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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Tell me something good,” Cooper said as he took his seat at the head of the table.
Kai sat forward and pushed two sheets of paper toward him. On each one was a grainy black-and-white photograph, a capture from security camera footage.
Zach slid the papers the rest of the way to Cooper, who picked them up and squinted at them. The print quality sucked, so he could make out what was happening but not who was doing it. What was happening: three men, dressed head-to-toe in the dark clothes all outlaws wore when they were doing dark deeds in the dark. One was at the front of his house and two were at the back, all pouring or splashing something from what were obviously five-gallon gas cans.
Three men. A crew.
Cooper shoved the papers away. “We already knew it was arson. I need to know who, and that doesn’t tell me shit.”
“It’s clearer on the camera footage itself.” Kai opened his tablet, tapped and swiped for a minute, then pushed the tablet toward the head of the table.
Cooper sighed as he reached for the tablet. “I never thought I’d say this, but I miss Apollo’s PowerPoints.” As Zach chuckled, Cooper told Kai, “Back in Tulsa, Apollo has a whole projector-screen setup so everybody can see what’s on his tablet or whatever at the same time. Why don’t we have that?”
Kai stared at him for a second. “Never occurred to me. That’s boardroom shit. ”
“Thisisour boardroom,” Zach said. “Where we figure out our work.” He turned to Cooper. “Sorry. I was point on tech shit for the setup. I should’ve thought of it, too.”
Cooper waved them both off. “Too late to sweat it for today. But let’s get that set up, yeah?” After Kai and Zach both nodded, Cooper tapped the tablet to start the video.
He could make out more detail, yes, and got twice the rage watching these assholes douse his house in gasoline—and one of them break in to continue the dousing inside—but as for identifying features, he had nothing more than men who owned dark hoodies, beanies, bandanas, jeans, shoes, gloves. He supposed if he worked hard enough, he could estimate height, but nothing else. Even build was a question, under the bulk of the hoodies.
One thing: it was pretty clear Siena hadn’t been a target herself. Just an innocent bystander. If the wind had been blowing a different direction, the skinny asshole with the arrowhead Adam’s apple who lived on the other side would have been burned out with him instead.
He wasn’t sure if it was better for Siena’s house to be collateral damage than if she’d been a target, but it definitely wasn’t worse. The question was academic, anyway; her life had been just as gutted as his own.
“This pisses me off all over again, but I still don’t know who the fuck I’m looking at.”
Kai nodded. “Yeah, they came in either knowing about the cameras or prepared for them to be there. But there’s a time stamp. We can see exactly what time they walked up to the house, and we know they weren’t loitering beforehand. They’re moving fast and like they had a plan in place. Can I see that again?”
Cooper handed the tablet to Zach, who handed it to Kai. Kai swiped and tapped, then turned the screen to Cooper and held it. “That’s them walking onto your property. And look.” He spread his fingers on the screen, zooming in.
Cooper leaned in and squinted at the screen. “The back fender of a pickup. Taillight makes it a Chevy. Mid-2000s.”
“You know your trucks.”
Zach chuckled quietly, and Cooper figured they were both thinking the same thing: in Tulsa, nobody would have made a statement like that. They were all mechanics or planned to be.
“Been a mechanic for a long time. Cars, trucks, bikes, whatever, I know ‘em.”
“Right. Well, I know cars pretty good, too, but not enough to call out a make and year by the look of the side of a taillight. I had to do some research. That’s a 2005 Chevy Silverado 1500. Extended cab.” Kai took his tablet back again, swiped around on it again, and showed it to Cooper again. “And this is an extended-cab 2005 Chevy Silverado 1500 carrying three men as it blows a red light on South Casino less than ten minutes before we see three men carrying gas cans walking up to your house.”
Cooper didn’t need to squint at that photo. He saw the license plate clearly, and he grinned. “So you know who did it. All this”—he flapped his hand dismissively—“was to build suspense. You’re more like Apollo than I thought.”
“Just earnin’ my keep, boss,” Kai said with a smirk. “The truck is registered to one Glenn Cooney of Las Vegas. I peeked in at the DMV, and that’s Cooney driving, yeah. Beside him is Freddie Scott, also of Las Vegas. I can’t make out the third guy enough to ID him, but I figure when we find Cooney and Scott, we’ll have the other guy, too.”
“I don’t know these names. Why’d they come for me? Who’re they working for?”
“Glenn Cooney is Rob Sullivan’s uncle. Freddie Scott’s Sullivan’s cousin, also Cooney’s nephew.”
“Shit,” said Zach.
Reed whistled.
Ben sighed.
Lonnie let out half of a surprised chuckle.
