Hartley glares but eventually provides alibi information and agrees to turn over his financial records. Not conclusive either way, but enough to keep him on the suspect list without moving him to the top.
The second interview is different. The manager at Cascade Services is smoother than Hartley—professional veneer firmly in place, answers rehearsed, body language controlled. But the same bitterness shows through when we push. Same financial desperation, just better hidden. Alibis that sound plausiblebut need verification. Financial records promised but not immediately provided.
Summit Contractors gives us the third variation. Younger owner, more arrogant, less scared. Treats the whole interview like an inconvenience rather than a threat. Provides alibis without being asked, volunteers financial records before we request them. Either genuinely innocent or smart enough to know cooperation looks better than resistance.
"We need financial records," Mira says as we're riding back toward my place. "Deep dive into their transactions, cross-reference with accelerant purchases, map against the timeline."
"How long will that take?"
"Couple days if I focus on nothing else. Less if you help."
"I'll help." I pull into my driveway and kill the engine. "We work better together anyway."
Inside, we spread financial documents across my dining table. Public business filings, tax records, preliminary financial data Mira had already pulled on all three suspects before we ever knocked on their doors. The deep private records will come later when they provide them, but there's enough here to start building patterns. Tedious work, cross-referencing transactions against dates, looking for patterns that connect to the arsons.
Hours blur together. Coffee refills, note-taking, spreadsheets mapping financial activity. Mira's brilliant at this—seeing patterns I'd miss, connecting details that seem unrelated, building comprehensive profiles that narrow our suspect pool.
"Shaw." Her voice cuts through my concentration. "Look at this."
I move behind her chair, looking over her shoulder at the screen. "What am I seeing?"
"Evidence that Cascade Services, or whoever owns them, is paying Hartley in order to set him up as the fall guy."
"We need more proof before we can move on this."
"I know. But this is the first real lead we've had." She turns in her chair, looking up at me. "We're close, Shaw. We're finally close."
"Yeah." I squeeze her shoulder. "We are."
Dispatch calls while we're still standing there.
"Riley."
"Active structure fire, Pacific Imports, commercial district east side. Captain wants you on scene."
"On my way." I end the call and grab my keys. "Another fire. No Brotherhood connection that I know of."
Mira's already closing her laptop. "The pattern's changing. That could mean escalation."
"Or it could mean we've got a copycat." I head for the door. "Either way, I need to document the scene."
"Be careful."
I pause in the doorway, looking back at her. "Always am."
The fire at Pacific Imports is already under control by the time I arrive. Standard commercial blaze, nothing sophisticated about the accelerant pattern. Wrong methodology entirely—crude gasoline pour, obvious ignition point, zero attempt at concealment.
Not our arsonist. Different person, different motive, completely unrelated to the Brotherhood fires.
I document everything anyway, take my samples, file my report. Professional thoroughness even when my gut says this isn't connected.
By the time I get back home, it's past eight. Mira's still at the dining table, laptop open, surrounded by financial documents. She looks up when I walk in.
"Well?"
"Not connected. Different accelerant, different technique, different everything." I drop my gear by the door. "Probably insurance fraud, maybe vandalism. Not our guy."
Relief crosses her face. "So the pattern didn't break. He's still targeting Brotherhood businesses."
