Finn parked on the street outside of the Eastpointe police station, locking his Escalade before jogging inside. He stopped at the protective bubble in the lobby, flashed his Hardy Brothers Security identification pass, and told the officer behind the bullet-proof glass why he was there.
The woman glanced at his badge and then motioned to one of the seats across the hall. “I’ll call the detective in charge,” she said. “It might take a few minutes.”
Finn nodded mutely. He wasn’t expecting instant action. That’s not how local police departments worked.
After waiting for about twenty minutes, the door separating the lobby from the inner sanctum of the police department opened. A detective in a polyester suit, his pronounced beer gut dipping over the lip of his pants, poked his head out and glanced at Finn. “Are you Finn Hardy?”
Finn nodded, getting to his feet.
“Come back here,” the detective said.
Once the door shut behind him, the detective introduced himself. “I’m Bobby Andrews,” he said. “I’m the primary on the Eastgate apartment fire.”
“Do you have anything yet?” Finn asked, following Andrews through the dingy hallway.
The detective didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he led Finn into a small office, settling behind the desk as Finn sat in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. Once they were face-to-face, Andrews focused on Finn. “Can I ask what your interest in this case is?”
“A woman who lives in the building is a client of ours,” Finn said. “She had to climb down the fire escape from the third floor. I’m just trying to find out if the fire was intentionally set.”
Detective Andrews leaned back in his chair. “May I ask the name of your client?”
Finn saw no sense in lying. “Emma Pritchard.”
“She’s the model, right?”
“She is.”
“She was also attacked at the boat show in St. Clair Shores a little over a week ago?”
“That’s her.”
“Is that why your firm has been retained?”
Technically, Hardy Brothers Security wasn’t on retainer. Finn saw no reason to volunteer that information. “Yes.”
“And you’re worried that the fire was set because of Ms. Pritchard.”
“I am.”
Andrews blew out a heavy breath. “Well, you’re probably not going to like what I have to tell you then,” he said. “An accelerant was not only used, but it was pooled in the hallway on the third floor. Even if Ms. Pritchard had tried to escape through the hallway, it would have been impossible.”
Finn’s heart flopped painfully. “What kind of accelerant?”
“Well, that’s the interesting thing,” Andrews said. “It wasn’t gasoline. It was a special blend of gasoline and oil that’s not readily available over the counter.”
“Where is it available?”
“We’re still looking,” Andrews said. “The truth is, anyone could have mixed it. The lab technician says it was designed to burn fast and hot, though. That would suggest that someone had to have some sort of working knowledge of chemical accelerants to mix it.”
That wasn’t good news. “I’m guessing that you’re sending it to the state lab for further tests.”
“I am,” Andrews said. “There’s something else.”
Finn didn’t like the sound of that. “I’m almost scared to ask.”
“I’ve been in contact with the St. Clair Shores Police Department,” the detective said. “I was curious about the attack on Ms. Pritchard at the boat show and I wanted to cover my bases.”
“And?”
“And they were … ambivalent to the situation we have out here,” Andrews said.
“Meaning they didn’t care,” Finn supplied. “They thought the whole thing was some kind of joke.”
“That doesn’t mean they didn’t do due diligence,” Andrews cautioned. “They did send the melted plastic to the state lab for analysis.”
Finn waited.
“It seems it wasn’t normal acid that burned the display case.”
“Let me guess, a special blend?”
“Yes.”
“That means we’re looking for a chemist,” Finn said.
“Probably,” Andrews said. “There’s no way we can be a hundred-percent sure that it’s the same perpetrator in both cases.”
“You believe it is, though, don’t you?”
“I think it would be one hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t.”
Finn couldn’t help but agree. “So, what comes next?”
“Well, I was going to contact Ms. Pritchard about protection,” Andrews said. “Maybe try to cajole her into a safe house or something. I’m worried that the attacks could speed up – not slow down.”