Deadly Heat (Deadly #2)(72)
“Then why wasn’t the guy locked up?” Lora demanded. If Pete had arrested him…
“Because his wife changed her story. After two days, she withdrew her complaint, even though she had a broken arm, a broken jaw, and a dislocated collarbone.”
Well, damn. “Okay, so the guy was an *, what does that have to do with Phoenix deciding to attack him?” She scanned the agents, trying to gauge everyone’s reaction. Was she missing something?
Monica wasn’t looking up. Her gaze was on the file that Sam had given her. She scanned through the pages quickly.
Kenton’s gaze was up and on Sam. “What about Skofield?” he asked.
“Charlie Skofield was paralyzed in a car accident a year ago.” Sam took a breath. “The other driver—she was killed on impact. Skofield—”
“Had been drinking,” Lora finished. Right. She’d already told this to Kenton. There’d been no missing the stench of Charlie’s breath as he’d slurred and said “The bitch c-came out of nowhere, h-hit me…”
“When I started digging into Skofield’s past,” Sam continued, “I found more arrests for DUI. Some dating back years.” A faint frown pulled her brows low. “His license was already suspended when he hit the other driver. He should never have been on the road.”
Lora blinked. The tension in the room had ratcheted up, too high.
“And then you have Louis Jerome… a known drug dealer. A guy who seemed to slip right through the system, because he knew how to make deals with the Feds.”
Louis Jerome. The poor bastard that they’d found dead in a closet.
“That kid—” Ramirez stabbed a finger toward Sam. “Michael Randall, he’d done time for arson.”
“No.” Lora shook her head. This one, she knew. Randall had never set foot in a cell. “He was mentally unstable. He got sent for counseling at Meadows Rehab.”
“But a young girl died in the fire he set,” Sam said. “And if Randall hadn’t been a minor, maybe he would have seen the inside of a prison.”
Maybe. Maybe not. Randall had been sick.
“Wait a minute.” Kenton’s eyes narrowed, and then he reached forward and started searching through the pile of papers. “The transcript from his call. I need that damn transcript.”
Monica leafed through the papers with him.
Lora waited, her hands starting to sweat.
“Here!” Kenton yanked up some stapled pages. “He told us… The weak die. The fire burns. She kills. She judges the wicked.” Kenton exhaled on a hard breath. “She judges. He was f*cking telling us, and I didn’t even see it.”
“Well, call me blind, but I don’t see it.” Okay, wait, maybe she did. Tom and Charlie—they’d committed crimes. Jennifer, too, from the sound of things, and everyone knew about Michael Randall. So… Lora sat straight in her chair. The vics had all broken the law, and yet—
“They got away with it.” Monica glanced at the photos, her stare lasering in on them, one at a time. “His victims—Jennifer, Tom, Charlie, Jerome, and Randall. Even Larry—they all got away with crimes. The cops didn’t punish them. Those people didn’t pay for what they did.”
“The fire judged them.” Kenton ran a hand over the back of his neck. “That bastard was telling us everything.”
“She judges the wicked,” Monica quoted.
Lora rubbed her temple. “You’re telling me this guy is punishing these people? Because they didn’t go to jail, he’s burning them?”
“No.” A quick negative shake of Monica’s head. “Not him. The fire is judging. I think—” She dove into her suitcase, pulling up more papers. “He’s even giving them a chance to survive. He calls the fire department and tells them—you—where to go.” Her words came faster. “If—if the victim is saved…”
“Hasn’t happened yet,” Ramirez pointed out.
“Then the fire lets him rise from the ashes. It’s…” Monica’s lips twisted in a humorless smile, “judgment by fire.”
Kenton nodded, obviously following Monica’s line of thought. “Fucking biblical.”
Lora leapt to her feet. “This isn’t God! This is some nut job out there who is burning people alive! Doesn’t matter who these people are or what they did, he’s still killing them!”
Monica raised a brow. “It matters to him.”
“My people are getting hurt.” Her nails bit into her palms. “Carter never hurt anyone. Never. And Wade—he’s barely more than a kid. These fires aren’t just set to kill the victims, they’re set to trap the rescuers, to trap us.” Last night, he’d come after her directly. She hadn’t hurt anyone. Hadn’t broken any damn laws. She didn’t need to be judged.
Least of all by a psychotic pyro.
“They’re a challenge, don’t you see?” Monica’s eyes locked on her. “He wants to prove the firefighters can’t beat his fire. He’s stronger. Smarter. The flame can’t be stopped, and when fire judges, no matter what, the guilty are punished.”
“This is insane.” Lora shoved away from the table and started pacing—long, fast strides. “If he’s going after folks who’ve broken the law…” The words ripped out. “What have I done?” She swung around to face Sam. “I haven’t killed. I haven’t sold drugs or slapped some poor woman around. I haven’t done anything wrong!”