Montana Fire (4 page)

“Fucking kids.” As Max studied the intensity of the flames, the back of his head and
legs began to chill. “You take a photo of their handiwork?”

“You bet.”

“Guess it was good you got here in time.”

Rich clicked off his light. “You’re right about that.”

About five minutes after Max arrived, a loud explosion jarred him out of his reverie.
A ball of flames shot from a top floor window of the abandoned warehouse, sending
exploding glass in their direction. The powerful blast tossed him a good five feet
before dumping him on the ground like a rag doll. Holy fuck. He broke his fall with
his forearms, but his knees took the brunt of the impact. Jesus, his achy body didn’t
need that.

Before attempting to get up, Max assessed the damage, but decided nothing of importance
had been harmed. Fuck. After working as a fireman for six years, he should have been
prepared for that. He hoped no one else was caught in the flying debris field.

Max glanced over at his assistant who was a decade older than he was. “You okay?”
Even with the light from the fire, it was too dark to see much.

“Think so.”

Max scrambled to his feet and helped up Rich, who grunted and wheezed a bit as if
the impact had knocked the wind out of him. Max brushed off some burning embers that
had landed on the sleeve of his good coat. Crap. The cracked leather had seen better
days, but this jacket held a lot of sentimental value.

“Son of a bitch. I guess there’s a reason why we wait until the fire’s out before
we do our job.” His wife had given him the coat on his thirtieth birthday. Guess after
thirteen years, it might be time to retire it.

“Yeah, but how often do we get to see a fire like this burn?”

Once is often enough
. “You’re right. It’ll save us time, too. Won’t have to interview the firemen.”

As Rich flicked the glass off his jeans, Max stepped farther from the crackling building.
After a few more minutes of studying the blaze, his curiosity about how the fire started
got the best of him. Stepping around the hot debris, he edged toward the side of the
building where the fire was only now making its way. Rich followed.

“I wanted to check and see if the gang left a taunt,” Max said.

Each of the previous fires had a design as well as some kind of warning. Between the
graffiti markings and the accelerant, he’d know which gang started the fire. The punks
were quite repetitive in their destructive process.

Before Max had the chance to shine his light on the side to check for spray paint,
the side door burst open and one of the firemen lumbered out, carrying someone on
his back.

“Holy shit,” Rich shouted. “There was someone inside.”

“Jesus Christ.” Max’s heart lurched.

Two paramedics rushed to the fireman’s side and helped the injured man onto the gurney.
Forgetting about the source for the moment, he and Rich dashed toward the ambulance
where the paramedics frantically began work. One look at his body had Max’s stomach
in near revolt. The man was covered in blood and ash. Max held his breath, trying
not to gag from the putrid stench of burnt flesh.

Horrendous images of his own home being consumed by fire flashed in his mind.
Don’t think about them
.
Not now.
He needed to focus on this case.

Hands clenched, Max wanted nothing more than to beat the shit out of whoever had started
the blaze. The victim groaned and thrashed. Max didn’t recognize the old man, but
he doubted anyone would. Most of the salt and pepper beard on his left side had been
singed off, and his shoulder appeared burned. Blood trickled down his forehead. The
rest of his body was covered in soot. From the nature of his injuries, the poor guy
might not last long.

Paramedic Drake Longworth placed an oxygen mask over the man’s face then covered him
in a sheet. The man opened his eyes for a few seconds and grunted. The guy’s body
then shook as if he was going into shock.

“Max, can you stand back? I need to get him into the ambulance.” Drake motioned with
his head for Max to move out of the way.

“Let’s give him some space,” Rich prodded.

This tragedy was horrifying, purposeless, sad. Max strode back toward the far side
of the building again. The gang fires had stopped a few months ago, so why restart
now? Both he and Thad Dalton thought they’d caught the arsonist.

The fire trucks were making good progress against the blaze. Smoke was billowing out
of the building, forcing him to stand far enough away to avoid the toxic fumes from
clogging his lungs with soot.

As much as he wanted to go inside and check for an accelerant pattern, it was too
dark, too hot, and way too dangerous. They’d have to wait until tomorrow to investigate.
A set of headlights pulled into the lot near the fire trucks, and Detective Trent
Lawson exited his car.

“The circus is about to begin,” Max announced.

It didn’t matter that Trent was a capable guy—and Max’s best friend. The more people
who came to the fire, the higher the chance something important would be disturbed.

Rich nodded to Trent. “If you want, I can wait around and make sure RHPD doesn’t muck
up our evidence.”

It was Max’s job now to stay behind. Four days ago, he’d replaced the former fire
marshal, who’d stepped down from the position due to health reasons. Now Max had double
duty—he was both the arson investigator and the fire marshal for the small town. The
fire chief said Max’s police background, coupled with his fire science degree made
him a better choice than Rich.

Since then, Max had worked pretty much non-stop, only taking time off for his friends’
wedding. Last night, he’d spent hours creating a spreadsheet for the cyclic maintenance
inspection of existing buildings around town. His predecessor hadn’t kept the files
electronically, and in this day and age that made finding anything quickly almost
impossible.

“I’ll stay. You can go.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Get some sleep. One of us needs to be fresh in the morning.” Max tried to keep
his voice light in contrast to the terrible tragedy.

