Page 24 of Arsonist's Match
“Cash, my office,” ordered Captain O’Riley.
Flash had been so engrossed in reliving the night, she hadn’t even noticed him enter the break room—or what program played on the TV. She jumped up, mood flipping on a dime—she must be in trouble.
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “I followed Lieutenant Edwards’ orders to the letter at that hotel fire this morning, I swear!” Even though she thought her strategy for dealing with the fire would have been more efficient, she did as she was told, and they put it out. There had been no casualties, either.
“You aren’t in trouble,” he stated as she followed him to his office and closed the door behind them.
If not that, then what?she wondered.
“Have a seat.” Jake motioned to the visitor’s chair as he rounded his desk and dropped into his own. Passing a folder across the desk, he said, “The Arson Investigator’s findings. Turns out, you were right.”
Confidence returning in a torrent, Flash eased into the seat and picked up the folder. Scanning the contents, she commented, “I knew I smelled BBQ lighter fluid.”
“Tests came back positive, not just from the office. Our perpetrator doused the crates outside the office too. Curtain material, paper, cardboard, a whole pile of burnables. And that little wire you found?”
Flash glanced up from the file to meet her captain’s gaze.
“The lab took scrapings and found traces of aluminum, iron, titanium, zinc, and magnesium.”
It had been a long time since Flash’s last chemistry class, but the guess came out of her mouth at the same time O’Riley pronounced, “A sparkler.”
“That’s a weird way to start a fire,” Flash said. “Don’t arsonists usually use a lighter or match?”
“Indeed,” he concurred. “In fact, I’ve never heard of somebody using fireworks to intentionally set a fire, although I’m sure someone, somewhere, has done so. Usually, if fireworks are involved, it’s accidental.”
“Could this have been an accident, then?” Flash rethought her initial assumption of arson, but Captain O’Riley shook his head.
“If you turn a few pages, the report confirms that the remains of a sparkler were also recovered from the point of origin at the Nutty Smooth cannery fire two months ago. Fire Inspector Ballard led the investigation on that fire, so Fire Marshal Zapata assigned this one to her as well. She concluded this is our arsonist’s signature—gather a pile of fuel, saturate it and the surrounding area with this specific accelerant, then light a sparkler and toss it in. It works as well as a lighter or match, only maybe more festive. Ballard said it speaks to his state of mind and maybe his motive for setting the fires. She’s searching through all the files, going back a year or more to see if there were others before this summer.”
“Profiling might help catch him—or her,” Flash amended. While most arsonists were men, approximately fifteen percent were known or suspected to be women. “The FBI does psychological profiling.” Flash’s countenance brightened as she thought about Athena.
“They do,” Jake confirmed, “but arson only comes under FBI jurisdiction if it occurs on federal property or the suspected arsonist crosses state lines. If our perpetrator sticks to burning buildings in Texas, there’s no grounds to call in the feds. Why ask? Do you have someone in mind?”
A playful, knowing expression danced across the captain’s face, eyes twinkling with mischief. What did he know? She hadn’t told anyone—except Nita, and Waylon, and maybe Al Luis, that day in the locker room. Geez, did everyone know? Is that why Edwards was always on her case, because he was jealous? Maybe he had the hots for Athena; if so, Flash couldn’t blame him.
“Don’t give me that deer-in-the-headlights look,” he quipped with a laugh. “Your personal life is of no concern to me, as long as you aren’t dating someone at Firehouse Eight.”
“No, sir,” she declared, “I mean, yes, sir, I mean … I’m not dating anyone at Firehouse Eight.”
“OK, OK,” he laughed, amused by Flash’s embarrassment. “Now, seriously.” Rising, O’Riley resumed his authoritative demeanor. “Don’t talk about this with the others. I still don’t want to involve Lieutenant Edwards. There’s no reason to loop him in, to be embarrassed over missing the signs, or to have him retaliate against you for going over his head. If you must tell someone or explode, you may discuss it with Agent Bouvier. Who knows? Maybe our arsonist has crossed state lines. It’s a pretty unique signature.”
“Yes, sir. I can do that. I don’t want to antagonize Lieutenant Edwards,” Flash promised.
A knock sounded at the door, and Flash glanced back as the captain called, “Come in.”
Speak of the devil, Edwards opened the door. “Oh, there you are,” he accused, his stare trained on Flash. “Sorry, Captain, we’re about to start drills, and I couldn’t find Cash. We can start without her—”
“That won’t be necessary,” O’Riley answered with a pleasant smile. “I’m done with her for now. Drill away, lieutenant, and keep my firefighters sharp.”
“Yes, sir,” he responded, and jerked his chin at the open door. Flash hurried through.
“What drills are we doing?” she asked innocently, trying not to appear nervous.
“You’ll find out,” he said, his expression darkening toward her. “What did the captain want with you?”
“Oh, just checking on my mental health.” Flash let out the first reasonable untruth that popped into her head. “You know, after the pizza bomb and everything. He scolded me for taking too many extra shifts and said I need to see the chaplain.”
“I don’t care about your extra shifts,” Edwards snarled, “as long as you’re alert and fit when you’re on mine.”
