Burning Embers

by G. K. Parks

  “I’ll do what I can to assist from here, but I’m not going home. I made you a promise.”

  “Alex, it’s fine.” He pulled down the covers. “You have to go.”

  “No, I don’t. Chef Easton will be fine. I’ll talk to Renner and Detective Voletek and make sure of it. You don’t see Lucien hopping on the first plane and heading home, and neither am I.”

  “Okay.” Though it didn’t sound like he believed me. “Sleep on it, and let me know in the morning if you’ve changed your mind.”

  I pushed away from the table, shedded most of my clothes, slipped into his discarded shirt, and turned off the light. Wrapping my arms around him, I didn’t let go until he fell asleep.

  Thirty-one

  “Coffee?” Cross asked, sliding the ceramic pot across the table.

  I nodded, filling my mug. I’d been up most of the night. After Martin fell asleep and I sobered up, I called the office. With the three hour time difference, it didn’t matter that it was five a.m. when I placed the call, it was eight at home, and Renner had already been at work for an hour. After the hospital treated Easton’s burns, Renner brought him back to the office. At the moment, our client was asleep on the couch.

  The protection detail Cross assigned to guard Easton’s house didn’t get a good look at the firebomber. The vehicle ran dark. They barely had time to notice the sound of the engine before the glass bottle crashed into the front window. The window only cracked, but enough of the burning liquid made its way inside, which set the curtains on fire.

  Easton and the security team tried to put it out by suffocating the flames, but that didn’t work. Thankfully, the fire department arrived in record time, saving Easton’s house. The front porch took the most damage. The wood railings and shutters needed replacing, but other than that, there wasn’t much that could be done for the scorch marks on the concrete path, aside from a few fresh coats of paint.

  “Renner said Easton’s safe for now.” I took a sip, eyeing the tower of breakfast pastries and fruit in the center of the table. “What do we know so far?”

  Cross waved down a server and ordered ham and eggs. Stress usually killed my appetite, but for some reason, I was famished, probably on account of last night’s drinking. After ordering an omelet and hash browns, I reached for a blueberry muffin and waited for my boss to answer the question.

  “I spoke to the police. They’ve had surveillance teams on Galen Strader and Dante Bisset since they were released from custody. Supposedly, their whereabouts can be accounted for last night, but if the police are correct in their assumptions about Strader and Bisset, it’s possible one of them did this or paid someone else to firebomb Easton’s house.”

  “What about Asher York?”

  “At this time, his whereabouts are unknown.”

  “Is that what the police said?”

  “That’s what I said.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t like being kept in the dark. I’m in the information gathering business, so when I have questions, I expect answers to be readily available. I also don’t expect a case Cross Security wrote off as closed to come back and bite me in the ass, but that’s exactly what happened yesterday. Care to explain why?”

  “People make mistakes.”

  “Not my people. Not usually.”

  “It’s a good thing Easton Lango isn’t a Cross Security client.”

  “Let me start again. What have you been investigating?”

  “The fire at Sizzle.”

  Cross’s eyes went skyward. As usual, he found our interactions frustrating. “Specifically?”

  “The fire at Sizzle,” I repeated slower. “Mr. Haskell and his team looked into it for us. They found lard smeared inside a vent leading into the dining room. He believes that’s how the blaze jumped the fire barrier. He also found chemical residue on the wood paneling and baseboards that contributed to roasting the place.”

  “What did the fire department say?”

  “They’re waiting for the police to build a case before changing their story. We went through Sizzle’s inspection records and the truck company’s report. The sprinklers and alarms were functioning. It just wasn’t enough to put out the blaze,” an idea raced across my brain, “just like Easton and the team couldn’t put out the fire at his house.”

  “Do you think they mixed lard into the Molotov cocktail?” The server returned with our plates, and Cross picked up his knife and fork and cut his ham into precise, neat squares.

  “Not lard.” I put my muffin down, my empty stomach forgotten, and told Cross about the sealant, Haskell’s suspicions, and my research into the matter.

  “Since the sealant has a unique chemical composition, I’ll send techs to collect samples from Sizzle and Lango’s house. It’s probably a long-shot, but if it’s actually an unknown form of accelerant, we might be able to link the two fires to one person.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” I reached for my fork and dug into the omelet. “But let’s not lose sight of the actual problem.”

  “We still don’t know who wants our client dead.”

  “Our client?” I choked.

  “Bridget’s footing the bill. She wants the best for her ex.” Cross waved his fork in the air. “I don’t understand it, but Easton Lango’s now our client. Do you still want point? You’re on vacation.”

  “I’ll assist remotely, but you should give it to Renner.”

  “For once, we agree.” The wheels in Cross’s head turned. “I assume you and Bennett performed your due diligence. You checked into family, friends, and business associates.”

  I nodded, wondering if it was strange Bridget Stockton was willing to foot the bill. I ran the possibility that she might have been inadvertently to blame for the attack by Cross, who made a call. Most likely, that wasn’t the case, but misplaced affections by a stalker or admirer could manifest in strange and dangerous ways. Bridget Stockton made a living saving dangerous people. Maybe one of them wanted to return the favor.

