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And in light of the timing of tonight’s fire on the heels of Les’s call, plus Sarge’s speculation that the man may have unearthed a new clue on one of his vexing investigations, arson was feeling more and more like a reasonable possibility.
HadLes been digging into old cases?
If so, could that have made someone nervous enough to take drastic action?
Like commit a murder?
She swallowed past the taste of soot permeating her mouth. Moistened her heat-parched lips.
While that was far-fetched, it wasn’t impossible. People who did bad things often went to great lengths to keep their crimes from surfacing.
Meaning this could be one of the rare residential arson fires.
And once the embers burned themselves out and the smoke wafted away, it would be her responsibility to sift through the charred remains of Les’s home for clues about what had happened here tonight.
Well, hers and the ATF agent’s.
A daunting task in any situation, but more so with such a high-profile death. Sarge would want updates every day.
So she’d dive in and pull out all the stops to come up with answers.
But as she withdrew her creds and approached the older couple on a lawn two doors down from the burning structure, her stomach clenched.
Because every instinct in her body said that solving this one wasn’t going to be as simple as finding a skateboard-toting teen whose single, providential tip had given her a win in the early days of her new job.
A HOUSE FIRE.
Quashing a sigh, Marc Davis hung a right and eased back on the gas pedal as the morning light filtered through the maple trees lining the quiet street, their leaves showing the first faint hint of red.
What a comedown after four years on the ATF’s National Response Team and the major investigations he’d overseen in the Chicago office for almost a decade.
But the transfer to St. Louis two weeks ago had been his choice, and as the low man on the totem pole, he couldn’t expect to get all the plum assignments despite his experience and credentials.
So he’d suck it up and give his all to whatever jobs landed in his lap. And he’d do it with a smile. For Nan.
“In fifty yards, turn right. Yourdestination will be on the right.”
He followed the instructions from his cell, but once he swung onto the street, he didn’t need his phone to direct him to last night’s fire. The blackened wreckage that had once been a house was like a smudged thumbprint on the cul-de-sac of small, well-tended homes. Much of the roof had caved in, and while the scorched brick walls were still standing, most of the windows had shattered.
As he stopped a few yards from the back bumper of the patrol car parked in front of the ruins, an officer got out of the vehicle and walked toward him.
Marc slid from behind the wheel and held out his creds. “I’m supposed to meet a fire investigator here at eight to do a walk-through. Brianne Tucker.”
The officer skimmed the ID and inclined his head toward a dark sedan parked in the curve of the cul-de-sac. “That’s hers. She’s been here since first light. You’ll find her in the back.” He handed over the scene log.
“Thanks.” Frowning, Marc signed in and ducked under the yellow police tape. If the County investigator had wanted to start earlier, why hadn’t she told him that in her response to the text he’d sent her last night, after his boss handed off this assignment?
Tamping down his annoyance, he skirted the remains of the structure, cinders crunching under his sturdy boots. Until heput on the rest of his safety gear, he’d keep his distance from the house. But first he’d make his presence known.
He rounded the corner. Paused.
A tall woman in loose coveralls and a hard hat was examining the back door. As she leaned closer, homing in on the lock, a breeze teased her long, wavy blond hair. She brushed it aside, leaving a smudge on her cheek.
When it became clear she didn’t intend to straighten up anytime soon, he cleared his throat.
She jerked upright and spun toward him, posture coiled and taut. Like she expected trouble.
Curious.
