Paris lifted a stack of files and placed them in front of Leslie. “I know this is a lot, but these are the calls that your station has received in the last year that either ended up being arson or where someone was seriously injured or killed. I weeded out the calls that you weren’t working on. If you could look through these, you might see something that seems to click with what’s going on.”
“Of course.” She immediately opened the first file and began to read through it.
“Logan, have you been able to make any connection between Christopher King and Domingo Ortiz?”
“Originally? No.” Logan pointed to the large television where he’d shared his laptop’s screen. A picture of each man was visible. “However, I may actually have something.” He made the picture of King bigger. “We know that King works as a security guard at the warehouse. I decided to dig deeper and found out that he works for an employment agency that specializes in security. The paper company pays the agency, and then the agency hires and pays King. A lot of people who go through employment agencies will work at more than one place.” With a flare, he pulled up a picture of a brick building. “It turns out, he also works at a local outpatient rehabilitation center, New Beginnings, that treats a variety of emotional and psychological illnesses.”
“Let me guess,” Paris interjected. “That’s the center where Ortiz is receiving his therapy services.”
Logan pointed at him with a triumphant smile. “We’ve got a winner. Now, I have no way of knowing whether the two of them ever interacted.”
Clint had a hard time believing it was a coincidence. “Maybe they both have a connection to the shooter. Part ofOrtiz’s rehabilitation may be some group therapy sessions. Ortiz said his roommate, Rick Castor, was using his kleptomania to blackmail him. We assumed he found out because Ortiz was bringing stuff back from the fire station, but what if Castor knew this before he decided to rent the apartment?”
“He was targeted.” Paris nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a good theory. We know King is getting money every week from someone. Maybe it’s some kind of payment or kickback originating at the rehabilitation center, and Castor found out about it. Once he did, he could’ve forced King to let him into the warehouse and tell him when the fire department had arrived on the scene. If King were into anything illegal, he would’ve done anything Castor wanted or risk losing his job and ever working in the security field again.” He looked at Carrington. “You and Smith go pick up King and bring him back for more questioning.”
King was brought in, and he still held onto his emotionless exterior until Paris produced the bank records showing the five hundred dollars he was receiving every Monday. Only then did King’s face pale.
Clint knew they were onto something.
“We have a blackmail victim that’s connected to New Beginnings. Another business that you happen to work for as a security guard.” Paris paused. “Who’s been giving you the money?”
“It’s a gift from a family member.” King’s gaze flicked down and to the left.
“If that’s the case, a quick call to that family member to verify is all we need, and you’ll be on your way.”
King sat, his spine rod-straight, and looked Paris right in the eyes. “I’m not saying anything else until I speak with a lawyer.”
Disappointment hit Clint like a physical blow. They could do nothing else until a lawyer was located and brought in for King. It’d take some time—time they couldn’t afford to waste.
Paris had King taken into holding for the next seventy-two hours, and Clint returned to the conference room to check on Leslie.
It’d been nearly two hours since she started looking through the files, and she was clearly spent. She held her arm close to her body. Her eyes, dimmed by exhaustion and pain, met his.
She’d created two piles for the folders: one for those that she didn’t think had any connection whatsoever. And another for those she thought might be a possibility. “I’m only putting them in that pile because either I remember how upset the person was, or I personally spoke to them, or both.”
Logan was going through the second stack and using his computer to check on the individuals involved.
Clint rested a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, we should get you home. You need to get some rest before you fall over.”
She shook her head, her hair moving back and forth over his hand. “I’ve only got three left. I’ll finish these, and then we can go.”
Now, Clint was feeling useless. He wished he could go through the files with her at least. He glanced across the table at Logan. “Is there anyone that stands out yet?”
“I haven’t finished looking at the ones she pulled out. But so far, I’m not finding any connection between them.”
Leslie used her good arm to gather her hair and pull it over her shoulder. “Hold on a second, I may have something. I remember this fire.” She tapped the folder.
“I’m going to get Paris back in here.” Clint found the detective in his office, and they both returned within minutes.
Once they were seated, Paris motioned for Leslie to continue.
“It was a four-story apartment building. Several stations responded to the call because, by the time we got there, a section of the third floor was fully involved. My company was responsible for going in and helping people evacuate. It was horrible. There were several rescues from windows because the fire spread so fast that people on the fourth floor couldn’t get down.”
She stared at the table, her brows furrowed. “There was one man in particular who was really upset. He kept saying his wife was on the third floor and that we needed to rescue her. He told us which apartment it was. Unfortunately, that was an apartment near where the fire originated. It’d been completely engulfed for a while, and we couldn’t even get to that section of the building. He grabbed my arm and begged me to go save her. Someone told him that it was too late and that there was nothing left of that part of the building. He tried to push past us to go in and get her himself.” She shook her head, her eyes heavy with sorrow. “Danny and I stopped him from going in, and someone from the police department pulled him away from the building.”
“That’s horrible.” Logan frowned. “I can’t even imagine going through that. From any angle. I think I remember that fire. It wasn’t all that long ago.” He started typing on his laptop.
Clint wanted desperately to help ease the pain the memory was clearly eliciting.
