“Our lab’s still working on that.”
“Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”
The mirrors came back.
“Send whatever trace you’ve collected to Keith Ganza. When he tells me what the chemicals are, I’ll have a detailed profile for you within twenty-four hours.”
Another fire engine wailed to a stop about a hundred yards behind them. In Ivan’s glasses Maggie could see two firefighters jump out. Ivan was still stonewalling when Maggie heard someone call her name. It took her almost a minute to recognize the arriving firefighter in his full gear, his hat brim pulled down low over his brow.
It was Patrick.
CHAPTER 44
“That hot cop is your sister?”
“She’s not a cop. She’s an FBI agent.” Patrick hauled his equipment to the curb.
“Looks familiar. Hey, wait a minute. Last night on TV. Wasn’t she on Larry King Live?”
“Larry King’s not on anymore.”
“Really? What happened to him?”
Patrick wasn’t in the mood for this. It was bad enough to run into Maggie here. He didn’t need Wes Harper’s ridiculous chitchat.
“Is she married?”
“Divorced.”
“That’s even better. You know what they say about divorced women?”
Patrick didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
“What did you do to your hand?” he asked, changing the subject. He pointed at a fresh scar on the back of Harper’s right hand. It still looked a bit raw.
“Nothing.” But he pulled his glove up quickly. “So maybe you could introduce me to her.”
“Don’t you think we should get our equipment ready?”
“Hey, chill out, dude. You’re not the team leader on this one.”
Harper gave Maggie another look before he turned his back to get to work. “There’re three buildings in between the fire and our client’s building.” He kept his voice low. “Not like it’s urgent. Probably won’t even need to foam it if those guys take care of their business.”
By “those guys” Patrick knew he meant the real firefighters. He stopped to watch. They had a hell of a job on their hands. Hoses were still being attached to fire hydrants. A second engine screamed two blocks away. The siren faded, then stopped when it arrived at the other church. Two blazes spewing black clouds of smoke and yet Patrick and his partner weren’t here to help on either blaze.
For Patrick, this was much worse than being five miles away, like the last assignment, spraying down a house and watching from afar. To be here—right here—to feel the heat of the flames and fill his lungs with smoke and just stand back and watch. It was wrong. It went against his basic instinct.
Patrick twisted his gloves in his fists instead of putting them on. He felt helpless, shackled. He glanced at Harper, who had pulled out a computer tablet but was staring up at the flames.
“It’s actually pretty, isn’t it?” Harper said, and smiled at Patrick. “It takes on a whole life of its own, swallowing up everything into red and gold flashes of light.”
Patrick had always thought fire was fascinating, but he couldn’t say he’d use the word “pretty.”
“Sometimes,” Harper said in almost a quiet confession, “even when I’m not on duty I’ll go to fire sites just to watch.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. Got my police scanner on to see if there’re any close by. I’ve always had a thing for fire. My nickname growing up was Matches.” He laughed, but Patrick didn’t join him. “My parents were very relieved when they heard I wanted to be a firefighter instead of a fire starter.”
Harper stared at the blazing steeple for a few more seconds, then, as if he’d flipped a switch, he went back to the computer and started tapping. He started to go through their checklist, completing the required form that their client—a group of law offices, three buildings down—would need to sign off on when they were finished.
Patrick glanced over to where Maggie stood with Detective Racine. Harper’s admission reminded him of Maggie’s Christmas dinner last year and how Racine had asked him why he wanted to be a hose monkey. He didn’t take offense at the term. He knew cops and firefighters had a love-hate relationship and that Racine didn’t mean anything by her comment.
Firefighters axed and stomped and crashed their way through a fire, their minds set on rescuing anyone inside. Get in quick. Find survivors and get them the hell out. Then put the fire out. It was messy. No doubt about it. But the cops, the detectives, the investigators, and the crime scene technicians hated that evidence got trampled, sometimes destroyed, and often washed away.