Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10)(99)

“Meet you there.”

—

PHIL HAD TO park several blocks back from the scene of the blaze. Thick smoke drifted up in a dark column ahead, and D.D. found herself coughing the minute she stepped out of the car. The street near Dick Delaney’s Back Bay town house was already choked with fire engines and emergency responders. Given the brownstones nestled shoulder to shoulder down the stately block, the BFD hadn’t wasted any time knocking down the flames.

Phil and D.D. flashed their credentials, then ducked under the crime scene tape. D.D. found Di Lucca tucked behind one of the fire engines, taking refuge from the heat of the blaze. The sharply dressed arson investigator nodded at their approach.

“I still don’t know anything more than I told you by phone. Scene’s way too hot to enter. But the first responders all reported the smell of gasoline. Also, they spotted a clear burn pattern, which would be consistent with the use of an accelerant.”

D.D. nodded while slowly turning in place. As befitting a notoriously successful defense attorney, Dick Delaney lived on one hell of an expensive block. The street was lined with imported automobiles, and every expensively restored town house appeared slightly grander than the one before. Huge wreaths decorated dark-painted doors. Pots of fresh Christmas greenery flanked front stoops, while the precisely manicured bushes were decked out in sparkling white lights.

“He’s gotta be watching,” D.D. murmured.

“Firebugs love to admire their own work,” Di Lucca agreed.

“Any empty buildings in the area?” D.D. asked Phil, studying the row of windows across from them. This time of day, it was impossible to see inside. The windows merely reflected back the smoky sky. It was possible Rocket was standing at one of those windows now, the young kid staring down at them. Or he was hunkered on a fire escape, or tucked in the crowd of gawkers. So many possibilities. And yet she swore she could feel his eyes on her.

“Witnesses?” D.D. asked Di Lucca as Phil went to make some inquiries.

“Nothing. But not many people home this time of day.”

“He blends in,” D.D. said. “We have reason to believe he might have dressed up as pest control for approaching the Carters’ residence. No one thinks twice about service people. Plus, gave him an excuse to walk around with giant spray cans.”

“Smarter than I would’ve thought for a kid who’s only ever been known to have an interest in abandoned real estate.”

“We think he’s expanding his skills—arson for hire. Getting paid for doing what he loves best.”

Di Lucca sighed heavily. “Great, gangster turned entrepreneur. Just what this city needed.”

A commotion in the crowd. D.D. and Di Lucca turned to see Delaney walking quickly up the street toward them. Evie trailed behind him, talking on her phone. Delaney came to a halt in front of the patrol officer working the perimeter. The patrol officer put up a hand to block his progress. Delaney uttered something sharp and the younger man nearly leapt out of way to let him through.

Evie looked up, spotted D.D. waiting for them. Something flitted across the woman’s face. Guilt? Whomever she was talking to, Evie ended the call abruptly, stuck her phone in the folds of her coat.

“Mr. Delaney,” D.D. called out, summoning them both over. She peered into the crowd as she waited for their approach. Again, nothing. But Rocket had to be around. She knew it.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” D.D. said as Delaney and Evie halted before her.

“Was anyone hurt?” Delaney asked immediately.

“No,” Di Lucca did the honors of answering. “A neighbor spotted smoke almost immediately; BFD was on-site in a matter of minutes. Unfortunately, it appears the damage to the structure is substantial.”

Delaney shrugged unhappily. “Smoke damage. Water damage. Forget the fire. I doubt anything is salvageable.”

D.D. didn’t say anything, just watched the criminal attorney.

He was staring at his home, but it was impossible to read his expression. Sad? Angry? Surprised? All three?

“May I ask where you were this morning?” She spoke up.

“Tending to my client.” He gestured to Evie, who was gazing at the smoking building with open regret.

“And what were you up to this morning?” D.D. asked Evie. The silence dragged on for so long, D.D. didn’t think the woman was going to answer. Then:

“Is it the same as my house? Arson?”

“We have reason to believe so,” Di Lucca answered

Evie gazed at the woman. “Did you investigate my house? The Carter residence?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it’s the same person?”

“I can’t comment on an active investigation.”

“In other words, yes.” Evie shook her head. “But why? Why burn down my house? Why burn down my lawyer’s house? Why, why, why?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” D.D. this time, regarding both Delaney and Evie frankly.

“I have no idea,” Evie said, and she sounded so distressed, D.D. nearly believed her.

“Did you take anything from your house after the shooting?” D.D. asked her now.

“Of course not. The police arrested me. I didn’t even grab my purse or cell phone.”

“Eight minutes,” D.D. said softly. “Eight minutes between the first round of shots and the second. Plenty of time to grab something and tuck it away.”