  “You have yet to tell me why you kept digging into the fire. What am I missing? Bennett said the police had a solid foundation for their case and Easton Lango paid our fee. Bennett thought our work was done.”

  “So did I.”

  “Bullshit.” He dropped his silverware. “Did you continue investigating because you questioned the PD’s conviction or skills? Because that I can understand.”

  “No, I just…”

  “What, Alex?” For once he didn’t bark the question at me. A flicker of compassion lined his face. “What am I missing?”

  “It doesn’t make sense. Why does Dante Bisset hate Easton so much? Why would he help Strader? He doesn’t work for him. What is going on?”

  “The police said Strader paid Bisset and promised him a position at Bouillon as soon as one opens up. Doesn’t that answer your question?”

  “Sure, it makes sense when you’re talking about spying on a guy and stealing his secret recipes, but burning down a restaurant is extreme. Strader wanted to benefit from Easton’s talents. How can he do that when Easton doesn’t have a restaurant? Plus, Easton and Bisset were friends. What changed? How could they go from one extreme to the other without Easton realizing it?”

  “Strader made Bisset a better offer. It happens. We know they broke into Easton’s house,” Cross pointed out. “It gave Strader the best of both worlds. He didn’t have to compete for business, and he could still steal Easton’s recipes. Plus, it gave Bisset everything he ever wanted, less competition for when he breaks out on his own, extra cash, and a new opportunity on the horizon. That trumps friendship any day, and it gave Bisset a chance to get revenge on Easton for being an asshole boss. Isn’t that something most people dream about?”

  “I’ve never entertained ideas about setting your office on fire.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Cross dabbed at his mouth. “You must admit, Strader’s plan is brilliant, and now with a second arson attempt, it leaves the door wide open for the possibility of third par
ty involvement, clearing Strader and Bisset of the more serious charge, even though they are guilty.”

  I didn’t buy it. “Strader and Bisset confessed to everything except setting the fire. We still don’t have any proof, and neither do the police. There must be something to find somewhere. The tub of lard isn’t enough.”

  “That’s why you went back to Sizzle? To look for more evidence?”

  “It didn’t help.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure. The police found a tiny piece of thermoplastic inside the lock. One can only assume it was part of a plastic key that broke off. The fire melted and misshaped it, but we know where it came from.”

  “How are you always two steps ahead of me?” The vein at my temple pulsed. “I don’t know anything about a piece of plastic in the lock. How the hell am I supposed to know where it came from?”

  “Oh really? Why did you tell the cops to look inside the lock?”

  “To check for damage.” Suddenly, I understood the significance of Cross’s words. “You think someone printed a copy of Sizzle’s key?”

  “Isn’t that what you believe? When we traced the bug to Strader, we checked his other recent purchases. He owns a 3D printer. All Strader had to do was review security footage from Bouillon once he became head chef. It might be why he bought into the restaurant, or he got Bisset to show him his key to Sizzle. Either way, Strader could have easily gotten access and had the means.”

  “I must be a genius to think to look inside the lock.”

  Cross stared, exasperated. “You mean to tell me you didn’t know about any of this before you told the police to check the lock? You and Renner had us comb through Strader’s purchase history. You knew he had a 3D printer.”

  “Full disclosure, I never read those reports. Renner did. The reason I told Detective Voletek to check the lock was because it was the only place we didn’t look. Voletek believed it was arson, but he needed proof someone entered the restaurant and intentionally set the fire. As far as we knew, Easton was the only person inside, but this changes everything.” It also knocked Bisset off my suspect list for the arson. He wouldn’t have needed to replicate the key in order to break in and set the fire. At most, he was an accomplice, unwitting or otherwise.

  “You really didn’t know about the key?”

  “No.”

  Realizing this was the first time I heard the news, Cross chuckled. “This is why we don’t share with the cops. They never share with us.”

  “How did you hear about it? Voletek didn’t tell me, and Renner didn’t mention anything.”

  “I have my ways.” Cross glanced at the time. He had somewhere to be. “Since I told the police Strader owns a 3D printer, the PD is testing his plastic polymer to see if it’s a match to the polymer found inside the lock.”

  “But Strader and Bisset have alibis for last night. Don’t you think whoever burned down Sizzle also tried to burn down Easton’s house? We’ve been looking at this all wrong. The chefs threatened Easton, but they didn’t set the fires. That’s why they won’t confess. They didn’t do it.” The key, though appearing to point to Strader, actually exonerated him as far as I was concerned. He could have bartered with Bisset for access to an actual key. The lard might have been the arsonist’s attempt to conceal the actual crime. I tried to explain that theory to Cross, but my boss shot me down.

  “They threw a brick with an attached death threat through Easton’s window. That’s a fact. Don’t get hung-up on their alibis. Those aren’t difficult to come by. It’s the detective’s job to break them, and if he can’t, we will. Strader did this. We just have to figure out how he pulled it off.”

  It sounded like Cross was ready to play by his own rules and color outside the lines. I picked up my fork and scooped up some hash browns. His theory didn’t fit. Mine did. Strader and Bisset knew the police were watching. They were already in enough trouble after confessing to the property damage, breaking and entering, and vandalism. I watched those interviews. They might have obsessive tendencies when it came to cooking and competition, but launching a forward attack on Easton a week later was suicide. They were too narcissistic to be that self-destructive.

