Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eliot
At a set of double doors marked Briefing Room, Parker turns, a small crease between her brows. “This your first presser?”
“Second. Why?” In the men’s room a few minutes ago, I made sure my tie was straight, shirt wasn’t stained, and there was nothing in my teeth. Now, I’m worried I missed something obvious.
“You’re a little green around the edges,” Nate says, sidling up next to me. “I warned you about the vending machine. Those Twizzlers were practically fossils.”
“They were not.” Parker shakes her head. “They were a much needed pick-me-up after the rabbit food you ordered us for lunch.”
“I’ll have you know, my blood sugar is perfectly steady.” Nate holds up his hand, palm facing the floor, fingers extended. “See?”
Captain Vern stares at the two Rangers, caught between amusement and outrage. “Are they…?”
“Always like this? Yeah. You get used to it.” If we weren’t two minutes away from informing a room full of reporters that we can’t actually tell them anything useful, I’d smile.
Parker and Nate bicker like they’re family, and I’ve somehow found myself smack dab in the middle of it. Ain’t a bad place to be.
Nate rubs both hands together, takes a single step back, and squares his shoulders.
“Eliot, your job is to look smart in there. Vern? Look official with a dash of pissed off. Parker’s the nice one, and I’m the data guy.
You get a question you can’t—or don’t want to—answer, you either defer to me or give the standard line about this being an active investigation. ”
He locks eyes with each one of us in turn, then takes a single, deep breath. “Welcome to Chaos Central in three, two, one…”
Captain Vern pulls the door open at Nate’s nod.
Parker leads, followed by Nate, then me.
The APD captain brings up the rear. Unlike the rest of the station, the briefing room is warm.
Too many bodies, cables, camera and sound equipment, and bright lights haloing a dark wood podium in the center of a raised platform.
The rows of chairs are a little more than half full. Twenty, maybe twenty-five reporters, interns, and videographers talking amongst themselves.
Parker takes the four steps up to the platform carefully, her fingers tight on the metal handrail. Shutters click, red lights on the video cameras start blinking, and the conversation fades in seconds.
Vern and I stand shoulder to shoulder behind the Rangers. Parker glances at a woman dressed in a red power suit in the front row, her brown hair shining in the lights. Emmylou Marsh from Channel 5.
With a nod, Parker rests her hands on the sides of the podium.
“Six days ago, a fire broke out before dawn in a commercial building in Round Rock. There was a single fatality whose name I can’t release because we’re still attempting to contact the individual’s family.
Three days later, a second fire destroyed a warehouse that was being retrofitted in Cedar Park.
There were no injuries. Yesterday, however, two people died inside a new building in the Mueller neighborhood of Austin. All three fires have been ruled arson.”
She pauses for a moment, letting those still using pen and paper catch up.
“The Department of Public Safety, Ranger Division, is leading this investigation with help from the State Fire Marshal’s Office and support from Austin PD.
For the record, I’m Captain Parker Elmore with DPS, this is my partner, Captain Nate Hardison.
Eliot Flint is with SFMO, and Captain Ellis Vern is representing APD.
We’ve set up a tip line for the public. That number is on the information sheets you found on your chairs when you arrived.
We’re asking anyone with information about the fires or the properties themselves to call it in. ”
After a breath, Parker steps back, and Nate takes over. “Fires like this get investigated on two tracks at once. Origin and cause—that’s the what, where, and how. Then motive and opportunity. The who. If we rush either track, we risk missing something important.”
He spends the next five minutes sharing the information we agreed wouldn’t compromise the investigation.
All three fires were deliberately set. They all used the same accelerant.
All three buildings were commercial, and were supposed to be empty.
Then, dropping his hands to his sides, he adds, “We’ll take questions. ”
A man in the second row calls out, “Do you have a suspect at this time?”
“No comment,” he says. “Next?”
The on-air reporter from Channel Ten raises her hand. “Sandra Sullivan, Captain. Should building owners in Williamson and Travis counties be worried?”
“We’ve notified every engine company in Williamson, Travis, Hays, and Bastrop counties,” Nate says.
“Speculating on risk at this point would be a waste of time. However, if you manage—or work at—a commercial property and you notice something off, either with the building itself or anyone hanging around who shouldn’t be, call it in. ”
A man near the back with graying hair clears his throat. “This question is for Mr. Flint.”
Fuck.
I step forward, Nate and Parker flanking me. “Ain’t much I can tell you that the Rangers haven’t covered. But go ahead and ask.”
“Before you became an arson investigator, you were a firefighter yourself. You were badly injured in a fire that killed a colleague. Does that history change how you approach a case like this?”
The sound of shutters going off is so much louder than it was a second ago. The lights beat down on me, harsh and unforgiving. “I…I approach every scene the same way. Anyone who’s…uh…been inside a building when it—” My voice fails me. I try again, but nothing comes out.
Parker gently shoulders me out of the way. “Mr. Flint’s investigative methods aren’t up for debate here. He’s a senior investigator with SFMO, and that’s all that’s relevant here.” After a beat, she nods at the reporter from Channel Five. “Ms. Marsh. Your question?”
