His phone buzzed with a text from his mother, reminding him to take his pain medication and not overexert himself. Neither she nor Rad had been happy when he’d volunteered to help Chief Morrison with the fire investigation, especially given his recent injuries. But Holt had been climbing the walls after just over a week of forced inactivity, and the chance to use his skills on something concrete was too tempting to pass up.
Willa quietly pointed out to Chief Morrison and Rad that the fire that had been started was eerily similar to what happened ten years ago. The discovery of the gasoline can at today’s fire scene, identical to the one found in the ashes of the blaze that had killed Shaun Parker and three other firefighters, was too specific to be coincidental.
Holt had offered his assistance when he’d gone to Teacups earlier and found Margo Tanner preparing emergency supplies for the fire crews. She’d asked if he minded helping her transportcoffee, water, and food to the campground, and he’d readily agreed. While helping distribute refreshments to the exhausted emergency responders, he’d spoken with Rad, Chief Morrison, and Willa about the investigation.
“This is a bad time for something like this to happen,” Chief Morrison had said, exhaustion evident in his voice. “We’re already short-staffed, and now we’re looking at potential arson that seems similar to the great fire of ten years ago.”
That’s when Holt had made his offer. His experience with behavioral analysis and pattern recognition could be invaluable in this kind of investigation. More practically, he was going stir-crazy with enforced medical leave and needed something productive to focus on besides the emotional upheaval of seeing June again.
“There are no bullets involved here,” Holt had pointed out when Rad had started to protest. “I’ll take it easy, go to all my appointments with Dr. Tanner, and basically work from a desk. You need the help, and I need the distraction.”
Chief Morrison had accepted gratefully, promising to set him up in a small office at the police station where he could review case files and coordinate with the state fire marshal’s office. It would keep his mind occupied and away from the dangerous territory of wondering what might have been if he and June had made different choices all those years ago.
Now, as he pulled into the campground parking area, Holt could see the organized chaos of a major emergency response winding down. Fire trucks were still positioned strategically around the perimeter, but the orange glow visible from town was gone, replaced by the steady white lights of the investigation teams.
Chief Morrison spotted him immediately and waved him through the perimeter tape. “Holt, thanks for coming back. We’re ready to walk the scene if you are.”
“Absolutely,” Holt replied, grabbing a flashlight from his mother’s emergency kit. “What do we know so far?”
“The origin point is confirmed,” Willa said, joining them with a tablet full of preliminary reports. “The illegal campsite is about two hundred yards off the main trail. Someone set up without authorization, and we think purposely abandoned the fire.”
“Any sign of the camper who had set this site up?” Holt asked as they began walking toward the burn area.
“That’s the problem,” Chief Morrison replied grimly. “No one saw them arrive, no one saw them leave, and they’re not among the registered guests at the official campground. It’s like they were never here.”
“Except for the evidence they left behind,” Willa added, leading them to the origin point where the charred remains of camping equipment were still visible in the harsh glare of the work lights.
Holt studied the scene with the trained eye of someone who’d spent decades analyzing crime scenes. The placement of the debris, the burn patterns, and the way the fire had spread through the surrounding vegetation. It all told a story to anyone who knew how to read it.
“This wasn’t accidental,” Holt verified what Ace had already pointed out. “The accelerant pattern around the fire ring. Someone wanted this to spread.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Willa confirmed. “Plus the gasoline can Ace found hidden in the brush. It is the same brand and size as the one from ten years ago.”
“We’ll need to send it to the state lab for analysis,” Holt said, making notes on his phone. “But I’m guessing the fingerprints will be long gone, and gasoline cans aren’t exactly unique.”
“I’ll get you an office set up in the morning,” Tom told him.
“Could I get all the files on the original investigation from ten years ago?” Holt asked. “Personnel records for anyone who worked on the case. The timeline of all the incidents leading up to both fires. And I want to interview everyone who responded to the original scene as well as anyone who might remember details that didn’t make it into the official reports.”
“I can help with the fire department records,” Willa offered. “And I can give you contact information for anyone from the last crew who is still in the area.”
“Dad and I can handle the police side,” Rad said, appearing at Holt’s elbow. “Cross-reference incident reports, look for patterns in timing and location.”
“Good,” Chief Morrison nodded. “I want daily briefings, and I want to be kept in the loop on everything. If this was set deliberately, we need to know before it escalates and we have another tragedy.”
“Excuse me,” a new voice interrupted, and Holt turned to see a tall man in firefighting gear approaching their group. “Captain Parker, sorry to interrupt, but we’ve finished the secondary sweep. No signs of anyone still in the woods.”
“This is Ace McKenna,” Rad said, making the introduction. “He’s our best pilot and a former smokejumper. Ace, this is my father, FBI Director Holt Dillinger.”
“Director,” Ace said, offering a firm handshake.
“McKenna?” Holt asked, taking the young man’s hand. “Are you Walt McKenna’s son?”
“Yes,” Ace said with a nod. “Did you know my father?”
“I did,” Holt replied. “We grew up together before my family moved to Miami.”
“Really?” Ace said, with a small smile.
