Page 70 of Her Silver Fox Firefighters
“Hold up,” I mutter and crouch in front of the debris. “There’s something here.”
I put my gloves on and start pulling pieces and bits aside, each movement careful so as not to disturb the scene too much.
“Do you need extra light and a recording?” Beck asks.
“Great idea. Yes, please.”
He comes over and angles his flashlight while turning his phone to record the entire operation. Piece by piece, I manage to reveal the molten remnants of what looks like the core of an incendiary device.
“Same as the warehouse,” Dax says, his voice turning cold, as we now have confirmation. “Same shell, same wiring.”
“There’s going to be explosive residue all over this room for the arson squad to document tomorrow,” I say. “I’ll make sure they bring the chemical kits with them. We’ll need a full panel.”
“Agreed. So one incendiary device in the flash point,” Dax says, taking notes, then looking around. “Miller had the Truck crew working the eastern part of the building. He said the flames were hotter and brighter on that side.”
“Chances are we’ll find another device there,” I say.
Ten minutes later, we’re on the eastern side, taking notes and pictures, as we move quietly in the death-like darkness of the night. I recognize the powerful smell of accelerant, which grows stronger as we approach the server room.
“This was an office building, right?” Beck asks, crinkling his nose as he breathes in, then moves along the wall with his flashlight to get a better look.
“Yes. Perry Chandler owns it,” I say.
“Farmer-turned-crypto billionaire,” he says and chuckles dryly.
“The man figured out there was value in Bitcoin at a time when people didn’t think crypto would last a month,” I reply. “Now, he owns two brokerage firms and a financial securities company that he never visited. This place held the latter. And this, their server room, had some high-tech devices stacked together.”
Dax nods in agreement as he uses his flashlight to look around. “As evidenced by the racks and the melted cables.”
“A lot of people are suffering on account of this arsonist,” Beck grumbles, his anger increasing. “The townspeople are scared. Small business owners are terrified. If this guy is brazen enough to hit big spots like Chandler’s securities firm and Walton’s stationery warehouse, not to mention Pimm’s and Willard’s buildings before them, who knows who’s going to be next?”
“They are all high-level targets designed to get our attention,” I conclude. “He’s very skilled, I’ll give him that. He’s getting sloppy, though. The warehouse devices went off late.”
Dax stops behind one of the server racks. “Got it.”
“Secondary device?”
“What’s left of it, anyway, another incendiary device.”
“The server racks are made of a special alloy designed to withstand high temperatures,” I add, joining him and Beck.
It burned first, by the looks of it. I pull out the charred remains of a small transmitter and flip it over under the beam of my flashlight. Dax observes every circuit and groove.
“Activated remotely,” he says. “This is some high-level stuff, brother.”
“Shit, turn it over again,” Beck says. “The camera sensor picked something up.”
I turn it over, shining the light on it once more while Beck zooms in and snaps a few stills from the video recording. “That’s a fingerprint,” I declare. “It was on the inside of the device.”
“Latent, but clear enough to be used,” Dax replies. “The fuel was most likely dispersed on the other side of the device.”
It’s one hell of a break in our case. I text the fingerprint images to Carlos.
“Hopefully, Carlos will have something to run it against,” Dax says.
“I asked him to check every single database—law enforcement and firehouses included,” I say.
He gives me a worried look. “Law enforcement?”
