off the arsonist’s custom chemical compound. There was no toaster oven in your apartment, Ms. Parker.”

  “Not my apartment.” I leaned back, giving myself space in case I had to shoot him. With the way the conversation was heading, it seemed like a growing possibility. “How do you know so much about the cause of the fire and what must have been inside when everything’s destroyed?”

  “This is what I do. Remember, I gave you that crash course a few weeks ago, when we looked through other case files and did a walkthrough at Sizzle.” He rocked forward, gazing intently into my eyes. “Are you okay? You weren’t inside the apartment last night, were you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you experiencing any headaches or dizziness?”

  “Both but that’s nothing unusual.” He pulled a pen light from his shirt pocket, but I stood before he did something with it that we’d both regret. “The toaster oven I’m referring to was a fire inside a different apartment building three weeks ago.”

  He blinked a few times. “I’m sorry I don’t recall a toaster oven. Do you have a case number?”

  Before I could say a word, Renner and Voletek knocked on my door. “Hang on a second.” I opened the door to find the homicide detective had come prepared with records from the fires in question.

  Voletek jerked his chin into the hallway. “I need to talk to you alone.”

  “We located York,” I said.

  “This isn’t about him.” Voletek’s gaze traveled to Payne, and I knew the detective had found something damning on the arson investigator.

  I looked at Renner. “Keep an eye on him, and don’t let him anywhere near a power outlet.”


  Thirty-seven

  “Ted Payne isn’t listed as responding to any of these fires. He didn’t write any reports. He didn’t sign any paperwork. There’s no record of him reporting to the fire at your apartment last night or the one at your boyfriend’s place three weeks ago. Though fire department personnel can place him at both scenes.” Voletek stalked the enclosed space of the break room. We had locked the door to make sure we weren’t interrupted. “I made some calls, pissed off my captain and half the brass at the fire department, but no one had anything bad to say about the lieutenant. If anything, they applaud the guy for his dedication.”

  “How do they explain his presence at these fires?”

  “They wrote it off, figuring Payne might have popped in to help out. Apparently, he does that.”

  “How long has he been doing that?”

  “Years.”

  “Don’t they realize he could be our arsonist?”

  “The man’s saving them money and time. The BFI always has a backlog. Since Payne took over for Haskell, he’s eliminated almost 75% of their old cases. The turnaround on new cases has gone from months to weeks. Instead of questioning why that is, they give the guy commendations for a job well done. Meanwhile, you and Haskell do some digging, and it turns out half the fires he wrote off as accidents were arson.” Voletek swung his arms like he wanted to pop his back or was loosening up for a fight. “Payne could be using his position to cover his tracks or cover for the real arsonist. I think you’re right about the plastic we found in the lock. It exonerates Bisset and probably Strader by association. And since York’s been voluntarily locked up this entire time, it has to be a first responder or someone else you’ve pissed off.” Voletek glanced out the blinds. “Has Payne said anything odd to you?”

  “I just asked him about the toaster oven fire, but he acted like he didn’t remember it.”

  “Let’s show him some footage and see if it rings any bells. For the record, whatever you ask and he answers won’t require me to notify him of his rights.”

  “I figured as much. I’ve been recording our interview. He’s been skirting the edge, but it’s not enough.” I swallowed, images of last night’s fire still fresh on my mind. “My downstairs neighbor died.”

  “I know.” Voletek dug his hands into his back pockets, unsure what to do or say. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I. The arsonist is the reason she’s dead, but I was the catalyst.” Damn, this might have been the healthiest I’d ever been. Until recently, I would have blamed myself for Tara’s death. Now, I only felt tangentially responsible. Martin’s counseling sessions must have been rubbing off on me through osmosis. “I’m going to get this bastard. Since he likes fire so much, I want to see him burn.”

  Voletek took a step back. “Has anyone ever told you you’re scary as hell?”

  “You haven’t even seen me at my worst.”

  “I don’t want to, but maybe you could pull a little of that out.” He opened the door to the break room. “Payne might run into burning buildings for a living, but that’s nothing compared to the two of us.”

  We showed Payne the feed from the twenty-seventh floor. He watched it without blinking an eye. “I remember now. You wouldn’t believe how many calls we get in the middle of the night or how many calls we get about toaster ovens. Toaster ovens and curling irons, those are the two most common when it comes to small appliance fires.”

  “We found the arsonist’s special sauce spread strategically throughout the apartment building,” I said, failing to disclose it was my apartment building, the only one I had left. “Specifically in the area you’re doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

  “I was checking for carbon monoxide emissions,” Payne said.

  “Why? Shouldn’t you have checked a fireplace or furnace, rather than beneath some guy’s door?”

  “It was an inspection. According to building records, he had a gas fireplace in his apartment. If it was leaking, low levels would have registered on the scanner.” Payne looked perplexed.

  Voletek took over, flipping to a feed of the fourteenth floor. “Based on the location of the fire and the amount of accelerant we found in the vicinity, we think the arsonist sprayed it after firefighters cleared the building. See this.” He pointed to the screen. “Now watch what happens.” The camera jolted upward, ruining our visual. “We were hoping you might have seen someone that night who didn’t belong there.”

