"Absolutely," Willa replied grimly. "If the fire had spread the way it was designed to, there wouldn't have been enough left of this place to conduct any kind of investigation.” She pointed to where the dumpster was propped against the building's wall. “We'd never have found those gas canisters or been able to determine how the attack was carried out. Even the dumpster is pushed against the building wall."
“Yeah, I did think that was strange,” Ace replied. “Dr. Peltz doesn’t keep it there.” He glanced at Rad. “I did photograph the dumpster too.”
“So, they wanted everything burned,” Holt muttered. “Including whatever was in that dumpster.” His eyes found Rad’s.
“Yeah, I know,” Rad said with a nod. “I’ll get some of the officers to scour the dumpster.”
An hour later, they had completed their initial examination of the scene and were preparing to leave. The evidence they'd collected painted a disturbing picture of a sophisticated, coordinated assault that had come within minutes of succeeding completely.
As they walked toward the parking area in front of the clinic, Holt found himself deep in thought about the implications of what they'd discovered. The police-grade gas canisters, the systematic preparation of the building for complete destruction, the tactical precision of blocking all escape routes—this was the work of someone with both resources and knowledge on how to get things done.
Lost in his analysis of the evidence, Holt didn't notice the firefighter approaching from the opposite direction until they collided near the building's front entrance.
"Sorry," Holt mumbled, barely glancing at the person he'd bumped into.
The firefighter was still in full gear, complete with helmet and face mask, making identification impossible in the dim evening light. The person simply stepped around Holt without speaking and continued walking toward the back of the building.
"Dad," Rad's voice called, snapping Holt's attention back to the immediate situation. "I have to go back to the station and write up my initial report on all this evidence. Can you pick up Tyler from Willa’s house?"
"I'll call your grandmother and ask her to take him home with her when she leaves there," Holt suggested. "I don't have a car here since you drove me to the scene."
"Oh shoot," Rad said with obvious frustration. "Of course. I wasn't thinking clearly."
"I can give you a ride home," Tom offered, approaching their group. "If you don't mind stopping at the hospital on the way. I'd like to check on how Lacey and Margo are doing."
"That would be perfect," Holt agreed. "I need to see them anyway."
"Holt," Tom said as they walked toward his police cruiser, "maybe tonight isn't the best time to take their formal statements. They've been through a terrible trauma, and they need time to recover."
"I wasn't planning to conduct interviews tonight," Holt assured him, though he didn't mention that June had already obtained an informal account from Margo earlier in the evening.
The ride to the hospital was quiet, with both men lost in their own thoughts about the implications of what they'd discovered at the clinic. Tom seemed to be grappling with the possibility that his family might be connected to the escalating violence, while Holt was trying to piece together a timeline that would explain how the attacks had become so sophisticated so quickly.
At the hospital, Tom headed directly to the information desk to inquire about visiting Lacey and Margo, while Holt excused himself to find a bathroom. The smoke and chemical residue from the clinic had left him feeling grimy and contaminated, and he wanted to clean up before seeing the attack victims.
The hospital bathroom was standard institutional design, with harsh fluorescent lighting and the antiseptic smell that seemed to permeate every medical facility. Holt washed his handsthoroughly, trying to remove the last traces of the crime scene from his skin, then dried them with rough paper towels.
As he prepared to leave the bathroom, he pulled his phone from his pocket to check for messages or notifications from the surveillance cameras he'd installed at the police station earlier that day. The investigation was moving quickly, and he wanted to make sure he hadn't missed any important developments.
But as he pulled out his phone, a small piece of folded paper fell from his pocket and fluttered to the floor.
Holt frowned and picked up the paper, trying to remember when he might have put a note in his pocket. His memory of the evening was focused on the investigation, and he couldn't recall anyone handing him written information.
He unfolded the paper and read the message written in block letters:
"If you were smart, you'd walk away from this. I hope you do. This is not your case."
The words sent a chill through Holt's entire body. Someone had managed to slip this threatening note into his pocket without his knowledge, which meant they'd been close enough to physically reach him during the evening's activities.
His mind immediately went to the firefighter he'd bumped into outside the clinic. The person had been in full gear, face completely concealed, and hadn't spoken when they'd collided. In the confusion of the moment, it would have been easy enough to slip something into his pocket.
Holt stared at the note, reading the words again and trying to extract every possible piece of information from the briefmessage. The handwriting was deliberately disguised, printed in capital letters that revealed nothing about the writer's natural style. The paper was standard notebook paper, the kind available in any office supply store.
But the message itself was significant. "This is not your case," suggested that whoever had written it knew about Holt's federal jurisdiction and his role in the investigation. It also implied that there was someone else who considered this "their case"—someone who felt territorial about the attacks and wanted Holt to stop interfering.
The threat was subtle but unmistakable. "If you were smart, you'd walk away," combined with "I hope you do," carried the clear implication that failure to heed the warning would have consequences.
Holt carefully folded the note and slipped it into his pocket. This piece of paper might contain DNA evidence, fingerprints, or other trace materials that could help identify its author. But more immediately, it confirmed his growing suspicion that the person behind these attacks had inside access to the police and/or the fire department.
