Noah’s mouth curved sadly. “I was going to say Kane would approve.”
Olivia gave him a hard nod. “Let’s get this done.”
Wednesday, September 22, 9:30 a.m.
David had cleared his maintenance duty list, cooked breakfast for the team, called the hospital once again to check on Jeff-no change-and cleaned the kitchen.
There were no more tasks keeping him from calling Dana’s husband. With a sigh and an inward curse at his own issues, he pulled out the card Tom had given him and stepped out into the truck bay, half hoping for the station’s call tone to peal.
Ethan Buchanan answered on the first ring, almost as if he’d been expecting the call. “What can I do for you, David?” he asked.
“I guess I want to hire you,” David said, rubbing a tense muscle in his neck.
“Don’t make me hurt you, Hunter. What do you need, for God’s sake?”
That was better. Warm and fuzzy would have been way too awkward and former Marine Ethan Buchanan was one of the few who could have delivered on that threat.
“I had an intruder yesterday.” He explained the situation to Ethan who said nothing until he was finished. “I want to know who helped this guy, because I don’t want to worry about anyone coming back and hurting anyone in my building. The idea of insane zealots with guns being angry with me has me a little rattled.”
“I understand. I felt that way over in the Gulf,” Ethan said wryly, “and I had bigger guns. How are the cops involved?”
“The cops have bigger problems. They don’t have the resources to work this right now. Except that I know that one of the Web site visitors is on Olivia’s radar-Joel Fischer. He died two days ago. Drove his car off the road and into a couple trees.”
“Why’s he on Olivia’s radar?”
“He was at the first fire.”
“Got it. So we’ll be giving her what we turn up?”
“I don’t know. Will we get arrested?”
“You wound me. We can make an anonymous contribution. Usually all we provide is a lead versus solid proof for a jury. E-mail me the phone numbers you couldn’t trace. Give me a few hours. I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, man.” The call siren squealed. “I have to go, we have a call. I’ll send the phone numbers when I get back. Thanks, Ethan.”
Wednesday, September 22, 9:45 a.m.
Austin nodded to a man coming out of the gas station convenience store as he went in. He was down to twenty bucks, which wouldn’t buy much. Luckily his mom kept her tank filled. He had enough fuel to make it the rest of the way.
He grabbed a cola, trying to play it cool even as he wondered if anyone was saying anything behind him. If someone was calling the cops this minute. Then he lifted his eyes to the television mounted behind the register and froze.
My face. That’s my face. The tiny screen was filled with last year’s school picture, his hair bright red and curly. There was no captioning, so he had no idea if they wanted to arrest him or wanted to keep him safe. Fuck. He turned away, pretending to examine the selection of wiper blades. His face was on the fucking television. At least he had his hoodie on and it covered most of his hair. He rubbed his cheek, relieved at the stubble that scratched his fingertips. At least he didn’t look like a high school kid.
I have to get rid of the hair. It’s like a fucking neon sign.
He looked around the store, unwilling to draw attention to himself by buying scissors and not seeing any anyway. He settled on a cheap souvenir Swiss army knife and a three-pack of razors. On a whim he grabbed a roll of cough drops, hoping that would keep anyone from questioning why he didn’t talk.
He dumped his purchases on the counter, keeping his eyes down and trying not to wince at the total. He had less than two dollars left. Faking a cough, he kept his hand over his mouth and pointed to the toilet key, hanging from an old license plate.
Bored, the guy behind the counter handed it to him. So far so good.
Wednesday, September 22, 9:45 a.m.
Olivia stopped the car at the Fischers’ curb. “I wish we could have told them that Joel was injected or something.”
“Me too,” Noah said, “but you can’t argue with stomach contents. Ian found the binders from the pills still in his lining. Joel swallowed the oxy.” He started to get out of the car but settled back when she didn’t move. “What?”
“I was wondering why I’m still on this case.” She’d been thinking about it since morning meeting was over. “I would have thought Abbott would pull me off.”
“He did think about it,” Noah said. “I told him I thought it would be the wrong thing. You have the background and all the data. And you held yourself together pretty well with Kenny. A lot of cops would have been tempted to tear his arm off.”
“I was.”
“But you didn’t. That alone scored you the most points. So keep it together, Sutherland. You’ll find this guy and the system will make him pay.”
“Okay. Let’s go talk to the Fischers. Take your shoes off at the door.”
Mr. Fischer greeted them at the door before they could knock. “My son’s burial is today,” he said harshly. “Why are you here? And who is this man?”
“We need to talk to you about your son. This is Detective Webster. He’ll be working this case with me from now on.”
“What happened to the other detective?”
She lifted her chin. “Detective Kane was killed last night in the line of duty.”
Fischer looked as though he’d been slapped. “Oh no. Come in. I didn’t know,” he said when they’d deposited their shoes at the door and entered. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said. “Is Mrs. Fischer available, too?”
“I’ll get her. Please sit down.”
They did, Olivia scanning the room. Twelve hours ago, everything had been different for her, but not for this family. They’d been living with their grief for two days.
“They have a daughter, too,” Noah murmured, pointing to the kitchen door. A girl of about sixteen stood there, watching them, a mixture of caution and anger on her face.
“I didn’t know that last night,” Olivia murmured back. “We’ll want to talk to her, too.”
The Fischers came to the living room, Mrs. Fischer frowning slightly. “Go back to your room, Sasha. I’ll come get you when they’re gone.”
Sasha obeyed and Mrs. Fischer settled herself on the sofa next to her husband. “We’re sorry about your partner, Detective,” she said stiffly.
“Thank you. This won’t be an easy conversation and I’m going to apologize in advance, but we need to talk to you about Joel’s overdose.”
Mrs. Fischer’s lips thinned. “I told you he was no druggie.”
“And I believe you,” Olivia said gently. “But there were drugs found in Joel’s system and we need to know where he got them.”
“We think he got them from someone else who was at the fire,” Noah said. “The same drug was found elsewhere Monday night, after Joel was gone.”
“The drug was oxycodone, also called Percocet,” Olivia said. “It’s prescribed for pain. Sometimes it’s bought off the street. Did Joel have friends who might have-”
“No,” Mrs. Fischer exclaimed, starting to rise. “Now get out.”
“Norma,” Mr. Fischer said quietly, putting pressure on her thigh until she sat back down. “No, Detective, we don’t know anyone who would have those drugs.”
“All right,” Olivia said. “We’ll talk to his friends, then. We also need to ask you about Joel’s girlfriend. She wrote a note, signed it ‘M.’”
“He didn’t have a girlfriend,” Mrs. Fischer insisted. “He would have told us.”
“No, Mama.”
The adults whipped their gazes to the right, where Sasha stood in the hallway, clenching her hands together. “Sasha, go to your room,” Mrs. Fischer commanded.
“No, Mama.” Sasha came forward, her lips quivering, her eyes dark against a face drained of color. “Joel had a girlfriend. I heard him talking to her on the phone.”
“When, honey?” Noah asked softly.