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Burn
by Dawn Altieri

Copyright © 2017 by Dawn Altieri. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

Chloe Addison took one last look inside the vacated storage facility—the sole structure on Pier 7 in the up-and-coming Riverfront District. Soon, the cracked, cobweb-riddled windows would be replaced with elegant French doors leading to patios and balconies overlooking the river, and the stained, pitted cement floors would be covered with gleaming hardwood and travertine tile. The cavernous space would transform into eight distinct residential units. And eight lucky buyers would become the proud new owners of a luxury condominium at Riverfront Gardens.

A satisfied smile stretched Chloe’s lips. For weeks, she’d been planning the condominium construction with the contractors who’d left a few minutes earlier. As an assistant project manager at Toriello Development, she’d begun to build a reputation in the Riverfront District, an area ripe for renovation and the key to the city’s plan for a downtown revival. She’d cut her teeth on a few smaller projects, like the dual-use building that now housed an upscale women’s boutique, the coffee shop Beans & Brews, and a five-star new age bistro on the lower level. Three generously sized apartments filled the upper level. Watching the pieces come together, taking something abandoned and neglected—something no one ever expected to be of any value—and turning it into a place of beauty and function to be appreciated and enjoyed had been more thrilling than she’d imagined. If only she could find a way to do the same thing with her life.

She closed the large metal exit door and checked the lock, knowing the eastern end of the docks wasn’t the safest area of town. The abandoned buildings often provided shelter to some of the city’s seediest residents, but the neighborhood would turn around quickly like the rest of the Riverfront had. She made her way past rusted shelving units, stacks of cardboard boxes, and plastic storage drums that would be cleared out by the demolition crews, and headed toward the office area at the front of the building.

After packing up the signed work contracts, she sent a quick email to Blake Harris, her manager at Toriello, to tell him the meeting had gone well and all the plans had been finalized. She’d be heading home for the day, as they’d previously agreed, leaving her the rest of Friday afternoon and the short respite of the weekend before the real work began Monday morning. She gathered her belongings and stepped toward the main entrance.

A loud pop sounded from the storage room behind her, followed by a crash and the clang of metal. She spun around to face the door again, staring at it in uncertainty. Another crash made her drop her things to the floor. She hurried back, fumbled with the lock, and shoved the storage room door open.

Unbearable heat smacked her face, and she squinted against the blinding, brightly colored flames rising from the floor in the far corner of the room. Cardboard boxes stacked nearby ignited, spreading the blaze farther into the space, stealing the air from Chloe’s lungs.

Her feet rooted to the floor. Visions of the fire that destroyed the small home she and her parents once shared filled her head until another loud crack tore her from her trance. A second metal shelving unit collapsed, and one of the blue plastic storage drums in the far corner burst with another, even louder pop.

The blaze grew to a slow roar as Chloe yanked the storage room door shut. Her fingers trembled violently as she released the handle. Everything had been fine moments ago. What the hell had happened? And why hadn’t the sprinkler system turned on?

She glanced around for a fire extinguisher but found nothing. This was a job for the fire department. They could get things under control, maybe prevent the blaze from destroying the entire building. But more importantly, she needed to get out.

She grabbed her things off the floor and ran through the front entrance, desperately groping inside her purse for her phone. Her heel caught on a crack in the last of the cement steps, and she tumbled to the ground, peering over her shoulder as another explosion rocked the ground beneath her.

Ryan Monroe’s bunker boot landed with a slosh as he made his way through yet another soot-filled puddle of debris early Saturday morning. The crew from House 14 had cleared the warehouse’s partially charred storage room for inspection several hours ago. Now, Ryan shadowed Chief Fire Investigator Charles Rowen, Battalion Chief Jim Flanagan, and the rest of the team.

This wasn’t Ryan’s first post-incident inspection. After he announced he’d be returning to the University of New Haven in the fall to begin the master’s program in fire investigation, Chief Flanagan had taken him under his wing and brought him in on every candle mishap and electrical malfunction the department had looked into over the last few months. So far, they’d all been ruled accidental.

