The Arsonist (9 page)

“They weren’t original articles. They were copies.”

It was a detail that had always bothered him. “I think Nero copied the articles and planted them.”

“What are you smoking? Nero is dead, end of story.” He sounded angry.

“I’d still like to follow up. I’d like some help with these fires.”

“Look, I know things might get a little dull down in Hooterville. You might be missing the old action. The adrenaline rush. Then along come a couple of fires and you see Nero.”

Gannon clenched the phone with his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Believe me, McCray, I don’t need this in my life again. No one more than me wanted to see Nero dead. But my gut is telling me he’s not.”

“Look buddy, I’d like to help you.” McCray wanted off the phone. “But I got to get back to work. I’m up to my ass in alligators here.”

“I just need the use of your computers for a couple of days. I can be up there by one.”

“No way, man. No way. If anyone here got even a whiff that you thought Nero was alive, it would hit the fan. No. Nero is dead and that’s final. Hey, my other line is blinking. I’ve got to go. Good talking to you.” He hung up.

Gannon slammed down the phone. Solving the Nero case had boosted McCray’s career. And he knew if Nero was found to be alive, his reputation would be tarnished.

Gannon was the only one who believed Nero was alive.

Except Darcy.

She believed.

And she was a reporter with her own agenda. She’d already proved she was a user.

He moved to the window. Darcy passed in front of the tavern window. Her black curls were swept up in a ponytail: she was dressed in a white jog tank, blue shorts and running shoes.

Immediately, his body hardened. She was no good for him. Yet there were parts of his anatomy that had the intelligence of a tree stump. Always would.

Like it or not, Darcy was his only ally.

This time around he’d be the one using the press, not the other way around.

Chapter 9

D
arcy was a half mile into her run when she heard the roar of the motorcycle engine. Gannon. Darcy didn’t need to look behind her to know it was him. She kept running. If he wanted to talk to her, he was going to have to work for it.

She picked up her pace. The engine grew louder and she wished she’d brought her iPod so she could drown out the sounds with music.

Suddenly, she saw the flash of metal as Gannon’s motorcycle skidded to a stop in front of her, blocking her path.

Wiping the sweat from her eyes, she stopped. Her heart hammered in her chest. “What do you want?”

He flipped up his visor. “Get on.”

“Why?” The idea of a lecture didn’t appeal to her right now.

His tone was angry, frustrated. “You want to find Nero or not?”

That had her attention. “Why the change of heart?”

“You’ve got contacts that can help?”

She suspected this alliance cost him. “Yes.”

His jaw tensed and released. “I can’t catch him alone. I’m going to need your help.”

Darcy wanted to shout a whoop at her good fortune. The pessimist in her had her asking, “Again, why the change?”

He muttered an oath. “Get on or work alone. I’m not having this conversation with you in public when anyone could be watching.”

Tension in his voice slashed through her bravado. She tried not to glance around. “Do you think Nero could be watching?”

Gannon flipped down his visor and revved his engine as if he were going to leave.

“All right!” She hurried toward the bike and unhooked the helmet from the back seat. “I’m kinda sweaty.”

“I’ve smelled worse.” He waited while she put on the helmet, climbed on the back and grabbed ahold of his waist. He could feel his racing heartbeat in his chest under her arms.

He checked for traffic and pulled out onto the street. Though the sun was warm, the wind blasting against her sweaty body left her freezing.

They drove through town south on Route 29. He weaved in and out of traffic easily, as if he and the bike were one. Darcy was amazed how quickly her body relaxed against his.

When they reached an elementary school in the center of town, he pulled over to the side. Reluctantly, she released him, already missing his heat. But she wasn’t about to start complaining.

Gannon climbed off and pulled off his helmet. He took Darcy’s from her and hooked them to the bike. “There’s a table over here where we can sit.”

They sat at a small picnic table under the shade of an oak tree. Though the day was warm, she felt chilled to the bone. Gannon shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her.

“Thanks, I’m fine. Besides I’m sweaty.”

“Put the jacket on.”

Grateful for the warmth, she shrugged it on. The jacket smelled of Gannon. Masculine. She almost felt as if his arms were wrapped around her. “So why the school?” she asked hoping the knot in her stomach would release.

“First, we strike a deal. I don’t want any secrets. You lie to me and I’ll cut you off.”

“Information is a two-way street. You cut me out and I walk, too.”

He stared at her a long moment. “Agreed. I also don’t want you going public with anything unless I give the okay. You start leaking information before I say so and I’ll cut the flow of information off immediately.”

“I don’t like having my stories controlled by anyone but me.”

