Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10)(73)

“There are other creatures,” Dr. Keynes provided. “Ogopogo, for instance. It would appear random, while having a secret meaning to Jacob that would fulfill his need to be silently superior.”

“The sightings of the monster took place in Inverness-shire in Scotland,” Keith rattled off. He turned toward Quincy. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Jacob’s mom live in Inverness, Florida? A city named by a Scotsman who said the lakes in the area reminded him of the lochs of his homeland?”

Quincy nodded. “Jacob’s mailing address was his mother’s home in Inverness, Florida.”

“There’s a connection there.” Flora again, looking convinced. “Inverness, loch Florida, L Inverness, something like that.”

Quincy started to scribble on her notepad.

“There are some algorithms which could blow out all possible combinations,” Keith began.

Quincy’s turn to hold up a hand. “Quit while you’re ahead. All right, I got this. Will get in touch with the techs, see what we can do.”

“The office next to mine is empty,” Dr. Keynes offered. “You can set up shop there.”

The agent nodded her appreciation.

Flora looked at D.D. “What next?”

“Boyfriend goes home.”

“He is not—”

“Civilian goes home,” D.D. reiterated firmly. “You can catch him up later. But you and I have business. You’re still my CI. Time to earn your keep.”

“What do you mean?”

D.D. was already rising to standing. “Come on, you’re with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll explain along the way.”

D.D. headed for the door. Flora scrambled after.





CHAPTER 24


    FLORA


“WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT arson?” D.D. asks me ten minutes later. I’m sitting in her car as she navigates through the snarl of downtown traffic. I’m not sure where we’re headed yet but figure she’ll tell me soon enough.

Boston is beautiful at Christmastime. The buildings decked out in huge holiday displays, streets lined with festive trees, poles covered in twinkling white lights. My mom loves this time of year. She’s probably already planned the entire meal down to reserving some organic turkey named Fred who’d grown up free-range and was now completing the farm-to-table cycle of life. She’s hoping Darwin will fly in from London to join us. While I don’t say as much out loud, I hope he does, too. Otherwise it’ll be myself, my mom, Samuel, I guess, and maybe a neighbor or two. Maybe I could ask Keith. Would that be too weird? That’s probably too weird.

“Earth to Flora. Arson?”

I belatedly pull my gaze from the giant tinsel snowflakes hanging from the streetlights. “I don’t know anything about arson.”

“Perfect. Then this will be a growth experience for you. Manila folder tucked next to your seat. Open it.”

“Wait a minute. Is this about the Carters’ house burning down? You want me to investigate their house fire?”

“Yes.”

“This is stupid. I don’t know arson. My time would be better spent chasing down more connections between Jacob and Conrad.”

“I think we’ve already made progress on that front today.”

I stare at her, closed file on my lap. “What the hell is going on here?”

“You’re a CI. I’m giving you a job. Stop whining.”

“I’m not whining, I’m telling you no.”

D.D. takes her eyes off the endless row of brake lights in front of us long enough to arch a brow. “Conrad is connected to Jacob. Meaning whoever torched Conrad’s house, possibly with the intent to cover up that connection or other significant information, might be yet another means of learning more about Jacob.”

“Bullshit. You just want me out of the way.”

“No. I want Jacob out of your head. Personally, I think you’ve given him enough real estate today. Don’t you?”

The sharpness of her tone sets me back. I retreat in the passenger’s seat. Whether I like it or not, I get her point. Ever since turning on the news yesterday morning, I’ve done nothing but obsess about Jacob. D.D. has a point; I could use a break.

Arson it is.

I open the file, peruse the contents.

“That’s the report from the arson investigator, Patricia Di Lucca,” D.D. provides. “Cause of the fire was a homemade ignition system prepped on the stove top, involving cooking oil and cotton, which then set ablaze the copious amounts of gasoline poured all over the house. Real low-end job. Materials all readily available. Cooking oil and cotton could’ve come from the house itself. Gasoline, given the amount used, probably was brought with the arsonist, as we’re talking several gallons.”

“When did this happen?”

“Fire was reported around two in the afternoon. Could’ve been set up earlier, say, one thirty, given the cooking oil needed time to heat up.”

I start flipping through the papers. In addition to a formal write-up and a list of materials, the arson report includes detailed sketches of the home, the path of the fire, all sorts of visual aids. More photos and diagrams show the area of heaviest damage—where the arsonist clearly had poured a small lake of accelerant.