Page 16 of Burning Justice

Twenty more minutes rolled by before the warehouse door opened. The same hooded figure carried a can in one hand that he set on the ground. From another pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes that he lit with a small butane lighter, similar to the ones Brett had found in Gavin Aldrich’s pocket.

Aldrich hadn’t, however, been wearing a hoodie or a bandana around his neck, and he was significantly taller and thinner than this man was.

The tip of the cigarette burned brightly, then the figure tossed the cigarette into the warehouse, grabbed the can, and hauled ass north. They watched until he was out of the camera’s range.

Gemma pointed to the screen. “That’s interesting. He took the can with him.”

“Watch.” Brett waited for the inevitable. A loud boom, followed by a bright flash inside the warehouse. Smoke began pouring through the open door. “If this really is the same guy who torched this warehouse two weeks ago, I’m thinking the first fire didn’t accomplish what he wanted—to burn it to the ground. This time, he made sure of it. He doused everything with MEK, then created an interconnecting trail of accelerant all the way to the door.”

“Makes sense.” Gemma’s eyes lit with understanding. “He needed a safe way to ignite it and still make it out safely. When he tossed in the lit cigarette, he set off the accelerant without having to be inside when the place went up.”

“And he left the door open.” Again, Brett pointed to the screen. “It could have been an oversight, done in haste to escape, but I don’t think that’s it. He’s got some basic knowledge of the Fire Tetrahedron.”

“Heat, fuel, an oxidizing agent—usually oxygen—and a chemical chain reaction that keeps the fire burning,” Gemma said. “I’m not a CFI, but the NICB sends all of us to arson investigation classes.”

Brett nodded his approval. That would make her that much more valuable to his—correction, their—investigation.

Several more minutes passed before the roar of a fire could be heard and flames shot out the front door. They kept watching until the video feed ended, indicating the camera’s sensors must have fried.

Hicks returned, carrying three manilla folders that he handed to Brett. “Sorry about the delay. I got hung up talking to a customer.”

“No problem.” Brett flipped one of the folders open, handing the other two to Gemma to read. “Can you give us a quick rundown on these people, starting with why you fired them?”

Hicks sat behind his desk. “One of them, Marissa Young, was late for work nearly every day. We gave her the opportunity to shape up, but she didn’t. The next guy, Stavros Medukin, was a stocking clerk who did his job okay, but he turned out to be a mean sonofabitch and was so rude to everyone, including our own employees, that I had to let him go.”

“And the third?” Brett prompted, amused to see Gemma jotting all this down even though he’d offered to take notes. A quick look told him her notes were the exact ones he would have made.

“Johnny Nash. He was a cashier who was arrested for burglary.”

Gemma looked up. “What did he steal?”

“Nothing from us. At least, nothing we could prove. He was arrested for a series of house burglaries in the area. We didn’t even know he’d been locked up until he missed two days of work and the police came around asking questions about him.”

“Did these three fired employees all have keys to the warehouse that burned down?” Gemma asked.

“Yes.”

She noted Hicks’s response on her pad. “And did you get all the keys back from them?”

“All except the one Nash had. The police said he couldn’t make bail, so we never had the chance to get the key back. We read in the Gazette that he was convicted of burglary and sent to prison. Until three weeks ago, we hadn’t seen him in over a year.”

Gemma handed Brett the file marked “Nash, Johnny” in the tab. “What happened three weeks ago?”

“He showed up wanting his old job back. I told him no, not with a burglary record. And while he was in prison, we did our annual inventory accounting and discovered a number of tools and supplies were missing, more than the standard amount that gets lost during the course of business or inventoried incorrectly when it arrives at the warehouse.”

“How did he take it when you wouldn’t rehire him?” Brett assumed not well.

“The little prick called me a motherfucker.” Hicks pointed to his chest. “He’s the thief, but I’m the motherfucker. Young people never hold themselves accountable anymore.”

“Sounds like he was angry enough to hold a grudge,” Brett said, adding, “We’ll look into it. Has Jose Turin contacted you yet?”

“The fire investigator?” Hicks nodded. “I already sent him an inventory of what was in the warehouse and a diagram that he asked for showing exactly where everything was shelved. We lost most of our rarer, more expensive wood. Insurance should cover it. Do you want me to send you a copy of the inventory, too?”

“Yes.”

Gemma handed Hicks her business card. “And please forward a copy of this video footage, as well.”

Hicks took the card and placed it on his desk. “Do you have a business card, Agent Tanner?”