Page 87 of Playing With Fire

“I assume you have no news,” Silas said flatly.

Jodi glanced from one man to another. A small muscle twitched on the side of Ricky’s jaw, and she realized she was finally seeing the real Lieutenant Ricky Sharp: not the dog-catcher or the kitchenhand or the guy giving tips on fire hazards.

The professional, whose body and mind were honed to react with precision and speed in a crisis. The guy who ran into the fire.

“As the Chief told you an hour ago, child safety services in New York have been alerted, and the missing child protocol has swung into action,” Ricky said crisply. “The Chief believes that, in spite of the existing threat from the boys’ father, we must take the risk of making their faces known to the public in order to prevent the higher risk of another and potentially more dangerous arson attack.” He paused. “And of course, these boys are vulnerable children. They need to be found.”

Anger balled inside Jodi, hot and fearful. Why were they sitting here talking, when Joshua and Judah were out there on their own in a hostile world?

Silas nodded. “You know that I don’t agree with that decision, nor do I accept the premise that the boys are dangerous in any way.” Jodi saw pain flash briefly across his eyes.

“Neither do I.” Ricky glanced at Jodi, as though remembering that he had invited a member of the media into this very private meeting. Whatever he saw there seemed to reassure him. “I’ve looked more closely at those earlier fires. The ones the boys admit to lighting. Nothing left to stick under a microscope of course, but here’s what I think.”

Silas gave an abrupt nod. His eyes were red from exhaustion.

Ricky continued. “They were typical mischief fires done by angry kids; they get mad at their teacher or want to show off. A lit match tossed in a bin. Dangerous of course, but the kid figures someone will arrive with a fire extinguisher in thirty seconds.”

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a couple of prints.

“The recent fires were started by more sophisticated means, using printer fluid I reckon—but using the same matchbooks that the boys had pinched in a deliberate attempt to frame them.”

Ricky laid the prints on the desk, and Jodi saw that they were close-ups of the charred remains from the shed.

“And then we have this. The fire that really rattled the cage. No bin this time, but an old wooden structure that could have gone up like a tinder box.”

Silas frowned. “And this is some of the stuff that got burned?” He reached for his glasses, which added an instant and endearing resemblance to Clark Kent. “Looks like the shed was full of all sorts of junk. Paint cans?”

Ricky nodded.

“Shit.” Silas winced.

“Yeah. Paint cans. Empty fortunately but a nasty combination. What else can you see?”

Silas huffed out a breath, clearly impatient to be off searching the highways and byways for his missing children. “Old sneakers, maybe couple of tools, my God I hope that’s not fertilizer...” He cocked his head. “Backpacks? Senior citizens planning on doing a runner?”

Jodi felt the prickle of goose bumps on her chest.

“Do you recognize any of those items?” Ricky’s voice was calm.

Silas frowned, squinted, and looked up in surprise. “Those look very much like the backpacks we got the boys for Christmas. Wandering Wolf. They begged for camping equipment, offered to help pay by doing extra chores. Apparently they needed them for some school trip next summer.”

Jodi cleared her throat. “So the question is, why were the boys’ prized possessions in the garden shed, along with some food and spare sneakers?”

“Because they were running away,” said Ricky.

“No!”

Ricky looked up, surprised by the preacher’s vehemence.

Silas was shaking his head. “It’s the boys’ stuff, yeah, but they weren’t running away. I don’t believe that for a second.” His eyes were chips of grey flint. “Joshua and Judah were creating a safe place. All the things they would need if their father ever found them in Temple Mountain. So there’s no way on God’s earth that they would burn that shed down.”

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