“I did a deep dive on Jolene Carver,” Karen Shoops offered, surprising Athena by speaking up first. The rookie had pulled her mousy brown hair into a ponytail and paired fog-gray slacks with a short-sleeved powder blue blouse for her Saturday casual look.
“She’s thirty-two, divorced. Her ex, Bo Nylander, has custody of their kid. Carver doesn’t have a criminal record, but she’s had workplace write-ups, a few domestic dispute calls—basically, not the easiest person to get along with.” Karen pushed forward an enlarged DPS photo. “This is her license pic.”
The blonde woman might’ve been attractive, even carrying an extra thirty pounds, but her thin lips and cold, hard eyes gave her the kind of glare that could make a monster flinch.
“The company database still lists her as employed, but, if she quit or was let go the day of the fire, it might not have been logged yet,” Shoops continued. “There were multiple complaints filed—some by her, some against her. Reprimanded for smoking inside, and she wrecked a forklift. She blamed the equipment, but her supervisor blamed her.”
“What about the ex-husband?” Athena asked.
“Oh!” Karen’s lips tightened in a line, but her eyes danced. “Good ole Bo is a firefighter.”
“Well, isn’tthatinteresting?” Paulson drawled. “Speaking of which—I’ve got three guys on tape at multiple Houston fires over the past year. Guess who one of them is?” His eyes crinkled with amusement, a grin tugging at his weathered face.
Athena arched a brow. “Ricky De León.”
Paulson stared, stunned. “That’s right.”
“Flash recognized him at a house fire two days ago,” Athena explained, holding back a smile. “He was filming the scene. A police officer had to run him off.”
“Well, I can’t compete with boots-on-the-ground intel,” Paulson said with a chuckle. “But here are the other two.”
He switched on the wall screen rather than waste paper. “Tanner McGraw lost his family in a house fire at age eight and has been in and out of psychiatric care since. His grandparents here in Houston took him in, but he’s got his own place now. No criminal record, but that doesn’t mean he’s clean.”
Athena rubbed her temples. So many firebugs had no record—not because they were innocent, but because they could be hard to catch.
“And this is Jesse Morales.” Paulson tapped the screen again. “At eighteen, our youngest suspect. His high school issued him a certificate of completion instead of a diploma—probably special ed. Fits the BAU profile. Marginal intelligence, possible cognitive delay. He’s shown up in the background ofat leasttwenty fires.”
“Sounds like he’s worth a closer look,” Campbell said.
“I’ve got someone,” Howard declared, sounding like he’d just discovered buried treasure. He slapped a sheet on the table. “Trina Delgado, twenty-two. Washed out of the fire academy six months ago, filed a harassment lawsuit, lost, and made threats against the department. What caught my eye? She worked a seasonal fireworks gig in May and June—and she lives three blocks from the peanut butter cannery.”
“Nice pull, Twiggy,” Campbell said, “but doesn’t beat mine.”
He clicked the remote and pulled up the image of a muscular Black man with a hard stare. “Jericho Barnes, ex-military demolition specialist. Army handed him a general discharge last year after one tour. He lost his license after a DUI and now works as a bouncer. His record flagged alcohol abuse and anger management issues. Guy’s got the skills for arson—and, while there’s no tie to the burned businesses, he might be for hire.”
Athena gave a nod and turned to Ice and Hernandez. “Anything new on Rusk and De León?”
Hernandez shook his head, grimacing.
Ice answered, “Rusk hit a bar, then went home. De León met a friend, saw a movie, and went home afterward. No sketchy moves.”
“OK, then.” Athena pushed up from the table, scanning the room. “I want Jolene Carver in this afternoon. Maybe Synergy was her primary target, and the others werewarmups. Also, bring in all the peanut butter cannery employees for reinterviews. That was the first ‘Sparkler Fire,’ as the press insists on calling them—makes it the most significant. Keep digging. Make connections. Find me something.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Karen chirped, eager as ever. Athena would always be grateful to Flash for saving the rookie during the July fire at the defunct hospital trap set by the Los D’s—for saving her too.
Chapter 21
Chief Burk’s office felt hot and stuffy as Athena met with the task force at Firehouse Eight. On her way in, Flash had waved from the break room, flashing that big grin. Just knowing she was a few rooms away gave Athena a confidence boost as the meeting began.
Fire Marshal Zapata opened the session. “We think we’ve pegged another one. Bonnie?” He nodded to the arson investigator at his left.
Adjusting her glasses over a freckled nose, Investigator Ballard handed out copies of a preliminary report. “Thursday night, Firehouse Twenty-one responded to a fire at Lone Star Manufacturing—a midsize factory with around a hundred employees. A small night crew was onsite. Most escaped, but firefighters recovered two bodies after extinguishing the blaze: a security guard and a janitor. Twenty-one’s captain called us yesterday about suspicious contraband found at the scene. When we checked it out, we discovered a charred sparkler wire at the point of origin. Everything relevant was collected and sent to the lab.”
“I suspect we’ll confirm BBQ lighter fluid again,” Captain O’Riley said, shaking his head.
“I fear our unsub is escalating,” Athena said grimly. “Instead of every two to three weeks, he’s struck again after only one, and he no longer seems concerned with whether buildings are occupied or who might die in a blaze. The bureau’s narrowed down a suspect list, and I’ve started interviews, but I’d like to visit Lone Star myself.”
She turned to Ballard. “You were focused on the fire’s origin, burn patterns, and use of accelerants. I want to look around outside, determine where the suspect entered the building, and hopefully collect fingerprints or DNA in an area not ravaged by the fire. You mentioned suspicious contraband?”
