Nearly impossible, but not absolutely so. A critical distinction.
My phone rang from inside my back pocket. After running the back of my hand across my tear-soaked face, I pulled my phone out and stared at the unfamiliar number. I took a couple of deep breaths and answered. “Faith Day.”
“Faith, it’s Luke. Would you mind meeting me at the station?”
“Why?” I concentrated on breathing and keeping my voice even.
“Well, since it’s not a place I would typically take a woman on a date, I hoped it would be obvious that I’d like to ask you some questions.”
“About?”
“You know, Miss Day, you should really work on your people skills. I’d like to go over some of the photos you took at the Reynolds fire. And I need to talk to you about Ethan Gentry.”
I stretched my thumb and middle finger across my forehead and massaged my temples.
“You still there?” he asked. When I didn’t answer, he said, “I’m sorry. It can’t be easy to see your stepbrother released from prison. But I’m really trying to decide if he could possibly have anything to do with what’s happening now.”
He had no idea how hard it was for me to see Ethan released, and hopefully he never would. “I’ll head that way.”
“You okay? You sound… off.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be there in twenty.”
I hung up and tossed the phone in the passenger seat. Who the hell was this Luke Justice? And how would I possibly get through this arson investigation if he continued to dig into the past?
The station house was quiet that night. Small town. Small number of officers out on patrol. Even fewer officers at the station. I found Luke in one of the interrogation rooms. He had set up an evidence board on which were tacked photos, newspaper articles, and Post-It notes. He was concentrating so hard on something when I entered that he didn’t even hear me. When I got closer, I realized he was staring at an article about Ethan’s trial.
“You got me here, Special Agent. What can I help you with?” I scraped a metal chair against the concrete floor and sat, stuffing my hands into my coat pockets and crossing my outstretched legs at my ankles.
He jumped when I spoke, but recovered quickly. “Hi,” he said warmly. “Did I tear you away from anything important?”
“Yes. What do you want?”
He eyed me curiously. “Is there a reason you’re pretending you don’t like me? Or is that how you treat everyone?”
I smiled then, but I felt fairly sure he found no warmth in it. “Is it important to you that I like you, Agent?”
He tilted his head side to side. “I’m not sure ‘important’ is the right word, but it would be helpful since we’ll be working together. And I rather enjoyed the kiss you gave me yesterday.”
Working together? On what planet does he think we’ll be partners? How many times must I tell Chief Reid that I only take the photos? I don’t investigate, and I certainly don’t work with hot-headed FBI agents.
“Besides, I’m a likable guy,” he continued.
You’re a smooth talker, that’s for sure.
One of the night shift officers passed by the open door of the interview room and chuckled, apparently having overheard Luke flirting with me. Luke closed the door, then took a seat across the table from me. He opened a manila folder, pulled out a photograph, and slid it across the table for me to examine. “Tell me what you see in this photo.”
I’d watched his reaction to the immature officer passing by, and the way he seemed to shift from playful to serious. It was interesting. He was interesting. But I certainly didn’t want him to know I thought so.
“Is this a test?” I asked.
“Not at all. This is just me asking for your help. The Paynes Creek PD and the FBI would like your assistance, and we’re willing to pay you for your time. I’m told you see things that others don’t.”
After analyzing his expression, I looked down at the photograph. It was definitely from an arson case, but not one I’d seen before. “Is this from another case you’re investigating?”
He gave a simple nod.
I stared at the picture again. “I’m not an arson expert. It just looks like another house fire to me.” I shrugged and slid the picture back to him.
“Now take a look at these.” He moved a stack of several more photos toward me, all paper-clipped together.
I removed the paper clip and examined each picture. A few footprints. A close-up of fire damage to a wall left standing. A burned-out sofa.
When I flipped to the next one, my heart stopped. It was the remains of an animal. “A dog?”
Luke’s jaw was rigid. He frowned. “Summer, the family’s golden retriever.”
I drilled the heel of my palm into my chest. It was difficult enough to work on murder investigations, but when defenseless children and pets were involved, it hurt my heart to its core.
Something about the photo caught my eye. “You have a loupe?”
He pulled a small black leather pouch from his bag, extracted a retractable magnifying glass from it, and handed it to me. “You see something?”
“Not sure.” I held the loupe over a piece of metal lying next to the remains of the dog. It was a silver rabies tag in the shape of a dog bone, and thanks to the magnifying glass, I could just make out the name and phone number of Finch’s veterinary clinic.
“What is it?” Luke asked, getting impatient.
I handed the magnifier back to him. “I thought it might be something, but…” I paused. “It was nothing.” I leaned back and tucked my hands in my lap. “Where was this fire?”
He eyed me. Did he know I was hiding something? It wasn’t that I wouldn’t tell him, but I wanted to ask Finch about it first. Call it brother-sister loyalty or whatever.
“Two towns over. Midland.”
“Midland.” Why would Finch have a customer from Midland? “What were their names?”
“Missy and Dave Siegelman. Their daughter’s name is Callie.”
“Callie Siegelman,” I said. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Her family made a big deal of her daughter being harassed by her high school administration for not turning over her phone when asked.”
“She was propositioned by the art teacher. He wanted her to pose nude so he could paint her.”
“That’s the one,” Luke said with the casual point of a finger. “That’s what was alleged, anyway.”
“How did that case end up?”
“The parents sued. There’s a lot of gossip about it on online sites. But when the parents were killed in this fire, the story died with them. The teacher was stripped of his job, and he left town, not to be heard of again.”
I sat back and crossed my arms. “And your other arson cases? Do they involve teens who were messing around with teachers?”
“No. But some involved women and girls in other… circumstances.”
“Meaning?”
“They don’t all involve teachers, but they involve some sort of sexual assault or inappropriate behavior between a man and a woman.”
“Can you give me another example?” Why was he being so vague?