“Maybe she called in sick,” I say, more to reassure Rachel than because I believe it.
“Maybe.” But she doesn’t sound convinced.
“I need you to think carefully. At the café fire, you were closing alone. Here, you came to get a book. Both times, you were in the building when the fire started. Is there any connection you can think of? Anyone who might want to hurt you? Anyone following you?”
“No. I don’t know.” She presses her hands to her face. “I don’t understand any of this. I’m just trying to get my life together, and buildings keep burning down around me.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“Tell that to the internet. Tell that to Derek’s lawyer, who’s going to use this as more evidence that I’m unstable.” She dropsher hands. “I’m cursed, Marco. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
“You’re not cursed. You’re unlucky. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” She looks at me with those green eyes that are too full of fear and confusion. “Because right now it feels the same.”
I want to tell her it’ll be okay. Want to promise her that I’ll figure this out and keep her safe.
But I can’t promise that. Not when I don’t understand the pattern yet.
“Go home,” I say instead. “Take Tommy home. Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow if I have more questions.”
“That’s it? You’re not going to interrogate me?”
“You’re not a suspect, Rachel. You’re a witness.” I meet her eyes. “And right now, you need to be with your son, not standing here breathing in smoke residue.”
She nods slowly. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not treating me like a criminal.”
I watch her walk back to Tommy and help him down from the ambulance. They head toward her car, and I force myself to look away before I do something stupid like offer to drive them home myself.
Hayes’ voice crackles over the radio. “Scene is clear. Structure’s safe for investigation.”
Finally.
I grab my kit and head toward the building.
The interior smells like burnt plastic and paper. The main library is mostly intact, with smoke damage and water from the hoses, but structurally sound. The real damage is in the back.
The staff storage room is a disaster.
Shelves collapsed, boxes of supplies reduced to ash. The walls blackened with soot. But the burn patterns tell me everything I need to know.
I crouch near the doorway and examine the floor. Clear pour patterns. Accelerant splashed across the floor in deliberate lines, then ignited. The fire burned hot and fast, feeding on the cardboard boxes and paper supplies.
This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t faulty wiring or a burning cigarette.
Someone set this fire.
I take photos of the burn patterns from multiple angles. Document the pour marks. Collect samples of the residue for lab analysis.
The similarities to the café fire are impossible to ignore. Same accelerant. Same technique. Same amateur execution, leaving obvious evidence behind.
But a different location. Different building ownership. Different time of day.
What’s the connection?