Ryan knew in his gut this fire wouldn’t fall into that category. He’d seen all the signs as he and the crew from House 7 battled the active blaze the night before—sprinkler systems that had been deactivated, distinct areas of concentrated fire indicating multiple points of origin, strangely colored flames and smoke that meant something unusual was burning in the old paper storage facility. With the department’s rapid response, portions of the storage room remained intact. Locating the physical evidence of an ignition setup would hopefully be the next step, followed by determining who would’ve had a motive and an opportunity to put it there. Arson wasn’t something Ryan expected to ever wrap his head around, but he hoped to someday come closer to understanding what drove people to it, to play the dangerous game of setting fires with the intent of destroying not only property, but other people’s lives.

“This looks like something,” Flanagan said as he crouched toward a small pile on the heavily stained concrete floor in the corner nearest the rear exit. “Monroe, want to tell me what I’ve got here?”

Rowen held a high-powered flashlight over his shoulder, and Ryan leaned in close for a better look. He may not have taken a single class in fire investigation yet, but he recognized the setup easily. “Cigarette tucked into the middle of a matchbook, sir. The cigarette burns down and ignites the matches. This particular setup failed to ignite, so there were likely others used. And there should be a fuel source nearby.”

Flanagan rose and patted Ryan on the back. “Someone’s been studying.”

Chief Rowen took the artifact from Flanagan and examined it more closely. “Free Spirits. That’s a fairly uncommon brand, which could make it easier to track down who bought it. We can canvass the local convenience stores. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” He tucked the cigarette and matchbook into an evidence collection container before handing it off to another inspector.

Flanagan angled the beam of his flashlight toward a plastic storage drum a few feet from where the investigators stood, then swept the light to the far corner where a heap of warped, melted plastic lay in front of a soot-covered V on the wall.

“Bingo.” He traversed the path of toppled metal shelving units to pick up a piece of the plastic and lifted his face shield to sniff it. “Smell that?”

He held it toward Ryan, who was instantly overwhelmed with the memory of his sisters and the pedicure parties he’d narrowly escaped as a young boy. “Acetone.”

“That’s right.” Flanagan dropped the plastic into another evidence container and handed that off as well. “We’ll run it through the lab to be sure.” He clapped his gloved hands together. “Okay. So, we’ve got a container of acetone that didn’t withstand the blaze in one corner of the storage room, and an unsuccessful ignition setup in another corner. What now, Monroe?”

“The perpetrator likely left setups in each of the corners.”

Rowen swept his gaze across the room. “The one that’s intact was likely the last setup he attempted to ignite before he fled the scene, but he didn’t stick around long enough to make sure the cigarette stayed lit. Rookie mistake.”

Ryan nodded in agreement. This was not a professional job, with high-tech explosives wired to remote devices the perpetrator could have detonated from a safe distance. This fire was caused by someone who lit some matches near some flammable chemicals and took off as fast as they could. An amateur.

“Fits the scenario we’ve been building with the woman we’re questioning,” Flanagan said.

Ryan eyed his mentor with a raised brow. “A woman?”

Flanagan nodded as Rowen made his way to the next corner. “Claims she was in a business meeting here with a construction crew, but she was the only one still around when the fire started. Says she ran out the front entrance and supposedly tripped and fell down the steps on her way out.” He let out an incredulous chuckle and added, “Even has the bruises to prove she fell because she was in such a hurry to outrun the fire. We don’t have enough to hold her, but she’s a person of interest and we’re definitely not finished questioning her and the guys she had that meeting with.” He followed Rowen to another pile of debris.

A woman. Ryan knew better than to doubt a woman could be capable of something like this, but the news came as a surprise all the same. He wished he was able to sit in on those interviews, to come face-to-face with the potential suspects, to get a feel for what kind of person might do something like this. But until he finished his certification, he couldn’t be involved in that part of an investigation.

“Monroe,” Flanagan called from the far corner of the space, motioning toward another twisted pile of plastic. “Want to take a look at this?”

Yes, he did. He wanted to absorb everything he could from this treasure trove of learning opportunities. To gather the evidence, uncover the facts, and put away the person responsible.