Page 16 of Justice Denied

The hopeful look on her mother’s face brought a smile to her own. “A number nine sub from Jersey Mike’s?”

“With extra lettuce and pickles.” Mom waggled her fingers at Jetta as Alison took charge of her wheelchair.

Once outside in the bright fall morning, Jetta breathed in deeply to calm her mind. She slid into her vehicle before she remembered Seth’s text. She’d read it before going to pick up Bingley.

Checked the yard and found bits of ground beef near the back right corner of your yard. I also looked at the outside of the house but found nothing. Well, nothing related to whatever Bingley and the raccoon ate. I did find a piece of paper on the stoop near the front door. I’m not sure what it means but I kept it. Let me know when you’ll be home, and I’ll bring it over.

He included a picture of the paper. Jetta had to read it twice before her brain could comprehend the message:

Consider this a warning. Next time, it won’t be an animal that gets hurt.

* * *

A fireat a construction site occupied the rest of Seth’s morning. As he snapped photos, he resisted the urge to constantly check his phone to see if Jetta had responded to his text. The eleven-story mixed-use complex had been halfway completed when flames erupted shortly after workers arrived for the day. Activists had vehemently opposed the building with its eight hundred luxury condo units and space for up to ten retailers on the ground and second floors because it would remove ten acres of woodland. The environmental protestors had been demonstrating in front of the site for weeks, leading to increasingly violent scuffles between the workers and demonstrators. Seth had visited the site several times to photograph the protestors.

As he focused his camera on the still smoldering area, speculation that the activists had started the fire spread through the gathering crowd. Seth doubted the group had orchestrated the fire, given their heroic efforts to assist construction workers fleeing the flames. He counted at least a dozen people—both activists and workers—being treated by paramedics, but he hadn’t been able to ascertain the extent of the injuries.

Brogan Gilmore jogged up, notebook and phone in hand. “Hey, Seth. What have you gotten so far?”

Seth gave hisHeraldcolleague a run down on his photos, then pointed toward the far end of the site where a group of firefighters in protective gear used long-handled sticks to sort through one section of the smoldering ruins. “I was heading over there to see if I could get another angle on the firefighters.”

Brogan nodded his approval. “After that, do you think you could photograph the crowd without anyone noticing?”

“In case the arsonist is admiring his handiwork?”

“Exactly.” Brogan paused. “Although no one’s officially saying it’s arson.”

“No one besides the rumor mill.” Seth adjusted the lens to take a long shot of the firefighters.

Brogan leaned closer. “One of my sources says the owner has run into money trouble and can’t make this month’s payroll.”

He lowered the camera. “You’re thinking this might be insurance fraud.”

“It’s possible. Gotta go catch the fire marshal. Let me know if you see anything interesting.” With a wave, Brogan hurried toward an older woman wearing full protective gear huddled with a police officer and another firefighter.

Seth inched closer to the fencing, taking several photos of the firefighters among the building’s ruin. Then he slipped behind the front of an idling ambulance to surreptitiously take pictures of the crowd, which had swelled in numbers. His phone buzzed but he ignored it until he was satisfied he’d gotten all the shots he could from his vantage point.

Pulling out his phone, he glanced at the screen. Dismay punched him in the gut at the sight of a missed call from Jetta. A quick check showed she hadn’t left a voicemail. He hit her name on the recent call list to return the call.

“Hello?” She sounded breathless.

“It’s Seth. I missed a call from you?” He winced at the question in what he’d meant to be a statement. What if she’d pocket dialed him?

“Seth, thank goodness you’re there.”

He slipped through the crowd toward his vehicle as the sense something wasn’t right with Jetta firmed with every step. “What’s wrong?”

“I think someone’s following me.”

“Where are you?” He chirped open his Rav4 hybrid.

“I’m on my way to pick up Bingley from the vet’s on Route 50 near Graham Road.”

He slid his camera into its case in the backseat before climbing behind the wheel, starting the engine to connect the call to Bluetooth. “What makes you think someone’s following you?”

“There’s a white pickup that has been a couple of cars behind me for miles, maybe ever since I left the rehab center in Reston.”

He programed the Happy Animal Clinic address into his car’s GPS. “I’ll meet you at the vet’s.”

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