“What about the old guy? You think he’ll make it?”

“I’ll stop by the hospital first thing tomorrow and check,” Max said. “Then I’ll come
out here.”

Rich nodded. “Call me with your ETA. I’ll meet you.”

“Will do.”

As soon as Rich left the scene, Max’s friend, Trent Lawson, came over. “You okay?
Heard one of the top floor windows exploded.”

“Yeah. It’s all good. You give Ed Hanson a call yet?”

“Ed?”

“Owner of the building.”

Trent made a note of the man’s name. “You’re thinking arson here, right?”

“The color of the smoke and the markings on the wall make it a strong possibility.
Rich said he spotted multiple source points, too.”

“Crap. Hanson might have torched his own place for the insurance money.”

Max shrugged. “It’s possible, but he already submitted a zoning proposal to tear this
thing down so he could build a gym. Torching it would be a little obvious. A bulldozer
would be less messy.”

“Agreed. Got any other ideas?”

“The graffiti on the front of the building implies this might be gang related.”

“Gangs? Shit.”

“Whoever was responsible, I just wished they’d checked the inside first.”

“Amen.”

Max shook his head. “Christ. This is shaping up to be a long ass night.”

Chapter Three

A
round four in the morning, after Max was certain Detective Trent Lawson had everything
under control, Max left the smoldering, wet mess, and headed home. Since he wanted
to be back at the scene as soon as the sun rose, he quickly showered and changed into
fresh investigative gear. Knowing he’d be covered in soot by day’s end, he donned
blue overalls and the last of his clean long sleeve shirts. This one scratched, but
it would keep him protected from the hot debris.

He fixed a shitload of coffee that he hoped would clear the cobwebs from his mind,
along with a simple breakfast of eggs and toast. As he was finishing the last of his
meal, his cell rang. It could only be one person at five thirty in the morning. Christ,
the sun wasn’t even up.

“Hey, Rich.” Max lifted his shoulder to hold the phone against his ear while he spread
the jam on the remaining bite of his whole wheat toast.

“You won’t believe what I found.” Max’s hand stopped in mid spread. Rich’s voice actually
shook, and Max swallowed hard, forcing back his alarm.

From the noise in the background, his assistant was at the warehouse. They must have
just missed each other. “What is it?” Had they unearthed a body?

“I couldn’t sleep, so I drove over to the scene. I think you’ll want to see this.”

His patience dried up. “Spit it out, dammit.”

“There’s a message, not just a bunch of swirls like on the front of the warehouse.”

The tightness in his chest eased, relieved Rich didn’t say there’d been another victim.
“There’s often been a message. What did it say?” Max wanted to strangle his assistant
for not just telling him.

“It was spray painted on the back of the east side door.”

That didn’t answer his question. “Does it look gang related? Were the letters black
with multiple colored haloes around each word?”

“Sort of. Just come and see for yourself.” Rich’s authoritarian tone seemed out of
character, but Max chalked it up to his excitement.

“Be right there.”

Other than needing to turn off the coffee machine and placing his dirty dishes in
the sink, he was ready to go. When he arrived, cops and CSU techs were crawling all
over the place, looking like ants at a picnic. The morning light had breached the
horizon, but the sun had yet to make an appearance.

Rich was standing at the east end, waving him over. The sweet ember smell permeated
the air, and while the smoke was gone, the heat still rose from the ground.

Max reached Rich but couldn’t spot any additional graffiti. “Where’s this message?”

“Let me show you. We didn’t see it last night because it was too dark. It’s on the
outside of the door—the door Donner Pearson ran out of carrying the burned victim.”
Rich pointed to what was written in black spray paint.

Max said the words out loud. “You fucked with the wrong—,” He tried to read the last
word a few times, but the dark paint against the burned wood make it next to impossible.
“I can’t make out—”

“Guys, maybe?”

“That’s it. Guys.” Something seemed off. He read it again. “You fucked with the wrong
guys. Hmm. Note how the whole phrase is outlined instead of each letter.”

“Maybe he was in a hurry. Besides, the colors look similar to those used at the last
fire.”

“I agree.”

Rich stepped closer. “I wish I knew why they’d leave such a personal message if they’re
only going to burn down the building.”

“Because they can?”

“Maybe. We might be coming at this from the wrong angle.”

Rich often had good instincts. “How so?”

“Could be the target was the interloper.”

“Based on what evidence?”

“None.” Rich scratched his nose. “Merely throwing something out.”

They often tossed out theories. The first few were just that—guesses, but the more
they dug, the closer they got to a solid lead. “I guess the trespasser could have
been running from someone. When they found him, why not just kill the guy? What would
be the purpose of torching the place? No one would have found the guy for weeks or
months instead of a few hours. Any evidence would have been long gone.”

“Beats me,” Rich said.

“I’m going to ask Thad to compare the lettering to the other fires. When the lab comes
back with the composition of the accelerant, we’ll have a better handle on things.”

“I know we kind of dismissed the owner, but I’m thinking he could be guilty. Maybe
he hired some kids to paint graffiti on the side to throw us off.”

Max glanced over at Rich. “You know the old saying. When you assume something, you
make an ass out of you and me.”