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He paused. “She’d told Colin she wanted to stay friends, but had ended the romantic side of their relationship a few weeks ago. He was still doing stuff for her and the kids, but she was trying to keep it on a platonic footing. She did mention the fishing trip to Tracey, and said the kids were excited about it.”
“You think he killed them because he could see her drawing away from him? And he killed the kids rather than let her take them from him too?”
“It’s a theory, and one with nothing but that witness statement and my instincts to back it up. And my instincts have been wrong before.”
Yet his theory meshed with some of the unlikely and terrible things she and her fellow med students had seen during their rotations.
“It’s tough with addicts,” he mused. “They’ll make it sound like things are going great, even if they’re not, but it’s harder to hide that from close friends who’ve seen you do the spiral. Like Tracey. Every once in a while, who’s lying isn’t who you thought. Colin might be playing the martyr, the hero who just wanted to do what’s best for his troubled girlfriend and her kids.”
He sighed irritably. “Or it could be exactly what it sounds like. It isn’t like the crime shows. Usually the one you expect is lying is, and that would be the drug addict. She wasn’t doing as well as it seemed. She got pissed, stressed, came back home. Maybe gave the kids medicine which made them too sleepy to wake up and try to escape the fire. She wasn’t careful about the space heater in their room, so the fire starts after she shoots up. They die of smoke inhalation.”
He met her troubled gaze. “Coroner confirmed that part. They never felt it, so that’s one mercy. Fewer people than you think are awake when the fire reaches them.”
Though he was reassuring her, and this was part of his job, no one got used to seeing dead children. She thought again of how he’d had to look at those small bodies in their beds, sift through the aftermath after they were removed. Look at the remains of their burned toys and bedding.
She put her hand over his. “You have pretty good instincts. It’s good you follow them to the end, to be sure.”
He squeezed her hand, and they drove for a few moments in silence. Since she wanted to ease the shadows in his expression, she moved the hand to his thigh. “Just FYI, it’s really hot to watch you work.”
“Oh yeah? I thought you were looking a little heated. I was going to suggest we turn on the AC.”
She elbowed him. “I always prefer the outdoor air unless it’s sweltering. But on the topic of your hotness, I’ve been thinking of that calendar. Maybe we should organize one for the arson investigators. I’m willing to help, purely to fight that kind of discrimination.”
“I’m thinking I’d prefer a calendar of female firefighters. Strike a blow for feminism. They can pose with kittens, and you can call it Firefighters with Puss—”
He took her punch in the biceps with a laugh and slowed down, turning onto a gravel driveway next to a dented black mailbox. “This is Rufus’s place. He’s the one collecting things for the family.”
As they bumped down the drive, a trailer came into view. Though it had seen better days, the grass around it was mowed, and some spring daffodils sprouted along the cinderblock foundation. A flagpole planted in the front yard flapped with the American flag. The blue-tinted police version, a solid blue stripe in the middle, flew beneath it.
“He’s a police officer?”
“Yeah. He works in a different precinct, not downtown, which was why I told him I’d bring him the stuff. Save him the trip.”
A burly black man was sitting on the front stoop with a cup of coffee and a newspaper in hand. He had short-cropped hair and beard, and wore a Richmond PD uniform, the dark blue shirt open over his clean white T-shirt.
He lifted a hand, his lips creasing in a smile. When his gaze moved to Les in the passenger seat, his brows lifted in interested speculation, though he didn’t seem surprised to see Brick with someone.
Brick had Les wait as he circled around to open her door and hand her out of the vehicle.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “Not every time.”
“My mother raised me right. Plus, if I tell you to wait, it gives me a charge when you obey me.”
She was glad Rufus wasn’t close enough to hear the conversation, or see the hot flush that traveled right from her thighs to her face. Brick sent her a wicked grin. “People are going to think you have a medical condition if you keep turning the color of a tomato,” he observed.
“I am going to punch you again. Harder.”
Capturing her fist in his hand, he opened it up to lace their fingers together, and then tugged her toward the mobile home. Rufus’s knowing glance told her he might have read their body language as easily as if he’d heard the conversation word for word. But his greeting was casual and friendly.
“Well, look at you, bringing me a pretty girl first thing in the morning. A nice change from your ugly face. Either of you want some coffee?” Rufus lifted his mug toward Brick. World’s Biggest Asshole was printed on it. “I’m drinking out of yours, but I could spit in another and use a shop rag to clean it out.”
“Now Rufus, don’t lie. You know your momma gave you that mug. It’s special.” Brick grinned.
“I actually have some nice clean cups,” Rufus assured Les. “And a good dark roast blend. Starbuck’s Café Verona.”
“I’m good, but thank you.”
“Rufus, this is my friend, Les Wilder. She’s a third-year med student. Les, this is Rufus Cole. He calls himself a sergeant, but that doesn’t mean he outranks me.”