  “You’re wrong.”

  Cross finished his ham and eggs and grabbed an orange from the tower. He peeled it slowly. “Why? Explain it to me.”

  “It would be ridiculous. Strader and Bisset must know they’d be prime suspects. If anything happens to Easton, the police are automatically going to look into the men who confessed to breaking into his house and threatening him.”

  “That’s why they improved their technique. No brick. No note. And the vehicle couldn’t be identified. They learned from their mistakes. They tried to kill Easton once, and he shut down and hid. So they let it go, but now Easton is days away from the official launch of Easton’s Eats. They can’t wait for the heat to die down. They have to stop him from gaining even more popularity and prestige.”

  “Why didn’t they set fire to his food truck?”

  Cross leaned forward. “They don’t know where it is.” He scanned the vicinity for signs of eavesdroppers. “I had it moved to a secure lot after the break-in. Since they couldn’t destroy another of Easton’s restaurants, they tried to destroy him.”

  “I’m telling you the threats and the fire aren’t related. They are separate incidents. That’s why we missed it. Easton presented them together, and coincidences are rare.”

  “I thought you were taught they don’t exist,” Cross muttered bitterly.

  “This is the exception, not the rule.” I finished my omelet and tore off a piece of muffin. My thoughts went to the research I conducted and the research and claims Haskell and Payne had given me. “There’s a pattern.” I blinked, realizing I’d overlooked an obvious fact. Several other recent fires had similar characteristics. That’s why Haskell believed a construction company was to blame. He thought the decimated buildings were a result of subpar materials or shoddy workmanship, but my digging didn’t back up his theory. “Did Dilbert Haskell approach you about investigating other similar fires?”

  “No.” Cross tapped a slice of orange impatiently against his plate. He knew I was on to something or too stubborn to accept defeat.

  “He probably didn’t get the chance since you fled the state.” I wondered if Haskell had swabbed other fires. The unidentified substance we believed to be sealant might have shown up at other fires, and we just didn’t know about it. “We’re dealing with a repeat offender. If I’m right, that substance we found coating the baseboards and paneling is part of his MO.”

  “A serial arsonist? Are you serious?”

  “I am.” Dialing the office, I requested Cross’s lab experts visit the other locations from my research and check for the mystery substance. When I hung up, I couldn’t decide if Cross was impressed or enraged.

  Lucien signed the receipt for breakfast and dragged me into an empty meeting room just off the hotel lobby. “You realize what you’re saying sounds crazy.”

  “Eh, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Thirty-two

  It was Friday afternoon, and I was itching to return home. No, Parker, my internal voice scolded. Cross and I agreed to let Renner take point. Chef Easton’s case was his until Cross assigned it to me. Renner could handle this, and unlike Cross, he’d listen to what I had to say.

  Video conference calls weren’t my preferred method of communication, but under the circumstances, I didn’t have much say in the matter. The lab techs on the thirty-second floor had already collected samples from three different locations Haskell had given us. Two of them tested positive for traces of our unknown substance.

  “It isn’t sealant,” the tech said from the bottom right corner of my screen. “We’ve determined the ingredients. Most are fairly common, but we’ll see if we find anything strange when we check with local suppliers.”

  “Thanks.” I shifted my gaze to Renner who had his head turned away while he furiously scribbled notes. “Bennett,
what are you doing?”

  “Wading through this shit.” He held a photo up to the webcam. “That’s the only image the security cameras caught from the firebombing last night. Our suspect is a white male based on his exposed wrist.”

  “That leaves a lot of possibilities.” I leaned closer to the screen. “The security cameras didn’t see anything else?”

  “It was too dark.”

  “What about thermal or night vision? Cross uses the best and newest technology.”

  “The fire knocked out both. Though, we did glimpse the approaching vehicle. It didn’t have any plates, and the driver remained shrouded. We can’t ID him. Though we know he was driving some kind of sports utility vehicle. Since no one noticed it approaching, it must be dark. I’m guessing black or blue.”

  “It’s a start.”

  “Not much of one.” Renner glanced down at the screen, but the tech had hung up on us. “I shared our footage with Voletek. He figures the vehicle was stolen. We questioned Easton about it, but he didn’t recognize it. The police are looking into Bouillon’s staff again, but they don’t have any real leads.”

  “Did Voletek tell you about the piece of plastic key he found inside the lock?”

  “No, but Cross did. After last night, Jake promised he wouldn’t leave me hanging again.” Renner saw the disbelief on my face. “I trust him, Alex.”

  “He’s kept us in the dark this entire time.”

  “Regardless, what I can’t figure out is why a serial arsonist has set his sights on Chef Easton. We’ve run through Easton’s background. He’s aired all his dirty laundry. Our client has a checkered past and questionable ethics, but aside from Bridget, I don’t see who he’s hurt to warrant this type of retaliation. I’ve checked under every rock, no stone unturned, and all that. I can’t figure out who wants him dead, unless I’m staring right at the guy and not seeing it.”