Emmylou raises her voice recorder a few inches. “If the Department of Public Safety is taking the lead here, does that signal you believe this is more than simply arson?”
“The Ranger Division is lead on this investigation because these fires cross county lines. APD doesn’t have jurisdiction in Williamson County. We do.” Parker’s words are firm, but there’s a hint of softness under them that surprises me. “Thank you all for coming—”
“What do you have to say to the family of the latest victims, Captain?” a man in the back shouts. “There were two fires before the one that killed Delia and June Castillo. How do you look at yourself in the mirror knowing you could have saved them?”
The entire room goes silent. A tiny shudder runs the length of Parker’s body, so subtle, if I hadn’t been staring right at her, I’d have missed it.
She steps even closer to the microphone, and her voice wobbles with emotion.
“Delia and June are the reason I do this job. They’re not a case file.
They’re two women who were killed as their dreams of opening their own store were about to come true.
You want someone to answer for their deaths?
So do I. The person who’s setting these fires will be caught, and once they are, they’ll face justice for all their crimes. ”
Parker only waits for a single breath before she forces her back a little straighter. “That’s all for today. My team and I have work to do.”
Several reporters shout questions, but Parker’s already halfway to the stairs. Nate waves me and Captain Vern ahead of him, brings up the rear, and shuts the door behind us with enough force, I can feel it.
“I’m calling Emi,” Nate grits out, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “She’ll be able to ID that sorry excuse for a reporter, and I’ll accidentally drop his credentials directly into the shredder.”
Captain Vern clears his throat. “That wasn’t a reporter. That was Delia Castillo’s father.”
Parker presses her hand to her heart. “Shit. Ellis, can you bring him back here? He deserves more than being a face in a crowd.”
Vern nods. “Delia’s wife and daughter are with him. You want the whole family?”
“All of them.” She turns to me as Vern slips back into the briefing room. “Stay. Both of you. I want that family to know who we are.”
Vern comes back through the door a moment later. Delia’s father has tugged at his tie enough to leave the knot loose and off center. Behind him, Delia’s wife holds their daughter’s hand, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen.
“Captain Elmore,” Vern says, “this is Delia’s father, Nestor Castillo. Her wife, Olivia Montania, and their daughter, Rosalie.”
“Parker. You can call me Parker.” She extends her hand to Nestor, and he stares at it for a second before taking it. “I’m sorry we’re meeting like this.”
“What I said in there…” Nestor shakes his head. “I should not have spoken to you that way, Captain. Please accept my apology.”
Parker swallows hard. “No. You had—have—every right to be angry. Delia and June should be putting up wallpaper and unboxing inventory right now. Or…at the very least, home with their families.”
Olivia clutches her phone to her chest. “Delia left me a voicemail a little after eight a.m. I was getting Rosalie ready for school, and I didn’t hear the phone ring.
I can’t play it. I’m not ready to hear her voice yet.
I know I should, but…” Fresh tears cascade down her cheeks.
“The transcript… The first line said, ‘It’s perfect, Livie. I can’t wait to bring you here. ’”
Nate watches Parker, his dark eyes shining. Vern’s staring at his shoes.
I wish I knew what to say to this family.
I’m sorry for your loss means nothing. We’re taught to say it at the academy.
By every grief counselor, every captain, every battalion chief.
I’ve uttered those five words after dozens of fires, and meant them every fucking time.
It wasn’t until Zack’s death that I realized just how hollow they were.
Parker’s talking to Olivia, saying something about how grief doesn’t have a timeline, when the little girl pulls a folded piece of paper from her pocket and offers it to Parker.
“What’s this?” she asks, crouching down with a small wince and spreading the paper over her right thigh. “Did—” Her voice fades, and she pulls in a shaky breath before she finds it again. “Did you draw this?”
“It’s Mom and Aunt June at their store.” Rosalie points to the sign in the window. Papeeay Lucks. “Mama said I could give it to Mom when we went to the store this weekend. But I think I spelled the name wrong.”
“That’s okay. We both know it’s Papier Luxe.” Parker’s smile doesn’t falter once, but tears shimmer in her eyes. “This is a very good picture. You got all the important things right. Your mom and your Aunt June look so happy.”
Rosalie chews on her bottom lip, her eyes never lingering on the paper for more than a second at a time before returning to Olivia.
“Hey,” Parker says, completely serious as she lowers her voice. “Can I hold onto this for a while? I promise I’ll keep it very safe for you.”
The little girl peers up at her mother.
Olivia nods. “It’s okay, baby.”
A single tear plops onto the construction paper as Rosalie lets go. Parker blots it dry with the sleeve of her shirt, carefully folds the paper along its creases, and tucks it into the pocket of her dress shirt, right over her heart.
“I’m going to keep it with me. The whole time I’m working.” She pats the folded piece of paper one last time. “That way your Mom and your Aunt June are always right here.”