Smoke And Ashes. Danica Winters

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      Three years ago, after Allison’s death, the department had taken him out of the fire and put him in an office chair, but even as fire inspector things weren’t going as they should be. He’d been taking too long on investigations, but he rationalized it by telling himself that he was holding his responsibilities to a higher standard than his predecessor—a senior firefighter who had been happy playing by the unwritten rules while he sat back and waited to collect his pension.

      “I’ve got this, Hiller.”

      “Time is money, Jensen.”

      “Do I need to remind you of our motto: protecting lives and saving property? Lives come first, Hiller. Money isn’t even in the equation.”

      Hiller glowered at him but said nothing.

      “Just give me the men I need.”

      Hiller looked out at his crew. “The rookies can stay behind.” He pointed at two twentysomethings that had just been hired. “You guys monitor the house!”

      They nodded and walked to the front of the yard.

      Hiller turned back to him. “Get this handled. I need my guys. Our work actually makes a difference.” Then he stormed off.

      Kevin ignored the retreating cavalry as he looked down at Hiller’s notes. At least he had a description of the man—dark haired, around six feet tall and an average build.

      His handset sat in the window, and he stared at it for a moment before deciding to leave it there. He wasn’t a real firefighter; nothing he did was an emergency. As Hiller was more than happy to point out, his job rarely made a difference. He was little more than a glorified desk jockey, filling out paperwork and teaching kids about smoke detectors.

      He stepped out of the truck and slipped into his bunker gear and boots, making sure to grab his investigation kit and helmet before he made his way toward the house.

      There was less than an hour before Colter’s practice was over. He had to make a pass through the scene and take some notes, but then he could get across town to the high school to catch the tail end. If he hurried, Colter wouldn’t notice he’d been missing. Maybe he would even get a chance to talk to Heather and thank her for her help.

      Perhaps he could convince her to come to the barbecue. She always looked beautiful at those things—her naturally tan skin finally exposed after a winter hidden away. Last year, she’d worn her dark hair down. It had looked so soft, so touchable, just like her lips.

      Those lips. He’d love to make those lips his.

      He laughed at himself. Those lips, just like the rest of her, could never be his.

      The only thing he could ever be to her was a friend, and that was only if he hurried.

      He made his way around the back of the house, taking pictures every few feet. The door to the garage was unlocked and, as he opened it, the smell of burnt chemicals swirled around him. Thick black residue coated everything, including the woman’s car, but nothing was burned.

      On the wooden steps that led to the house, there was a pair of discarded women’s flip-flops and beside them was an oily black shoe print. The print had a star pattern at its center and rectangular squares around the sole’s edges. He snapped a picture. It was probably a leftover of someone walking through the oil slick in the garage while they’d made their way inside. He took a swab of the substance and tagged it as evidence to be sent to the crime lab.

      The whole downstairs dripped with water and his footsteps sounded like suction cups as he made his way through the kitchen. The small rectangular room was typical of a low-income home, linoleum on the floor, cheap oak cupboards and an apartment-sized refrigerator.

      In the living room, there was black, sticky ash on the walls where the smoke had billowed through the house. A thick layer of oily soot covered every surface making it impossible for him to be able to lift fingerprints.

      He followed the smoke pattern up the stairs, and the acrid smell grew stronger. In the center of the hallway, between two bedrooms and in front of the burned-out bathroom, was a black circular pattern.

      Another V-shaped pattern started at the floor, and at its center was an electrical outlet. He looked up. The light had melted and it pointed like a finger to the blackened circle.

      There was no doubt about it, he’d found his ignition point.

      He crouched and wafted the air toward him as he took in a long breath of the oily, dirty smoke. It had a faint chemical smell.

      Around the edges of the charred circle was a ring of white powder. He took another picture. Opening his bag, he pulled out an evidence can and scooped some of the white residue into it.

      This fire was no accident.

      An event like this, one started with chemical oxidizers, wasn’t the work of a novice. This was someone who knew the chemicals required to start a fire. Plus they likely knew most chemical reactions took several minutes to ignite—giving them enough time to flee the scene.

      If he had to bet, this was a person who would do it again.

      According to the notes, Elke had been in her bedroom at the time of the fire. If the perp had wanted to kill her, they would have built a fire that she couldn’t escape, yet they had kept it small, manageable.

      He turned to his clipboard and wrote: Suspect may not have meant to kill victim.

      He glanced down at his watch. Fifteen minutes before the end of practice. He was never going to make it to the baseball field in time to see Colter.

      He put away his clipboard, labeled the evidence and dropped it into his kit.

      The burden his job put on him was fine, but bit by bit and day by day, he could see Colter pulling away. It was even evident in the way his son walked, no longer the fumbling steps of a boy, but the saunter of a young man. Every time Kevin had a call lately, he had watched as Colter used this newfound gait to walk as far away as possible. After today and his broken promise, it would only get worse.

       Chapter Three

      David stomped into the house and slammed the door, the sound making Heather jump. The sweat on her palms made her hands stick to the edges of the kitchen counter, and they peeled off with a wet sound as she stood up to greet him.

      His dark hair was perfectly shaped and his eyes bright, as if he hadn’t had the same trouble she had sleeping last night. The only thing that gave away his anger was the slight tic of his lip, as though he was holding back a snarl.

      “Hi, David,” she said, trying to sound cool and indifferent but failing as fear and desperation crept into her voice.

      “Don’t talk to me. Don’t think I came home for you.”

      “Are you going to come to the barbecue with me?”

      “We’ll both be there. I would hardly say we’re going together.”

      Heather glanced over her shoulder toward Lindsay, who was sitting on the couch weaving thread СКАЧАТЬ