Page 116 of Flint’s Strike

His shoulders drop half an inch as he looks to me. “Just…talk?”

“Yep.”

Charlie nods, releases the chain, and opens the door the rest of the way. “Watch your step. And…sorry for the mess.”

Inside, it’s clear this place isn’t meant for long-term use. A sagging couch sits in the center of the room with a rough-hewn table off to one side, four mismatched chairs around it. The kitchen’s seen better decades.

Even with the front door open, the room is dim. All the curtains are drawn, and only thin ribbons of sunlight slip around the edges.

I catch the scent of the tequila before my gaze lands on the half-empty bottle and single glass next to the couch. The trash can in the kitchen is about to overflow, paper plates and fast food wrappers sticking up from the plastic liner.

A small duffel bag in the corner is unzipped, but the clothes inside are folded neatly. Nothing about the room is careless. Just…temporary.

Charlie shuts the front door and leads us over to the kitchen table. He takes the chair against the wall where he can keep an eye on the front door.

“Thanks for gettin’ us away from the sun. It’s brutal out there.” I don’t ask a question. Not yet. Silence has a way of doing the work for you.

“I reckon you’re here about the fires?” His voice drops to a rough whisper.

“You were expecting someone.” I don’t reach for my notebook. Nate has his out, but he hasn’t opened it yet. Kessler needs a little more time to get comfortable with us.

Charlie stares down at his hands, folded on the table. “Eventually.”

“Why?” I ask.

“My name’s on those inspections.” He shakes his head. “My name’s on a lot of inspections.”

I study him for a moment. The fear in his voice. The way his eyes start to shimmer. The tremor shaking his fingers. “Not anymore.”

“What?” He sits up a little straighter.

“Your name isn’t associated with any of the fires we’re actively investigating.”

“Then…why…how did you find me?” He stares over my shoulder at the front door, his voice suddenly tight.

“Sometime between the Rutherford Lane building catching fire on Monday afternoon and my partner showing up to work on Tuesday morning, the signature on the inspection report changed from Charlie Kessler to Todd Ferris.” I pull a folded piece of paper from my pocket, and smooth it out on the table in front of him.

“That’s…that’s not right.” Kessler lifts his gaze. “I know Todd. He handles residential buildings. Good guy. Wife, two kids.”

“We know.” I try to keep my tone as reassuring as possible. “He has an alibi. No one’s going after him.”

Charlie shudders with relief. “But…I signed off on the building. The one on Aldrich Street too. The one where two people…died.”

“Tell us about Aldrich.” I finally take my notebook out, but don’t open it yet. Nate’s got that covered.

“I walked every inch of that building.” Charlie reaches for my hand, then lets his own fall back to the table. “You’ve gotta understand, Captain, I never meant for anyone to die. I cut corners. Looked the other way on a few things I knew weren’t up to code. But that building was safe.”

Nate’s brows disappear under his hair. Frustration sends a brief tremor running down his back. “The panic hardware in one of the units was installed upside down, Mr. Kessler. The two women who died couldn’t get out the back door.”

“No. No.” Kessler shakes his head hard enough, I’m surprised he doesn’t fall off the chair. “I checked every one of those doors. They were all workin’.”

I exchange a glance with my partner. Kessler’s telling the truth. At least about this. The fear in his eyes, in his voice… He isn’t looking for an escape route. He’s staring straight at us.

The arsonist disabled that door. Did they know there’d be two women inside? Or were June and Delia Castillo simply in the wrong place at the wrong time?

“Then talk to me about Rutherford Lane? Why didn’t you do a flow test on the sprinklers?” Nate writes something in his notebook, and I cast a quick gaze in his direction.

Arsonist disabled hardware. Kessler knew nothing.