Page 59 of Flint’s Strike

“Let him.” I look at Beth Navarro, phone pressed to her ear, crying again. “We’re done here anyway.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Eliot

The office is winding down by four thirty, two junior investigators chatting in the break room, my boss already gone for the day, and the admin assistants working on paperwork.

I trudge into my office, ease the duffel bag off my shoulder, and sink into my chair with a groan. I’d give anything to go home and fall into bed, but there’s too much work left to do.

Evidence bags get logged into the chain of custody system, tagged, and handed off to the courier. The sample cans are a separate system, though the process is almost exactly the same.

Writing the preliminary report takes me twice as long as it should. I keep losing focus, I’m so fucking tired.

Unit C, one of six mixed-use retail spaces in the building, is confirmed as the origin point. Smoke alarm disabled prior to ignition. Evidence Bag 2341 contains plastic and wire components that could be from a timer device.

Fire traveled through the ceiling plane gaps in firewall assemblies to adjacent units.

Two fatalities in Unit B have been identified as Delia Castillo and June Castillo. Rear egress compromised. The panic hardware was installed incorrectly, the bar rotated 180 degrees, rendering the push bar inoperable from the interior of the building.

I need a break before I finish. My left shoulder aches, and the back of my neck sends muted sparks of pain racing along nerves that haven’t had full sensation in years.

But after downing a Dr. Pepper in record time, I find enough energy to upload my photos into the system, finish the last of the report, and submit it.

A few minutes before five, Parker texts me.

Back at the office. Paperwork will keep me here for a while.

I stare at the screen for a full minute before responding.

Finished logging the evidence and my prelim report. Sending you a copy. How’s the leg?

Fair to middling. I’m icing it. You heading home soon?

An hour. Maybe less.

I restock my kit, wash the lingering soot from my hands, and tuck my laptop into my work bag. Shit. My files aren’t here. Copies of the inspection reports from Cedar Park and Round Rock, annotated in the margins. They’re sitting on the conference table at the Ranger station.

They could stay there until tomorrow. I’m so tired, I’m going to actively try not to think about work once I get home. Or…

I unlock my phone and send Parker another message.

Left some things in your conference room. Mind if I stop by?

The response is almost immediate.

I’ll be here.

Parker’s in her office, the door half open, chin in her hand, staring at her computer screen. God, she looks wiped. Wisps of blond hair curl around her face, loosed from her braid and never tucked away. I’m not sure she’s seeing anything on the screen in front of her.

I rap twice on the door frame. “Hey.”

She lifts her head, the motion lagging behind the movement of her eyes. A faint smile curves her lips. “Hey, yourself.”

“Okay if I grab my files? Or do I need an escort?”

Some of the light returns to her eyes, and the smile widens. “I think you can find it on your own. The real question is whether you can get back here before I decide to call it a day.”

“Oh? How long you givin’ me?”