Page 101 of Heating Up (Nugget)
Why the hell was she doing this? With no time to think about it anymore, he pulled into a parking space in front of the police station, got out, and went inside.
Sloane and Jake had their heads together.
“What are you two up to?”
“Checking to see if Rigsby has a sheet,” Sloane answered. Jake nodded in greeting.
“You want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot,” Connie said. Aidan had only met her once or twice but knew she was the police dispatcher. Cal Fire went through county dispatch, but occasionally residents would call in fire type emergencies to the police department, in which case Connie handled them. “The chief’s on a call.”
“Sure.” He turned back to Sloane. “Does he have one?”
“I couldn’t find anything. Jake’s double-checking.”
It didn’t seem like there would be too many jurisdictions to check; from what Aidan understood, Rigsby had grown up in Nugget.
Connie came back with a mug that said, “Homicide: Our day starts when yours ends.”
“I thought I told you to get rid of that cup.” Rhys had come out of his office and was walking toward them. “Seriously, it makes us look insensitive.”
Connie shrugged. “It’s a perfectly good mug. Besides, it’s the truth, so man up, Chief.”
Rhys shook his head. “I work with a bunch of goddamn lunatics. Come on back to my office.”
Aidan followed him into a glass room. There were blinds to make the office private from the rest of the station, but Rhys didn’t bother to close them, just cleared a bunch of crap off a chair and motioned for him to take a seat.
“We have enough to arrest Rigsby but probably not enough for the DA to charge him.” Rhys took the chair behind his desk. “We could sit on him, do some surveillance, and strike when we catch him in the act. Or we could bring him in and see if he’ll cop to it.”
Aidan didn’t like any of those options. Like Rhys said, arresting him was a waste of time if they couldn’t pin anything on him in court. It was too dangerous to hope they’d catch him before he did real damage. And the idea that he’d simply give a full confession just by them asking pretty please was a pipe dream. Yet they couldn’t do nothing.
“Which way are you leaning?” Aidan asked.
“Haul him in, scare the shit out of him with the shirt, and hope he spills.”
“I didn’t get a good feeling off Rigsby. I’ve met plenty of dudes like him, pumped-up gym rats who are resentful of the world. But my gut tells me he’s not good for this.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because no one is stupid enough to leave his shirt in a Dumpster at the scene. Not even lugheads who like to play with matches.”
“You’d be surprised,” Rhys said. “But I hear you. What do you think we should do?”
“First, I think we should check the security tapes at the Gas and Go. See if we spot Rigsby filling a gas can with fuel, because it was used as an accelerant in two out of our three fires.”
“What if we don’t?”
“Then we question Rigsby and see where it gets us.”
Rhys stood up and grabbed a set of keys on a hook behind his head. “Let’s go.”
Aidan followed him to his police SUV, and five minutes later they parked on the street in front of the Gas and Go, walking into the convenience store. The shop, which reminded Aidan of a small 7-Eleven, was empty. One of the mechanics saw them through a window from the garage and came over.
“Hey, Skeeter. Griffin around?” Rhys asked.
“He’s upstairs. I’ll get him.”
Aidan peeked inside the garage, curious what they were doing with a vintage Ford pickup. It was mint green and, if he had to guess, built in the 1950s. Not ordinarily a car buff, he was impressed. The Ford seemed to be in perfect condition and held a little slice of history.
The guy—Skeeter—came back in. “He’ll be right down.”
