Lena scrolled through Cross's background check: clean record, no criminal history, steady employment until the layoffs. But something still nagged at her. "Look at his employment record," she said, highlighting the dates. "Cross was laid off two years ago and was collecting unemployment, but according to this, he stopped claiming benefits about a month ago."
"Right around when the fires started escalating," Diana noted.
"Could just be coincidence," Julia said, though her tone suggested she didn't believe it.
"Or someone finally made him an offer." Lena pulled up the building inspection database. "Cross had access to every fire safety report filed in Phoenix Ridge during his four years with the city. That includes Webb's documentation of all the vulnerabilities our arsonist has been exploiting."
She displayed a cross-reference chart on her screen. "Every target location had documented safety violations that were never corrected. The arsonist clearly had detailed reports showing exactly where and how to exploit these weaknesses."
"So Cross could be our arsonist or selling intelligence," Diana said, following the logic. "But to who? And how is he getting this information? Two years is a long time to stay informed about restricted city information."
"That's what we need Cross to answer." Lena minimized the database window. "Someone with comprehensive knowledge of building safety systems would knowexactlyhow to exploit these vulnerabilities. And they'd need current intelligence to stay ahead of security improvements."
"We need to bring Cross in," Julia said. "He's our first real lead to whoever's orchestrating this."
Lena was already reaching for her phone. "I'll have patrol pick him up. According to his file, he's living at Driftwood Point on the east side of the city."
As she dialed dispatch, the familiar weight of a case coming together settled over her. This was what she was good at: connecting dots, building cases, and finding truth in scattered evidence.
"Dispatch, this is Detective Soto," she said into her phone. "I need a pickup and transport on Martin Cross, last known address 2847 Pelican Crest Circle, Unit 15B in Driftwood Apartments. Bring him in for questioning in connection with the arson investigation."
She provided Cross's description and vehicle information, coordinating with two patrol units for the arrest.
"ETA thirty minutes," the dispatcher confirmed.
Lena ended the call and found Julia watching her with an expression she recognized. Her captain's ability to read people was legendary, and keeping secrets around her had always been nearly impossible.
"Fire Marshal Vance's expertise has been crucial to this investigation," Julia said carefully. "Her analysis of theaccelerants gave us the foundation for everything we're building now."
"It has," Lena agreed, keeping her voice professional.
"Make sure that partnership continues." Julia's tone carried layers—support, warning, and something that might have been approval. "We're going to need both your skill sets to close this case safely."
Chief Marten swiveled her chair toward her. "I'll coordinate with the fire chief about increased security around potential targets. If Cross talks and leads us to his source, things might escalate before we can make arrests."
The meeting dissolved into logistics and assignments, but Lena remained at the table as the others filed out. Through the glass wall, she could see the fire station across the courtyard where Erin was probably cataloging evidence with the same meticulous precision that had caught every detail the arsonist thought they'd hidden.
Cross would be here within the hour. Maybe he'd cooperate. Maybe they'd finally get ahead of this case instead of chasing fires after they'd already been set.
But even as she organized the case files, a cold certainty settled in her chest: whoever was behind this wouldn't go quietly. And when they made their next move, Erin would be right there doing her job.
Lena gathered the evidence photos, each image a piece of the threat they were building toward. Everything had changed at that cabin, and now she understood why people talked about having something to lose.
An hour later, Lena walked into the interrogation room, closed the door, and stared at the man sitting at the table. Martin Cross looked exactly like his surveillance photos: middle-aged, unremarkable, the kind of man who could blend into any crowd of city workers. But there was something in his posture that sether teeth on edge. He was too relaxed, too confident for someone who'd just been arrested in connection with a string of arsons.
"I have to say, Detective, this is all very confusing," Cross said, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile. "I'm not sure why I'm here."
Lena walked across the room, sat at the table across from Martin, and slid the surveillance photos across the metal table. "These were taken last night at Pine Ridge Cabins. That's you loading containers into your truck at 11:47 p.m." It wasn’t a question.
Martin glanced at the images without a flicker of concern. "Yeah, that's me. So?"
"So what were you doing at an isolated cabin in the middle of the night?"
"Moving some old furniture and stuff for a friend." He shrugged, the picture of innocence. "He's got a storage unit up there and asked me to help him clear it out."
Lena studied his face, looking for tells. But Martin met her gaze steadily, comfortable in his skin in a way that innocent people rarely were during police interrogations. This was a man who knew exactly how little evidence they had and that it was circumstantial at best.
"What kind of things require being stored in metal containers?"
