“Just peachy, Crissie.” Noah moved past her without breaking stride. Had she received a text of his so-called suicide message, too? If not, she’d certainly been told about it. Everyone in the unit knew, according to Durvan. He just wasn’t up to dealing with questions now. Probably not ever. The suicide text was a sham. No explanation necessary. Once he found the person who tried to do him in, he’d simply let the truth speak for him. Until then, he’d be silent as Buddha.
That’s what he’d counseled his father when he called home from the hospital. His dad, a retired fireman, didn’t need the advice.
After an earlier call from Sandra, his father had refused all calls from anyone and made the decision to keep Andy home from preschool today. “No need to explain anything to me. We know you didn’t do whatever they’re saying. Like I told your mother, you being okay is enough for us. Andy doesn’t need to even know that was an issue.”
Noah never stopped being surprised by the content of gossip on the playground. Andy had come home asking about everything from Miley Cyrus’s latest video to whose parents were divorcing. Kids heard everything. That lesson had prompted him to suggest to his dad that now might be a good time to head south to Padre Island for a few days, where his parents had a beachside timeshare. They seldom went in March, during college spring break season. But his father only said, “Already packing, son. Figured you’d do better with us safely tucked out of the way.”
Noah had been the focus of media attention before, usually after solving an arson crime. This time, it was going to get ugly. Andy didn’t need to be confronted by things his dad was just beginning to wrestle with. But Andy’s old man needed information. Lots of it. Which is why he was here, at work.
Now that his head was clearing of the alcohol and drugs, the analytical parts of his brain were kicking in. The only reasonable way to treat what had happened was to push it to arm’s length, approach it as though the crime was about someone else.
Someone had set a man up to die without the victim being able to defend himself. At the same time, by making it appear a suicide, the perpetrator may have wanted to disgrace his victim. Having the victim die in a self-started conflagration would virtually guarantee the destruction of his career reputation. Arson investigator dies in fire set by his own hand. Catchy headline.
A ripple of bad feeling washed through him. He’d been chosen, special. The perpetrator hated him in ways he could not yet understand. He’d even hated him enough to include Harley in his scheme.
It took a beat for the heat of his anger to subside. An innocent animal. He was dealing with a depraved soul.
Yet, he learned while still a patrolman with the police force, that there was always some kind of logic in the minds of even the craziest perpetrators. Crazy logic, maybe, but reasons for what they’d done. He’d sent arsonists to prison, some for a long time. One to death row. That was the place he would start digging for suspects. Men who had a reason to hate him.
Not wanting to talk to anyone until he had gotten to his computer and gathered some facts, Noah merely nodded to the two other arson investigators on duty as he passed their doorway. To his annoyance, one of them, Mike Wayne, got up from his desk and followed him to his office.
Mike was a year older than Noah, but they’d come into arson investigation together. Mike had always been a firefighter. Built solid with arms and thighs like tree trunks, he was usually the most fit in a room of very fit peers. Noah had the edge of his years as a police officer. Mike had the advantage of fighting more fires. They’d traded their knowledge on the job to learn their new jobs ASAP. Mike was more than a colleague. They were like brothers, loyal but competitive.
Mike paused in Noah’s doorway and leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “Heard some crazy shit went down last night.”
Noah reached down out of habit to pat Harley, usually under his desk when he worked. Annoyed to find his dog missing, he turned to his computer screen. “Thanks for the news flash.”
“Don’t be more of a hard-ass than usual. I’m just asking. You okay?”
Noah glanced up. “Durvan came by first thing. Guess he’s taking the case. Thought you’d all be filled in by now.”
Mike snorted. “Whatever Durvan knows he reported only to the captain. All I know is what the fire department grapevine says. You were involved with a suspected arson fire and had to be taken to the hospital.”
Noah frowned as he scanned his computer screen. “Thought the news would be full of the details by now. What happened to media coverage?”
“You got lucky. Thirty minutes before the call came in about your fire, an eighteen-wheeler struck the guardrail at the top of curve of the I-30 East exit ramp onto I-35W North. Shut down all arms of the Mixmaster. Seemed like every news crew in the Metroplex with a van or copter tried to capture it. Backed up traffic headed in all directions for hours.”
“Lucky me.”
Mike waited a beat. “Captain wants to see you. Said to let him know when you came in.”
“You can tell him I’m here.”
Durvan appeared behind Mike. “Didn’t expect you today, Glover.”