The Rook by Steven James Page A

where he put the accelerant.”
    I examined the room. “But this room isn’t extensively damaged, never reached full involvement. Not like the point of origin for the other fires.”
    “That’s because he used a different accelerant this time, probably gasoline.”
    Lien-hua looked confused. “How can you tell?”
    “Gasoline flares up, burns very rapidly,” Aina said. “It devours all the oxygen in the room before the rest of the materials in the room become hot enough to ignite. It’s a sloppy, beginner’s way to start a fire. In the movies, arsonists slosh gasoline around, toss in a cigarette, and voom ! But that’s not how the professionals do it. To start an effective fire, you need a fuel package that’ll burn longer.”
    “Lien-hua,” I said, “are you sure our arsonist is working alone?”
    “Not certain,” she said. “But up until now, that’s where everything has pointed.”
    “Do we know anything about the accelerants for the other fires yet?” I asked Aina.
    She shook her head. “Not yet. Chromatograms were inconclusive. We’re tracking purchases of acetone and methylated spirits in the days prior to each fire, but so far, nothing solid.”
    I scanned the room. Out the window, I had a direct sight line to the street corner that John Doe had rounded before he jumped onto the hood of my rental car. I gazed at the fire’s point of origin again. “The fire’s placement in the room isn’t right either,” I said.
    “On the flight from Denver, I looked over the building diagrams that you sent me, Aina—the ones from the other fires—and our arsonist likes to use vents, stairwells, windows, the natural airflow through a building, to keep feeding his fires oxygen. But the guy last night, he started the fire along an exterior wall, with no consideration of airflow.” I pointed. “He didn’t even open the window.
    Taking into account the change in accelerant and inefficient point of origin—”
    “It’s not the same guy,” Lien-hua said.
    “That’s what I’ve been thinking too,” said Aina.
    The evidence at this scene certainly seemed to point to a different offender, but I wasn’t convinced. “And yet this home’s location makes perfect sense in relationship to the other fires. That’s what’s got me. If it wasn’t him, how did the guy last night know to start the fire on this street?”
    “Coincidence?” Aina said.
    “I don’t believe in coincidences,” I said.
    She tapped at her phone. “I really have to go. We found the person who called in the fire. I’d like to speak to her. I’ll get back in touch with you.”
    Lien-hua and I nodded, Aina left, and for a few minutes Lien-hua and I looked around the room. Finally, I said, “I’m really stumped here. We have the right kind of crime, the right location, and timing that fits the escalating progression of the series, fourteen fires by the same guy, and now, suddenly, a different arsonist shows up?”
    “It doesn’t fit, does it?”
    “No. Either that, or I’m missing a big piece of the puzzle.”“OK. Let’s walk through it,” she suggested. “Reconstruct what happened.”
    “Good,” I said. “Based on what we know, there’re two arsonists, so for now let’s just say it’s the two of us.”
    “OK,” she said. “It’s just the two of us.”
    The way she said those words gave me pause. I wanted to ask her something, wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “Wait,” I said. “Before we start. There was something you wanted to tell me last night.
    Outside Tessa’s door.”
    “Now’s not the time, Pat,” she said.
    “Is it Tessa? Is something wrong?”
    “No, no, no. Nothing like that. I just need to sort some things through. I shouldn’t have said anything. Let’s just forget it, OK?”
    I wanted to press her, get her to tell me more, but knew it would only make her less willing to open up. “OK,” I said. “Fair enough.”
    Then it was back to business. “Now,” she said. “Let’s reconstruct