Chapter 12 Holt
HOLT
The acrid smell of smoke and chemical residue hung heavy in the evening air as Holt stood outside the damaged veterinary clinic, surveying the scene that had nearly claimed two lives just hours earlier.
The building looked like a war zone, with blackened walls, shattered windows, and the twisted remains of what had once been a thriving medical practice.
Willa stood beside him in her fire captain's gear, her expression grim as she examined the exterior damage.
Rad was already photographing the scene from multiple angles, while Ace moved around the perimeter with the methodical precision of someone who had investigated countless fires over his career.
Tom approached from where he'd been coordinating with the other first responders, his face etched with the kind of exhaustion that came from managing a major emergency in a small town where everyone knew everyone else.
"Tom," Holt said quietly, stepping away from the others, "I need you to hang back from decision-making or primary investigative steps."
Tom's expression immediately shifted to one of hurt and confusion. "Holt, surely you don't think my son had anything to do with this? Clive might have made some poor choices about his car accident, but he would never try to murder two innocent women."
Holt felt the familiar weight of information he couldn't share pressing down on his shoulders. The evidence they'd uncovered about Victoria's involvement in the original car accident, combined with Clive's obvious attempts to cover for his mother, painted a picture that Tom wouldn't want to see.
"Tom, please," Holt said carefully, keeping his voice low enough that the others couldn't overhear.
"I understand your position, but Clive is still connected to Lacey's first accident.
Now there's been a second attempt on her life, and I can't afford to have any potential conflicts of interest compromising this investigation. "
The words hit Tom like a physical blow, and Holt could see the moment the police chief realized how the situation must look to an outside investigator.
Tom was quiet for a long moment, staring at the damaged building with the expression of a man watching his family's reputation crumble before his eyes.
"You're right," Tom said finally, his voice heavy with resignation. "I can see how this looks, even if I know in my heart that Clive wouldn’t be capable of something like this."
He straightened his shoulders with visible effort, falling back on his professional training to maintain composure in an impossible situation.
"I'll go talk to the squad and get this place properly cordoned off," Tom continued. "Make sure no curious locals try to nose around after we're all gone. The last thing we need is contaminated evidence or someone getting hurt exploring a structurally damaged building."
"That's a good idea," Holt agreed, feeling genuine sympathy for the man who was caught between his duty as police chief and his loyalty to his family. "Thank you, Tom."
As Tom walked away to coordinate with the other officers, Holt turned back to the investigative team that was waiting for his direction. The gravity of what they were dealing with was becoming clearer with each piece of evidence they uncovered.
"All right," Holt said, addressing Willa, Rad, and Ace. "Let's walk through this systematically. We need to understand exactly how this attack was carried out and what materials were used."
They entered the clinic through the front door, which showed clear signs of having been barricaded from the outside.
The metal door frame was bent and twisted where the firefighters had eventually managed to force entry, but the scratches and dents around the lock mechanism told the story of someone using tools to secure the door from the exterior.
The interior of the clinic was a scene of controlled chaos. The main examination room where Lacey and Margo had been working was filled with smoke residue and the lingering chemical smell of whatever gas had been used to incapacitate them.
"There," Rad said, pointing to a spot near the reception desk where a metallic canister lay on its side. "That's one of the gas canisters Margo described."
Holt approached the device carefully, pulling on latex gloves before examining it more closely. The canister was approximately the size of a large soup can, with a simple trigger mechanism that would have released its contents when activated.
"I need photographs of this in place before we move it," Holt instructed, and Rad immediately began documenting the canister's position from multiple angles.
As Holt studied the device, a cold feeling of recognition settled in his stomach.
This wasn't some improvised weapon cobbled together from household chemicals.
The construction, the trigger mechanism, the professional grade of the canister itself all pointed to something that would be available only through law enforcement or military suppliers.
"This is police-grade equipment," Holt said aloud, his voice carefully neutral even though his mind was racing through the implications. "The kind of thing used for crowd control or tactical operations."
Willa looked up from where she was examining burn patterns on the wall. "How would someone get their hands on something like that?"
"That's a very good question," Holt replied grimly. He had suspicions about the answer, but he kept them to himself. Only he and June knew about the potential Morrison family connection to these attacks, and until he had concrete proof, he couldn't share those suspicions with anyone else.
Rad carefully bagged the canister as evidence, making detailed notes about its location and condition. "Should I run this through federal databases to see if we can trace its origin?"
"Absolutely," Holt confirmed. "I want to know everything about where this came from and how someone acquired it."
They continued their methodical examination of the clinic, working their way toward the back of the building where the second phase of the attack had taken place.
The rear hallway showed extensive fire damage, with blackened walls and a partially collapsed ceiling where the flames had been concentrated.
"The fire was set here deliberately," Willa observed, crouching down to examine the burn patterns on the floor. "You can see where accelerant was poured in a specific pattern to block the exit completely."
Ace knelt beside her, pointing to areas where the fire damage was most severe. "Someone wanted to make sure that back door was completely impassable. This wasn't random arson. This was tactical."
As they worked, Holt found himself going over the timeline that June had provided from her conversation with Margo. The coordination required to execute this attack was sophisticated, requiring multiple people or careful advance planning.
"So the sequence was gas canister through the front door, front door barricaded from outside, fire set at the back door, then a second gas canister through the bathroom window when they tried to escape that way," Holt summarized aloud.
"That's remarkably thorough," Willa said with a frown. "Someone really wanted to make sure there was no way out."
"How do you know all those details?" Rad asked, looking up from his evidence documentation. "Were you able to interview one of the victims already?"
Holt realized he'd revealed information he shouldn't have had access to yet. "June interrogated Margo while she was at the hospital," he said, giving Willa a slight smile. "She has a talent for getting people to talk."
"That sounds like Mom," Willa said with a fond sigh. "She loves solving mysteries. Spy novels are her favorite genre, and she's always been fascinated by crime investigations."
"Yes, I remember," Holt said without thinking, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
The comment hung in the air for a moment, and Holt realized both Willa and Rad were watching him with curious expressions.
"How do you know my mother so well?" Willa asked, her voice carrying the kind of careful neutrality that suggested she'd picked up on something significant.
Holt felt his chest tighten as he scrambled for an answer that would be truthful without revealing the full extent of his and June's shared history. This wasn't the time or place for that conversation, and he needed to speak with June before they told their children about their past marriage.
"June and her family used to summer here in Sandpiper Shores when we were teenagers," Holt said finally. "We knew each other growing up."
It wasn't a lie, exactly, just an incomplete version of the truth. But even as he spoke the words, Holt's conscience reminded him that omitting the four years of marriage was a pretty significant detail to leave out.
Before either Willa or Rad could ask follow-up questions, Ace's voice called from outside the building.
"I found the accelerant container," Ace announced, appearing in the doorway with a plastic evidence bag. "It was in the dumpster out back. Whoever did this wasn't very careful about disposing of evidence."
Holt took the bag and examined the bottle inside. It was a standard metal container, the kind used to store gasoline or other flammable liquids, but it showed clear signs of having been used recently.
"This person isn't being very careful at all," Holt noted, though something about the carelessness bothered him. "It's almost like they want to get caught."
"Or they're taunting us," Rad offered, a theory that made Holt's stomach clench with worry.
"There have been no fingerprints on any of the gasoline containers we've found at the other fire scenes, either.
Someone who takes the time to wear gloves but then leaves the evidence containers lying around seems oddly inconsistent. "