Christmas Male(64)

Natalie waved a hand. “Go. General Eddinger has all of this under control.”

The call came through just as they were walking out the door. Natalie took it and called after them. “There’s a fire at Billy Franks’s apartment building.”





14




SMOKE STUNG THE AIR and billowed upward in black columns as they climbed out of D.C.’s car. Lights from the engines swirled, and Fiona could see two streams of water cross-aimed through broken windows on the second and third floors. One glance confirmed her worst fear. “The window on the second floor. It’s got to be Billy’s apartment.”

“Yes,” D.C. murmured as he cleared a path through the bystanders that had gathered. A ladder leaned against the front of the building and she counted two firemen on the roof. Three ambulances and several police cruisers had pulled up behind a string of fire engines. Several people wearing blankets were being treated with oxygen. Others gathered behind barricades and watched.

Fiona found her view blocked when she tried to scan the crowd. “Can you see them?”

“No,” D.C. said.

There were two possibilities. She and D.C. had run through them on the drive over. Either Billy and his friends had set the fire in an attempt to destroy any evidence that might connect them to the attempted robbery, or someone—whoever had masterminded the theft—had decided to get rid of the three young people. Both she and D.C. were favoring the latter.

Fiona flashed her badge for one of the uniforms. “Did everyone get out?”

“Can’t say. They’ve been loading ambulances ever since my partner and I got here.” He jerked his head toward another uniformed officer standing near one of the vehicles. “Tully over there was on the scene when I arrived. He and his partner Fortino called it in. According to him, it started with an explosion on the second or third floor. They’re taking statements.”

“Thanks.”

She and D.C. ducked beneath the barricade and strode toward Tully, who was talking to a woman in a blanket. The officer was young, fresh-faced, and scribbling in his notebook. The woman he was talking to turned at their approach and Fiona recognized Wendy Davis.

She flashed her badge at Tully while Wendy aimed a smile at D.C.

“Thought you’d eventually come, Captain,” Wendy said.

“You all right?” D.C. asked.

Her brows shot up. “Other than being homeless at Christmas, I’m fine. And lucky, I think.” She glanced up at the windows where sooty-faced firemen still aimed their hoses. “It happened fast. I was just telling pretty boy here,” she gestured at Tully, “there was this loud noise from above me. Third floor, I think. The explosion was powerful enough to shake the walls and dislodge some of my paintings. I just took my Lorelei here and ran.”

At the sound of her name, the cat poked her head out of the blanket.

“What about your neighbors?” D.C. asked.

“Lucky, too, I’d say. Firemen got all three of them out,” Wendy said.

Fiona turned to Tully and eased him a few steps away. “What do you know?”

“Three kids—two guys and a girl were in the apartment closest to where the fire started. They’re in bad shape, Lieutenant. I overheard one of the medics talking about possible broken bones and severe smoke inhalation. They’re loading the last one now.”

Signaling D.C. to follow, badge in hand, she strode toward the line of ambulances. A uniformed technician closed the doors on the first one, but not before Fiona caught a glimpse of black boots. Carla. With soot and an oxygen mask covering his face, Fiona only managed to identify Mark because of the red hair. That left Billy. Running now, she reached the last ambulance just as a large African American woman slammed the doors shut.

“I need to talk to Billy Franks, the young man you just loaded into this ambulance.

“You can’t.” The name on her tag read Rochella Martin.

“Look, Miss Martin, we think that the fire may have been set intentionally and that Billy Franks was the intended victim.”

“You still can’t talk to him.”

Fiona opened her mouth, then shut it when Rochella Martin held up a hand.

“I’m not trying to be difficult. The first reason you can’t talk to him is because he’s still out. Severe smoke inhalation will do that to you. Reason number two is that until we get him to the hospital and treat him for the smoke inhalation, he’ll find it difficult to make any sound at all. And he has other injuries that require immediate attention. Do you need any more reasons or will those suffice?”

“Will he be all right?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “If you’ll let us get him to the hospital.”