Fireproof (10 page)

“Any signs of the timing device?” she asked, not making a move.

Tully shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Fire chief believes they found the start point on the outside of the first building,” Racine said. “Preliminary guess is some kind of chemical reaction, because of the intensity of the fire. Said it looked similar to last week’s.”

“There was gasoline poured along the alley from the front of the building to the Dumpster,” Tully told her. “It was against the brick wall. Burned up the line of accelerant without going anywhere else.”

“The alley wasn’t the start point?”

“Not even close. It might have been an afterthought. And a poorly executed one.”

“The killer didn’t even try to burn the body?”

Tully shrugged. “If that was his intention he didn’t do a very good job. The guy torches two buildings but his murder victim doesn’t quite catch fire. Doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh, and there was another body inside the first building,” Racine said casually, almost absentmindedly. “Or at least someone’s head. They haven’t found the body yet.”

“Stan said something about pressure in the skull building up enough to blow it off the body.”

“Yeah,” Racine added with a roll of her eyes. “Gives new meaning to snap, crackle, and pop.”

“Only the skull looks bashed in. Has a hole about the size of a fist.” Tully held up his own to emphasize how big.

“You’re thinking he killed the person inside, too. But then why leave one body out by the Dumpster?”

“Maybe the one inside was some poor schmuck who was sleeping there. Maybe a homeless person who saw him.” Racine’s turn to shrug.

Truth was, they couldn’t answer any of those questions until
they started piecing together the trace evidence or found out who the victims were.

Maggie’s phone started ringing. She pulled it out and was going to send it to voice mail when she saw the caller ID. She shot Tully a look. “You told Gwen?”

“I haven’t talked to Gwen since midnight.”

“Racine?”

“Gwen Patterson is not on my speed dial.”

“But Ben is?”

Racine’s eyes went wide.
Busted
. Her head turned, hands went up in surrender. No denial.

Maggie finally answered her phone.

“Hey, Gwen.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. A few stitches. That’s all. How in the world did you find out?”

“I’m watching the news. They were showing the fire. Then you were trying to take away some TV crew’s camera.”

“They showed that on the news?” Maggie glanced at Tully. He pulled a small plastic cartridge from his pocket.

“Just as you’re trying to ask them something, a building explodes into flames behind you. They said you were rushed to the hospital. Are you sure you’re okay? And why am I hearing about this on TV? Or do I need to wait for Jeffery Cole’s profile piece on you tonight to find out?”

“Profile piece?”

“An hour long. You either intrigued him or really pissed him off.”

That’s when Maggie’s call waiting started beeping in her ear.

“I’ve got another call, Gwen. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Are you really okay?”

She hesitated too long, and before she responded Gwen added, “Please be careful.”

Maggie took the next call without looking at her caller ID.

“This is Maggie O’Dell.”

“O’Dell. I just heard what happened.”

It was her boss. But Assistant Director Kunze didn’t sound angry. It was worse—he sounded concerned.

“You didn’t tell me anything about a profile piece.”

Sam Ramirez paced the narrow space in the sound studio. Their feature on this morning’s fire had made the national circuit.

“Big Mac loves the idea,” Jeffery told her from his perch beside Abe Nadira, whose long fingers were playing the computer keyboards as smoothly as if they belonged to a musical instrument.

He was referring to Donald Malcolm, the bureau chief who had taken over programming when ratings dropped last year.

To Nadira, Jeffery said, “You can search and use footage from our affiliates, right?”

“Yes, I can. As well as any syndicated sources.”

“Jeffery, the feds are already going to be pissed I didn’t give them this morning’s film. Do you really want an FBI agent gunning for you?”

“She already has it bad for me, Sam. You saw her. She has a major hard-on for me.”

“No, somehow I missed that.”

Sam rubbed her hand over her face. She was tired. She wanted to go home. Her clothes and hair—hell, probably her skin, too—all
reeked of smoke. Jeffery had showered and changed. He kept spare shirts and trousers in his locker, all of them immaculately pressed.

The man was a neat freak when it came to his appearance. Probably an occupational hazard from being in front of a camera. Even in third-world countries he managed to have creases in his trousers and gel in his short-cropped hair. In fact, she had been surprised this morning when he showed up with a brown stain on his shirt cuff. He’d shrugged when she pointed it out, but she saw him tuck it up into his jacket later.

Sam brushed at the grass and cinder stains on her jeans when she really wanted to peel them off and throw them in the washing machine. She shouldn’t have taken off her ball cap. Her unruly curls flew around her face, wild snakes of hair that smelled like burned toast. She wouldn’t blame Nadira if he threw her out of his editing studio, but Jeffery’s excitement could be contagious and Nadira had it bad. Though you’d never be able to tell. The man looked perpetually bored. His mouth remained a thin line. His knobby shaved head stayed put while his half-lidded eyes darted along from one computer monitor to the next in line, three rows of them, five screens in each row.

In fact, neither man noticed her presence despite her pacing behind their captain chairs. Their attention was focused on the computer images.