  “I don’t remember much. I passed out orders and picked up the slack.” Payne must have realized he was a suspect. “Why the sudden concern?”

  “What about last night’s fire? What did you do there?” Voletek asked.

  “After the fire was out, I checked for signs of arson. The police have the reports, and I updated Ms. Parker.”

  “Did you see anyone suspicious last night?” Voletek had brought photos and bodycam footage from the uniformed officers on duty. He spread out an array of hard copies. “We looked but didn’t notice any familiar faces. Do you? You’re a constant at fires, and like you told Alex, since the police have opened an investigation into the arsonist, the BFI’s been reporting to every fire. Maybe someone stands out. Maybe you remember crossing paths one too many times.”

  Payne studied the photos for a long time, longer than any witness ever had. “I don’t know. I don’t recall any familiar faces in the crowd.”

  “Look again,” I said, “but this time, look at the men who were sent to put out the fires.”

  The lieutenant’s eyes went wide. “You think a firefighter is responsible for this?”

  “We’ve exhausted all other possibilities. The only people left who know about my investigation are firefighters. Whoever did this,” I opened the file Payne had left on my desk and stabbed at the photo with my pointer finger, “targeted me. You said it yourself. Someone found my apartment and torched it.”

  “But you weren’t inside. The arsonist probably found an empty apartment to stage the fire. How do you know this is about you? You told me last night you recently moved.”

  “Yeah, and my new apartment had to be evacuated because the arsonist doused the building in that same chemical cocktail.” I glared at Payne. “But at least I can rest assured there are no carbon monoxide leaks.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a few beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. “I can’t imagine a firefighter would risk his life and the lives of his brothers by intentionally setting dangerous structure fires.”

  “Lives don’t matter to this guy, at least not anymore. He broke from his MO,” Voletek said. “With the exception of Chef Easton, no one’s been present at any of these other fires. No one’s ever been hurt until now. Last night, someone died. This isn’t just arson. It’s murder. He doesn’t care. He’ll keep killing unless we stop him. Unless you help us stop him.”

  “The men I work with, the men who run into burning buildings, they save lives. They don’t take them. We don’t start fires. We stop them. What part of that don’t you understand? I don’t believe anyone I work with is capable of doing something like this.” But his expression said otherwise.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  Anger thundered into his words. “What about me?”

  “What do you drive off duty?”

  “A truck.” Payne’s gaze went from me to Voletek.

  “What color?” Voletek asked. “Is it the dark silver SUV I saw parked in the visitor space at the end of the row?” Payne nodded. “Did you ever eat at Sizzle?”

  “I’m not answering any more questions. I have work to do. I came here as a courtesy. We,” Payne made a wide circle to include the detective and me, “have to work together to stop this guy. I don’t know what this is, but I won’t be railroaded.” He glared at Voletek. “I’ll be speaking to your commanding officer. We work for the city. We’re on the same fucking team. It would serve you right to remember that, Detective, or you’ll find yourself in a world of hurt the next time you need the fire department to clear away an
accident or send EMTs to the scene of a shooting. God forbid what would happen if you needed us to put out a fire.”

  “The chances of that seem slim, unless you’re the one who started it,” Voletek retorted.

  For a moment, I thought the homicide cop was crazy. Then I realized he wanted Payne to hit him. It’d be grounds to arrest him. As it stood, it’d be a tough sell to get an arrest warrant unless Payne crossed the line. It was a good thing Cross Security had no idea where the line even was.

  Payne grabbed the file and stormed to the door. He spun, rather dramatically, to face me. “Ms. Parker, last night was traumatic. You’re not thinking clearly. When you come to your senses, give me a call. I want to stop this guy as much as you do.”

  I slumped into the chair, seeing the mistakes we made with perfect twenty-twenty hindsight. Hitting the speaker button, I dialed Renner’s extension. “Is Easton with you?”

  “Yeah.” Mumbling came from Renner’s end, and I figured the chef must have been responding to my question too. “He’s working on his shopping list for tonight. What do you want?”

  “Fuck it.” I pressed the button again. It’d be easier to go down the hall and ask in person if Easton recognized Payne.

  Voletek collected the photos. “Alex, go home. Go to a hotel. Go somewhere. Get some sleep. Get something to eat. Do something. Because right now, I’m still a little bit afraid of you.”

  “I’m not as scary as a fire since Payne didn’t quake in his boots.” I snorted. “How the hell did you ever become a homicide detective?”

  “Nepotism.”

  “Normally, I’d say that makes you an asshole, but y’know what, good for you.” Which meant I was at the point where I didn’t give a rat’s ass anymore. It was time to do something that mattered. “Show Easton the photos of the firemen you identified at the three different scenes. See if he recognizes any of them. If he does, ask if he knows a good recipe for preparing crow. In the unlikely event we’re wrong about Payne, we’ll be eating it soon enough.” But I didn’t think we were wrong. Payne was covering up the fires. I just had to prove it was intentional and not incompetence. The best way to do that would be to prove he had a vendetta against Chef Easton and me.