Threads of Suspicion(64)

“I’m fine with someone else solving Jenna’s disappearance while I’m on something else. You get a lead, run with it. Catch this guy, David.”

“Done.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Good luck catching your arsonist.”

“He equally needs catching. I’ll be back as soon as practical.”

Evie called highway patrol to catch a lift with another cop heading south, looked around at her things once she was dressed, decided she would be near enough to her own place that she could make a run there to get clothes and a bed, and left her hotel room intact. Her car would be in Ellis while she was in Petersburg, but it couldn’t be helped.

Twenty minutes later, she walked out, turning her attention back to the Illinois State Police Bureau of Investigations position she’d spent a career working to earn.





Thirteen


Evie walked into State Police headquarters after seven hours at the crime scene, talking by cell to the arson investigator still there. “The fact the victims were shot and killed before the fire was set tells me this is a different unsub. Does the fire itself say the same, Cole?” She headed up the stairs to BOI and her office. She wished she could stay downwind of herself—her coat, clothes, and hair reeked of smoke, and her eyes stung from all the ash floating in the air. She needed a shower and eye drops, and as soon as she had the prior case files on their way to the detective heading up this case, she was going home.

“The last five fires were all multiple origin points inside the home,” Cole told her, “done with an accelerant of gasoline and whatever liquor was handy to pour. The fire path was designed to trap residents on the second floor without egress. This one, someone tampered with the water heater’s gas line to fill the basement with natural gas, then dumped what I suspect will be black gunpowder on the staircase carpet and across the kitchen to the back doorway, and lit a match.

“This guy had probably never set a house fire before. He thought about what he wanted to do—overthought it, actually. Brought the gunpowder along, but wasn’t sure how wide to trail it, probably used an ice pick on the gas line. He wanted the fire to destroy evidence of the murders before the firefighters could arrive. He was trying for a fast, explosive fire, but didn’t know how to do that. He mostly scattered debris when the house blew up rather than burning the evidence. He had to have come close to blowing himself up along with the house.”

“Premeditated and targeted—he was after this specific family. That’s what the murders and the fire tell me. He came with a plan.”

“Yeah, a different guy, Evie.”

“Thanks, Cole.”

“You sound relieved.”

She was too tired to pretend she wasn’t. “It at least makes it a local problem rather than mine. You need anything from me as this proceeds, I’ll come back or get on a conference call.”

“I’ll do that, Evie. I’m good for now.”

She turned on lights in her office and dumped her coat on one of the two visitor chairs, slid the phone into her pocket, ignored the contents of the inbox already stacked high. She logged on to the database, found the files she’d promised to send, took thirty minutes to write a summary of the five cases she’d been working, so the detective could quickly get up to speed without having to wade through the thick reports. She was sure her arsonist was different from this guy, but if the situations were reversed, she’d want to make that determination for herself. She gave him everything he might need, pressed the send button.

Logging off the system, she laid her head down on folded arms. She could catnap right here for a couple of hours, then catch a ride home with somebody. It was tempting if she didn’t so desperately need a shower. Her gym bag was in the trunk of her car back in Ellis. Using the gym here meant rummaging through whatever abandoned clothing was in the lost-and-found. She couldn’t fathom putting her current attire back on after finally ridding herself of the smoky smell.

A light tap on the door, a familiar voice. “Welcome back.”

She didn’t bother to lift her head. “Go away.”

A reporter was prowling the building. Commander Frank Foster, the man who led the Illinois State Police, had three sons. Two had become cops, one a reporter. She trusted Michael. He was off-the-record when he visited the building, unless he asked to go on-record. She even liked him, had dated him a time or two. But that didn’t mean she wanted to see him right now. She had to look as bad as she smelled at the moment, and she still had a little vanity left.

“You haven’t been around the office in a while.”