The glint in his eyes told her this was non-negotiable. “Decide now, Darcy. That’s the condition of my help.” He leaned toward her. “What I have to say will put you back on the map.”

She had no doubt his information was good. What worried her was his true motive. Did he want to stop Nero or was he Nero?

“Deal,” she said. They had shared nothing as formal as a handshake. Each knew where the other stood.

He nodded. “You are right about Raymond Mason. I think he was set up.”

Darcy’s heart rate accelerated. “Can you prove it?”

“Not yet.”

She tamped town her frustration. “Then how do you know he wasn’t Nero?”

“My gut. Nero was just too damn smart to make a stupid mistake such as not knowing the back door to the warehouse was bolted. His attention to detail was superb. Add in the fact that I was getting too close to Nero. I think he panicked and pulled out of the game.”

“Do you know who he is?”

Frustration deepened his frown. “No. But I feel like I know him. And I know he is close.”

Her skin tingled. “Tell me about him.”

“He is in his mid-thirties or forties. There’s a certain air of maturity about his letters and messages, yet, his handwriting isn’t that of an old man. He loves control.”

“Education?”

“I’d say very educated, college, graduate school even. The games, the puzzles, he loves them all.” He turned and faced her. She noted the small scar on his chin and was tempted to trace it with her fingertip. She didn’t. “He dresses well, very neat. All his fires were very organized, the accelerants lined up in straight rows.”

“He loved the attention.”

“He is addicted to it.”

“What if you left town? Would he stop?”

“For a while. Then he’d follow and the fires would start up again.” His gaze held hers. “It’s not just about the fires. It’s about the hunt.”

“It sounds like you crawled in his head.”

“I did.”

“You keep saying
he.
You are certain Nero is a man.”

“Yes.”

She wished she had her pad and pencil. “Have you called the arson team in D.C.?”

“Yeah. They won’t touch this one because if Nero is alive, then that means they were all wrong a year ago. Too many careers were built after Nero’s death.”

Disgust ate at her. “So why the school?” she said refocusing.

He stared at the sunny brick building with the brightly colored pictures taped in the classroom windows. “If Nero’s pattern holds true, this school— or one like it—will be the next target.”

A sick feeling tightened her gut. “There’s two weeks of school left. Hundreds of children go to this school.”

“The last school he torched went up at lunchtime. The school had a quick-thinking principal and he had his kids out of the school in record time. No one was killed but if he’d delayed even three minutes, the children in the west wing would have been killed when the roof collapsed.”

“My God.”

“Nero is one sick bastard, Darcy. And I need you to understand that this is more than just a story. It’s about stopping someone who is very evil.”

A cold chill snaked down her spine. “Have you alerted the chief?”

“I have. He thinks I’m either a nut, a burnout or someone poaching on his territory. I’m going to stop by the police after I drop you off, but I’m not holding out much hope for them either.”

“Do you have any proof?”

Gannon reached in his pocket and pulled out the two books of Rome matches. He opened the flaps and showed her the inscription.

She studied the thick bold lettering. “Everyone in D.C. knew about the matches.”

“Look at the ink.”

“It’s green.”

“A green fine-tipped marker. That is a detail that never made it to the papers.”

“You’re basing all this on green ink. That could be a lucky coincidence.” Great. Maybe Gannon was a nut. Maybe this was a setup.

He sighed. “There’s more to it than ink. It’s the shape of the
a
’s. The way he presses down when he writes. It’s him. I’d bet my life on it.”

She rubbed her fingers over the gold embossed letters of Rome. “We’re going to need more evidence than matches and Raymond’s sister to prove Nero is alive. D.C. has a lot of hard evidence that proves Raymond was Nero. You tell me what’s more credible.”

“I’ve thought a lot about the hard evidence over the last year. All of it could have been staged.”

“Why would Nero come back after all this time? It can’t just be boredom.”

“Nero can’t walk away from the fires any more than Trevor can walk away from the booze. Like I said, he’s addicted to the rush.”

Addiction. Compulsion. Disease. How many times had she heard those terms growing up? “I know what a tight hold the demons can have on a man.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Let’s go back to my apartment. My old case files are there.”

Darcy hesitated. Gannon fit his own description of Nero. And here she was ready to follow him to his apartment.

When he noticed she wasn’t following, he stopped and said, “Are you coming?”

Now or never, Sampson. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Two hours later, Darcy sat in the corner of Gannon’s apartment with a half-dozen folders spread out around her.

