“I’m sorry. If I can get him on the phone soon, I can ask, but I don’t think we’ll have much luck as of right now.”
“Whenever you can,” I said. “I’m going to look into other avenues.”
He nodded, and I headed to the parking lot to make a phone call.
“Stephen’s Investigations, this is Hallease. How may I help you?”
“Hallease, it’s Don.”
“Hi, Don.”I could hear the smile on her face. “How are you? I’m sorry, Jocelyn’s out of the office right now, but I can take a message if you want.”
“I called to speak with you, actually. Jocelyn tells me you’re good with computers and tech stuff.”
“I’m...okay.”
I grinned at the bashful note in her voice. “I’m sure you’re better than okay. If I were to ask you to look up a list of Rescue Four’s calls over a certain period, would you be able to do that for me?”
A beat of silence passed between us.
“I think so,” she replied. “It would require some finagling, but I can do it. Is there anything specific you’re looking for?”
“I need a list of all fires or accidents where a person was severely injured or died because of their injuries. Let’s start with cases going back ten years to about three years ago. See if the injured or killed person had any surviving relatives who may have sued the department or made it clear they were angry with the firefighters for not saving their loved one.”
“Okay, I’m writing this all down.”
“Good.”
“Anything else?”
“Can you keep this between the two of us?” I asked. “Jocelyn already has a lot on her plate, and we don’t need to add this to the list. I’ll tell her soon enough.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding uncertain.
“There’s one more thing I need you to do.” I explained to Hallease what I needed from her before hanging up.
She said she’d have the information back to me within the next two weeks.
In the meantime, I was going to sit on telling Jocelyn the arsonist had called me. Hopefully, by the time I told her, I would have a list of names as to who could be behind this shit.
Chapter 17
Jocelyn
“Hey, Mama.”I entered the kitchen and walked over to place a kiss on my mother’s cheek.
“Hey, baby.”
I leaned over her shoulder and sniffed the air. “Brown stew chicken.” My stomach growled. “I swear you cook like you’re an actual Jamaican.”
She grinned and swatted at me with a kitchen towel. “After being married to your father for almost thirty years and cooking it for all three of you, I might as well be one.”
I gave her a wane smile at the mention of my father and turned away from the love that shined in her eyes. For me, both love and disapproval were common emotions I felt for my father. I loved my father deeply, but he wasn’t perfect.
I couldn’t say that to my mother. She still revered the man.
