Jeff gently nudged the corner of the bag with his ax handle and part of the side crumbled away. “Good luck with that. What the hell are you looking at, David?”
David had bent low, shining his light on a lump of black that stuck up from the debris. “I don’t know. Some kind of a case, warped open. Whatever it held is melted to the bottom of it.” A bit of pink plastic peeked from the charred lump.
“I’ll get some stills to show Homicide.” Micah sighed impatiently. “Damn. I’m late for their morning meeting.” He snapped a few pictures with his digital camera. “CSU will bag it. We’ll figure out what it is at the lab. I’ll be back later. Don’t touch anything.”
“We’re not stupid,” Jeff muttered when Micah was gone.
“Neither is he,” David said absently, still staring at the case’s melted contents.
“He’s a cop,” Jeff stated flatly, “and they all want to be firefighters. Idiots. They’d burn up if it weren’t for us, charging in without gear, with the wrong kind of extinguisher. Ready to save the damn day before they even know what kind of fire they got.”
David let him rant, knowing he’d say the same thing regardless of any response David made. There was a story there, he figured, and one day Jeff would tell it.
Story. David stared at the mangled case, his mind pulling a long-forgotten memory. He’d been a small boy, sitting on his grandmother’s lap. He’d always been more fascinated with gadgets than the story she’d tell, especially the gadget that sat behind her ear. He’d reach for it, only to have his small hands gently pushed away. No, David, she’d say, don’t touch. That’s not a toy.
“We should have told Barlow to bring us food,” Jeff finished with a sigh. “I’m starving. Let’s take a break and see what’s left on the truck. Hey. Dave. Come on.”
“I know what this pink plastic thing is,” David said.
“Don’t tell me. I want to guess,” Jeff said. “Okay, give me a hint.”
It was a game they sometimes played that helped them deal when they had to poke around the ashes of people’s lives. “It whistles as it works.” David straightened, hoping he could catch Micah before he left, but through the broken window he could see the cop’s taillights going through the gate.
Behind him, he heard Jeff’s heavy sigh and knew he’d figured it out. “Dammit, David. The girl never had a chance, did she?”
“Doesn’t look like it. I’m going outside to call Micah’s cell. He’ll want to tell Olivia.”
“Olivia?” Jeff asked, new curiosity in his voice. “You mean Detective Sutherland? She was pretty hot. And she was watching you.”
“Leave it alone,” David said flatly. “And don’t ask. I mean it.”
For all his teasing, Jeff knew when to quit. “Chill, man. I’m going out with you. I need to get some food.”
Monday, September 20, 8:00 a.m.
“Happy Monday.” Captain Bruce Abbott dropped a plastic bowl of cookies on the round table in his office. “Compliments of Lorna.”
Olivia eyed the bowl skeptically. “Lorna’s cooking again?”
Abbott settled into the chair behind his desk. “Her guidance counselor said if she retook the class and got a better grade, it would cancel last year’s D.”
Micki popped the lid off the bowl. “How bad can they be?”
“Some people ought not bake,” Kane said sourly.
“Got it.” Micki shot a wicked look at Olivia. “Let Barlow test them. If they’re awful, it’ll serve him right.” She glanced at Abbott. “No offense.”
Abbott’s lips were twitching beneath his mustache. “None taken.” He looked at the empty chairs meaningfully. “Speaking of which, where are Barlow and Gilles?”
“Ian’s not coming,” Olivia said. “He was almost ready to start the girl’s autopsy when I stopped by the morgue.”
Kane studied her face. “When did you stop by the morgue?” he asked, when Why didn’t you go home to sleep like I told you to? was what he really wanted to know.
“On my way in. I wanted a photo of the girl.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. After her workout she’d gone home but couldn’t sleep, so she’d done what she always did-worked. “I don’t know where Barlow is. I told him oh-eight.”
“I’m here, I’m here.” Barlow barreled through Abbott’s doorway and dropped into a chair. Instantly, everyone leaned away from him. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I came straight from the scene. Didn’t have a chance to shower.”
“We can tell,” Micki said, then smiled kindly. “Here, have a cookie.”
Beside Olivia, Kane coughed to cover what would have been a chuckle.
“Thanks. I didn’t have time for breakfast.” Barlow grabbed a handful and Olivia felt the prick of conscience.
“I’d take a little bite first,” she said and he narrowed his eyes.
“You made these?” he asked suspiciously. “You trying to poison me now?”
Olivia rolled her eyes. Let him suffer. “Since we’re all here, we can get started.” She started to close Abbott’s door, but Abbott lifted his hand.
“Leave it open,” he said. “Dr. Donahue will be joining us.”
Olivia’s shoulders went rigid. Donahue was the department shrink. The one who wasn’t helping after three mandated visits. She sat back down. Great.
“I want a profile of this arsonist,” Abbott went on and Olivia could feel his eyes on her. To be accurate, everyone’s eyes were on her, even Barlow’s. Meddling bastard. “Donahue’s got time and experience with arsonists. And here she is.”
The psychiatrist came through the door, dressed in a trim blue suit that looked like it had been tailored just for her. “Good morning,” she said. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Dr. Donahue,” Abbott said as she took her seat. “Do you know everyone?”
“Everyone but you.” She smiled at Barlow. “I’m Jessie Donahue.”
“Micah Barlow, arson investigator. Don’t eat the cookies,” Barlow added dryly.
The confusion on Donahue’s face under other circumstances would have made Olivia smile, but the very presence of the woman had her on edge. She shook off the discomfort. “Let’s get this done, okay? What do we know, Mick? Any ID on the girl?”
“Nothing so far. The girl’s prints aren’t in AFIS, so no criminal record, at least one that isn’t sealed. No response yet from the Missing Children database, but I’m expecting an answer any hour now. No Amber Alerts, so as of this minute, no ID.”
“I sent her morgue photo to the Florida Highway Patrol,” Olivia said. “I hope the Gator nail decals pan out, even if she’s not in the databases. What about the gel?”
“I won’t get those results till after lunch,” Micki said, “but I do have something on the ball. We wanted to preserve it, just the way the firefighter found it until we knew what the gel was. So we did an image of what was underneath all that gel. This came through just as I was leaving to come up here.” She put a photograph on the table.
The ball was a glass globe of the world. Etched onto the glass were the continents.
“It looks like a paperweight,” Olivia said cautiously, although her mind was already stringing globe, world, and arson together, creating a very bad feeling.
Beside her, Micah Barlow swore softly and grabbed the photograph, staring at it in consternation. “No, it’s a signature. One that hasn’t been seen for ten years.”
“Twelve,” Micki said. “I cross-referenced glass globes with arson.”
Barlow rubbed his hands over his eyes in a tired gesture. “And you came up with SPOT-Societus Patronus Orbis Terra. Shit.”
“Fellowship of the protectors of the earth,” Dr. Donahue murmured.
Olivia sat back, frowning. The bad feeling just got worse. “Ecoterrorists? Hell.”
“With bad Latin grammar,” Donahue said, almost to herself, then looked up at the group. “It’s an interesting addition to the profile.”
“Grammar aside,” Abbott said, “what are we dealing with?”