Sunlight streamed through the apartment’s tall windows. The apartment was furnished simply with a couch and a large eating table with a couple of chairs around it. There was no TV in sight but stacks of books lined the walls as if expecting Gannon to build bookshelves for them. In the far left corner of the room was his bed, rumpled and twisted sheets testifying to a restless night’s sleep. To her right, a galley kitchen with a small stove and refrigerator, which she suspected was empty.

Since she’d arrived, she’d done nothing but read Gannon’s case folders as he paced. Finally, when she could take his pacing no more, she told him to sit and be still. He’d sat at his dining table and started to work on designs for another bike. Though he said nothing, she knew his thoughts weren’t far from her.

Gannon’s notes were meticulous. He had explored every aspect of Nero, including the man’s back ground, possible professions, his reasons for setting the fires, and even a physical description. According to Gannon’s notes, Nero likely had a steady job. Raymond Mason had gotten his degree but had not held a steady job since he’d left the army.

The muscles in her shoulders ached as she picked up an article from last year—one that Barbara Rogers had written.

What interested her was not the article but the picture of Gannon standing at the podium during a statement to the press.

Dressed in a coat and tie, his eyes were dark and angry. Deep lines in his forehead had faded somewhat. He looked so worried and concerned. This wasn’t the face of a man who was setting fires. This was the face of a man frustrated that he couldn’t stop a killer.

She glanced up at Gannon. He studied the paper in front of him, but he wasn’t drawing. Those same lines had returned to his face. He was desperate to catch Nero.

In that moment, she
knew.

Gannon was not Nero.

Darcy sat back in her chair. Unreasonable relief flooded through her body.

“You look ten years younger now,” she said laying another article aside.

He glanced up from the sketch and set his pencil down. Seemingly relieved to have the silence broken, he rose and moved toward her. “I felt two hundred when that picture was taken. Nero was torching the city and my wife had just left me.”

He’d been married. She glanced at his naked ring finger. Whatever tan lines his wedding band might have left were completely gone. “I’m sorry.”

He flexed the fingers on his left hand. “About the fires or my divorce?”

“Both. The divorce. I’ve been left. I know how it hurts.”

He studied her as if he were trying to read her thoughts. “Looks like you’ve moved on.”

The last thing she wanted to do was talk about Stephen. “And you, too.”

A grim smile tipped the edge of his lips. “We’re a couple of survivors.”

“Yeah.” Uncomfortable with the personal line of conversation she said, “I see similarities to the fires here. It’s not just the locations. They have the same feel.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Nero has a specific style and burn pattern.”

“So what do we do?”

“I’m going to set up cameras in places where I think he’ll strike. Then I’m going to start talking about Nero and let it be known I think he’s a coward.”

“How do you know he’ll hear what you’re saying about him?”

He didn’t look the least bit worried. “He’s close. I can feel it.”

She kept her voice even, but her nerves jumped. “What do I do?”

“I don’t think he has been completely dormant this last year. I think there’ve been other fires. Smaller, likely not more than one or two in a city, but fires nonetheless. I need for you to start searching databases to see what pops up.”

“I’ll call my editor at the paper. He’ll do a search for me if I give him the guidelines.” Then before he could say anything, she said, “He knows I’m down here investigating Nero. And he is expecting to hear from me.”

He shoved out a breath as if willing his body to relax. “All right. Call him. Tell him we are looking for school, restaurant, church and hotel fires. Those are Nero’s favorite targets.”

Nodding, she pulled her cell phone off her waistband and dialed her editor. The phone rang three times and for a moment she feared Paul wasn’t in his office. Finally, he picked up. “Paul Tyler.”

“Paul, it’s me, Darcy.” She could feel Gannon’s gaze on her.

“Darcy? It’s about time you called. What have you found out so far?” Paul asked.

“I made contact with Gannon.” From the corner of her eye, she could see his frown deepen.

“Good. Have you learned anything?”

She quickly explained about the new set of fires in Preston Springs and their similarity to the Nero fires in Washington.

Paul listened without comment but she could almost hear him frowning through the phone. “Darcy, I want you to be careful. Gannon is a suspect as far as I’m concerned.”

She lowered her voice. “Let’s not get into that right now.”

“Is Gannon with you now?”

“Yes.” She glanced at Gannon. He leaned against the exposed brick wall, his arms folded over his chest.

Darcy could picture Paul peering over his black half-glasses and staring out his small window that overlooked the street. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Everything is under control.”

“Famous last words.”

She ignored that comment. “Paul, I need you to do a search for me. I’m specifically looking for arson fires in the last year—schools, restaurants, churches and hotels. Chances are these fires won’t be huge, but they’ll match Nero’s MO.”