“Todd Varo, former building inspector,” Lena read, tapping his file. “Lives in Oceanview and retired last year. He’d have worked directly with Webb’s reports.”
“Nicole Hopson at the city planning office.” Erin traced the address with her finger. “She would’ve processed every violation that Webb documented.”
Lena’s instinct was to divide and conquer so they could cover more interviews and gather vital information faster. But before she could suggest it, Erin spoke up.
“We should interview them together,” Erin said. “Two perspectives means a better chance of catching inconsistencies and subtle clues if someone’s lying.”
Lena considered this. Yesterday had proven they could work effectively as a team, and Webb’s former colleagues might be more forthcoming if they saw the fire department and police department taking the investigation seriously.
“Plus,” Erin continued, “you know how to read people for deception, and I understand the technical side of what Webb would’ve been documenting.”
“Fair point.” Lena stacked the files into their respective piles, her movements efficient and purposeful. “Todd first, then Nicole. If we’re lucky, one of them knows more than they’re letting on.”
“You think someone’s hiding something?” Erin asked as they gathered their materials.
“Ialwaysthink that someone’s hiding something.” Lena grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. “In this case, I hope I’m right.”
The morning air was crisp as they walked toward Lena’s car, both carrying the anticipation that came with new leads. Four fires, escalating danger, and now they had names and addresses of people who might actually have answers.
The first interview was in Oceanview, a twenty-minute drive that felt longer with the weight of unspoken tension filling Lena's car. She focused on the road while Erin reviewed Todd's file.
Todd Varo lived in a tidy bungalow three blocks from the ocean, with salt-weathered shutters and a garden that had seen better days. He answered the door in a bathrobe, coffee mug in hand, looking like retirement agreed with him.
"I was a building inspector for thirty-two years," he said, settling into a worn leather chair. "Worked with Marcus Webb during his last three years before I retired. Good kid. Thorough."
Lena leaned forward. "Did Webb ever mention concerns about his reports being ignored? Any buildings that should have been condemned but weren't?"
"Oh, sure. It happened all the time." Todd waved dismissively. "Developers with connections and property owners who knew which palms to grease knew how to sidestep the system. Marcus got frustrated, but that's the job."
"Any specific cases?" Erin asked. "Were there buildings that made him particularly angry?"
Todd scratched his stubbled chin as he thought. "The old community center on Maple Street. As I recall, Marcus flagged serious electrical issues and recommended immediate closure. The property owner threw a fit and went over our heads."
Lena's pulse quickened. That was fire number two. "Do you remember the property owner's name?"
"Davis something. Or Davidson?" Todd shrugged. "I was already halfway out the door by then. Didn't pay much attention to the politics."
They spent another twenty minutes pressing for details Todd didn't have. He'd been fishing in Mexico when all four fires happened. Solid alibi, but useless information.
Nicole Hopson was their second interview, a harried woman in her fifties who worked out of a cluttered home office. She processed violation reports for the city planning department and remembered Webb's reports coming across her desk regularly.
"He was very detailed," she said, pulling files from an overflowing cabinet. "Some inspectors just check boxes, but Marcus wrote novels. Every violation documented, every recommendation explained."
"Who had access to those reports once you processed them?" Lena asked.
"The building commissioner's office, the mayor's office, sometimes the fire department for safety assessments. Anyone with proper clearance could request copies."
Erin exchanged a look with Lena. "How many people would that be?"
"Dozens. Maybe more." Nicole spread her hands helplessly. "The system wasn't exactly secure. Half the time people just called and asked for files verbally."
By the time they tried calling their third interview—a former building official who'd moved to San Diego six months ago—Lena's jaw was clenched tight enough to crack teeth. Every lead made the suspect pool larger, not smaller. Everyone’s answers revealed how easy it would have been for someone to access Webb's reports and use them to target vulnerable buildings.
The drive between interviews grew quieter as the afternoon wore on. Erin stopped offering encouraging commentary, and Lena stopped pretending she wasn't ready to put her fist through something.
"This is pointless," Lena said as they walked back to her car after the San Diego call had gone to voicemail for the third time. "We're chasing ghosts."
"We're eliminating suspects," Erin replied, but her voice lacked its usual optimism. "That's still progress."
