Instead, he raised it higher. "I can't go to prison. I have kids, a family."
"You have kids, and you're helping someone burn down buildings?" Lena's voice hardened. "Buildings where people could die?"
"I never knew!" The words exploded out of him. "I thought it was just— He said he was writing articles about building safety. You know, like investigative journalism. I was just giving him background information from my friend who still works with the city."
"What friend?"
"Danny Morrison. He's still with building safety. We'd meet for drinks, and I'd ask him about current projects and recent inspections. Casual conversation, normal work stuff. I'd pass it along and get paid for it."
Lena's mind raced. Morrison—she recognized the name from the department roster. "And Danny had no idea you were selling his information?"
"Of course not!" Martin's grip on the crowbar shifted, and Lena tensed. "He thought we were just catching up. Two old coworkers talking shop."
"Who was buying the information, Martin?"
"I don't know." His voice cracked again. "They were all dead drops. Anonymous texts telling me what kind of information to get and where to leave it. Cash payments left at different locations around the city."
"You never met this buyer?"
"Never." He looked at the containers surrounding him, then back at Lena. "But after each fire, he'd pay more. And after you questioned me last week, he sent a message saying if the police got close again, I needed to clean house."
Lena felt her pulse spike. "Clean house how?"
"Destroy everything. The chemicals, the equipment, anything that could connect back to him." He gestured at the containers with the crowbar. "I've been storing all this herefor months. Every component he asked me to pick up, every accelerant, it’s always been here."
"You've been the supply line."
"I thought I was just moving chemicals for some kind of research project. I never put it together until the fires started." Martin's voice turned desperate. "By then, he was paying me too much to stop because I needed the money. Unemployment wasn’t enough, and it’s impossible to find good work right now. And when I tried to quit after you questioned me, he said he…he knew where my kids went to school."
The threat hung in the air between them. Lena kept her weapon steady, but she felt a cold certainty settling in her stomach. This wasn't just a simple string of arson cases. It was organized, funded, and backed by someone with reach and resources.
"Martin, we can protect you and your family. But you need to put down the crowbar and come with me. Now."
"He'll know I talked." Martin backed up another step, and Lena realized he was positioning himself near something—a container larger than the others that was set apart from the rest. "He'll know you were here."
"We'll make sure?—"
He suddenly swung the crowbar down toward the large container. Lena lunged forward, but she was too far away. The metal struck something inside with a hollow clang, and immediately the air filled with the smell of gasoline and something else she didn’t recognize.
"Jesus, Martin, what the fuck did you just do?"
"I'm sorry." He raised the crowbar again, and this time Lena saw what he was aiming for—a road flare, the kind construction crews used for emergencies.
She dove toward him as he brought the crowbar down.
The metal struck the road flare with a sharp crack, and sparks showered across the concrete floor. Lena tackled Martin around the waist, driving both of them away from the gasoline-and-accelerant-soaked containers as orange flames bloomed behind them.
They hit the ground hard, Martin’s elbow driving into her ribs. The crowbar clattered away across the concrete, spinning into the shadows between the industrial shelving. Lena rolled, trying to pin him, but Martin was stronger than his panicked demeanor suggested and fueled by desperation.
“You don’t understand!” He twisted beneath her, throwing a wild punch that caught her shoulder. “He’ll kill my family!”
Lena blocked his next swing and drove her knee toward his stomach, but he shifted and her leg struck the bone of his hip instead. The fire behind them was spreading, following the trail of spilled gasoline toward the other containers. The chemical smell intensified, making her eyes stream.
“We need to get the hell out of here!” She grabbed Martin’s wrist, trying to control his movements, but he wrenched free and scrambled toward the fallen crowbar.
The warehouse filled with smoke faster than she’d expected. Through the haze, she could see Martin on his hands and knees, feeling around for the weapon. Lena pulled out her radio, calling for fire department response, but the transmission cut to static. Either the building’s metal structure was interfering with the signal or the smoke was already thick enough to disrupt electronics.
Martin found the crowbar. He came up swinging, and Lena barely ducked in time. The metal whistled past her ear, close enough that she felt the air displacement. She drew her service weapon, but Martin was already moving, using the thick plumes of smoke as cover.