“By the way,” Jeffery said without looking at her, “good job on keeping the film. Even I didn’t see that coming.”

“I learn from the best.” Actually her mother would say that the Diablo was rubbing his evil off on her. “Ever since Afghanistan I keep a spare.”

Two years ago, when Jeffery managed to get them embedded
with some U.S. troops, Sam shot some amazing footage of a tribal court carrying out justice on two of the village’s women, a mother and daughter. Their Afghan sponsors were not pleased. A huge argument started, and in the middle of the drama Sam sensed what was coming. Without anyone noticing, she inconspicuously switched out the footage in her camera with film she already had in her pocket. When one of the Afghan soldiers demanded the film, Sam opened the camera and grudgingly handed it over. She watched as he destroyed it, smashing it to bits with his rifle butt, right in front of them.

That footage ended up winning a feature for her and Jeffery, sweeping award after award but also winning the assurance that they could never return to Afghanistan.

“So what footage did Dudley Do-Right end up with?” Jeffery asked.

“I had extras made of that zoo feature we did last year.”

He swiveled back to grin up at her. “Lions and tigers and bears? Oh my. And what will you tell him when he comes knocking?”

“It was an honest mistake.” She shrugged, palms out, mimicking a gesture Jeffery recognized as one of his, and he nodded with a bigger grin. “You’re always telling me it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission. I told you, I learn from the best.”

“Now you’re giving me a hard-on.” It was Jeffery’s highest compliment.

But he was already spinning back to the computer monitors.

“Why don’t you go on home for a few hours, Sam?”

“You sure?”

“Yes, you deserve it. You did good. We don’t have anything until the documentary interview later.”

When she still didn’t make a move he waved his hand over his
shoulder. “Go. Get a shower. You don’t want to smell worse than the prison inmates. Take a nap for all I care.”

“Okay, I will.”

She could use the break. Jeffery had woken her shortly after midnight. She had gotten only an hour of sleep. She was starting to feel it, but Jeffery hadn’t gotten any more sleep than she had and the man looked energized.

Sam could see his latest obsession unfolding on the monitors. Like a dog with a bone, it was too late to tell him to let go of this one. But something told her
this one
wasn’t the same as his other obsessions. It could make or break his career. It was a waste of her time to say anything. She knew Jeffery Cole well enough to know he’d do whatever he wanted.

Sam started for the door before Jeffery could change his mind. She shook her head, glancing one last time as monitor after monitor began filling with different images of Agent Margaret O’Dell.

“I’m fine,” Maggie told her boss, repeating the mantra as her breakfast did an unpleasant flip. “Just a few stitches.”

Tully caught her eyes and frowned. Racine stepped away. Okay, so she wasn’t that convincing.

“I heard you made a trip to the ER. Are you okay?”

But had he seen the news yet? He actually sounded concerned, so no, he probably hadn’t heard about the news clip.

“If this assignment is too …” He paused as if looking for the correct wording. “If it’s too difficult considering the circumstances—” And he let the rest hang.

This was not typical Kunze. For more than a year he had berated, dogged, and insulted her. Several times Maggie had considered transferring to the Department of Homeland Security at the suggestion of Deputy Director Charlie Wurth. He and Maggie had worked together on several cases. She liked Wurth, respected and trusted him, which were three things she could not say about Kunze.

But in many ways DHS would be starting over for her. She had worked long and hard, fought battles beyond those with killers, to get where she was. She had not run from anything or anyone in a
very long time, and she had decided she wouldn’t start now. She wouldn’t let Kunze push her out.

Ever since the case last fall, the case in Nebraska, Kunze’s crash tactics appeared watered down. He pulled punches and held back his ordinary slew of criticism. If Maggie didn’t know better, she’d swear he’d gone a bit soft, even to the point of sounding conciliatory.

Now, as she let too much dead air float between them, her eyes met Tully’s. In his eyes she saw the same distrust, the suspicion. And she realized, of course, it couldn’t be that simple or easy with Kunze. Trust was something earned. Kunze hadn’t gotten close to being there. Immediately she felt her guard come back up into place, just as it had earlier with Racine.

“I’m fine with the case, Director Kunze.” She gave the lie her best shot but still couldn’t bring herself to call him “sir.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. Part of my job is to make sure you’re fine.”

Maggie winced and tightened her grip on the phone, preparing herself for the punch. He had spun it just the way she expected. Same ol’ Kunze.
Spider, welcome to my web
.

“So, in order to make certain you are fine, I’ve made an appointment for you,” he said. “To start the psychological evaluation we talked about. Your first session is tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock. I’ll leave it to Dr. Kernan to decide how often and how long he thinks you’ll need.”

“Dr. Kernan? Dr. James Kernan?”

“That’s right. If you have any questions, call my office.”

More dead air. Only this time Kunze was gone.

He was good, Maggie had to admit. She didn’t see that coming. And James Kernan. Who knew the old geezer was still alive? This would be worse than she’d even imagined.