"Different approaches are fine. Public arguments about jurisdiction while the press is watching aren't." McKenna's voice stayed gentle, but the authority underneath was unmistakable. "This is a high-profile case. The community is scared, and they need to see their emergency responders working together, not against each other."
Erin felt heat rise in her cheeks. McKenna was right, and they both knew it. She'd let her need to prove herself turn a professional disagreement into a spectacle, and now both departments would be watching to see if she could handle working with Detective Soto without creating drama.
"It won't happen again," Erin said quietly.
"I hope not." McKenna studied her face for a moment. "Because you're good at this job, Marshal Vance. Don't let personality conflicts compromise that."
After McKenna left, Erin slumped back in her chair, staring at the ceiling tiles and fighting the urge to put her head in her hands. Professional pride warring with frustration, exactly the kind of complication she'd sworn to avoid when she'd taken this position.
Her phone rang, cutting through her restless morning routine with its sharp urgency. She glanced at the caller ID and felt her stomach tighten: Detective Soto.
Erin cleared her throat and answered on the third ring. "Fire Marshal's office."
"Marshal Vance, this is Detective Soto. I have some new information about the case that requires your technical expertise."
"What kind of information?" Erin reached for a pen and notepad.
"I've been cross-referencing building records for all four fire sites. It appears they were all inspected by the same company between three and five years ago—Phoenix Ridge BuildingSafety Services. They had different inspectors, but it was the same company."
Erin felt her analytical mind engage, the familiar comfort of technical puzzles overriding her morning's anxiety. "That's a significant connection. What are you thinking?"
"I need to review those inspection reports alongside your analysis of the fires to see if there are patterns we're missing."
Erin swiveled to her computer, searching the internal fire department’s database. "I have copies of the building plans and fire suppression systems for all four locations. We could cross-reference them with the inspection findings."
"Good. Can you meet me at the police station in an hour? Conference room B is available."
Erin hesitated. The police station meant Lena’s territory, surrounded by her colleagues, the power dynamic tilted toward the detective’s expertise. After this morning’s conversation with Chief Adams about maintaining professional standards, she wanted to be on solid ground.
"Actually, would you mind coming to my office instead? I have all the fire science documentation here, and the workspace is set up for technical analysis."
A pause. "Your office works. I'll be there in an hour."
"Fire station, second floor. I'll have everything ready."
The line went dead, and Erin set down her phone, already moving to pull files from her cabinet. One hour to organize everything and prepare for what she hoped would be a more successful collaboration than last night's public conflicts.
She looked around her small office. Case files were stacked on every surface, evidence photos were taped to the walls, and coffee-stained reports were scattered across her desk. The afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air and the organized chaos that was her workspace.
Erin drained the rest of her coffee, wincing at the bitterness that always seemed worse when she was nervous. She started clearing space on her desk, and her hands moved automatically—stacking files, straightening papers—while her mind churned.
She pulled the building inspection records from her filing cabinet, the metal drawer protesting with a familiar squeak. Four fires, four buildings, one inspection company. The connection was significant, but what did it mean? And what did it have to do with the arsonist? She spread them on her desk alongside the fire behavior analyses.
The hour passed too quickly and not quickly enough. Erin had reorganized her files twice, checked her appearance in the small mirror by her door, and was reaching for her coffee mug when she heard footsteps on the stairs.
Lena arrived with three banker's boxes and a laptop bag, maneuvering through the fire station's narrow stairwell with careful precision. Erin met her at the top of the stairs, her professional smile firmly in place.
"Detective Soto." Erin's voice came out steadier than she felt. "Right on time."
"Marshal Vance." Lena's tone was equally formal. "I brought my investigation files and all the data I could find," Lena said. "I’m ready to cross-reference them with your inspection records."
Erin's office felt even smaller with both of them in it. The space had been designed for one person, maybe two for brief consultations, but not for extended collaboration between two people still finding their professional footing.
"I cleared the conference table," Erin said, gesturing to the small round table wedged between file cabinets. She'd moved most of her case materials there, leaving barely enough room for two chairs. "We can spread everything out."
Lena set down her boxes and surveyed the cramped quarters—every surface covered with fire safety documentation, evidence photos taped to walls in neat grids, the small window providing the only natural light in a space that felt more like a closet than an office.
"Cozy," Lena observed dryly.
