Chapter 12 Holt #2
"I took photographs of where the bottle was positioned in the dumpster before I moved it," Ace told Rad. "I'll send those images to you for the case file."
"Thanks," Rad replied, pulling out another evidence bag. "I really appreciate the thorough documentation."
Willa had walked outside to examine the area where Ace had found the accelerant container, and the others followed her to the back of the building. She was frowning as she studied the exterior walls, her expression growing more concerned as she moved along the structure.
"I think there was a lot more accelerant used than what was in that one bottle," Willa said, stopping at a section of the back wall that hadn't been touched directly by the fire. "Can you smell that chemical odor?"
She pulled off one of her gloves and ran a finger along the wall, bringing it close to her nose to test her theory.
"We need to get someone from the state fire marshal's office to test this entire back wall," she continued, her voice taking on an urgent quality.
"I think the whole exterior has been sprayed with accelerant. "
The implications hit Holt like a punch to the gut.
If the entire building had been treated with accelerant, then this hadn't been a targeted attack designed just to eliminate Lacey and Margo.
This had been planned as complete destruction, designed to burn the veterinary clinic to the ground and erase any evidence of what had happened inside.
"You're saying someone intended to destroy the entire building," Holt said, wanting to confirm his understanding of Willa's assessment.
"Absolutely," Willa replied grimly. "If the fire had spread the way it was designed to, there wouldn't have been enough left of this place to conduct any kind of investigation.” She pointed to where the dumpster was propped against the building's wall.
“We'd never have found those gas canisters or been able to determine how the attack was carried out.
Even the dumpster is pushed against the building wall. "
“Yeah, I did think that was strange,” Ace replied. “Dr. Peltz doesn’t keep it there.” He glanced at Rad. “I did photograph the dumpster too.”
“So, they wanted everything burned,” Holt muttered. “Including whatever was in that dumpster.” His eyes found Rad’s.
“Yeah, I know,” Rad said with a nod. “I’ll get some of the officers to scour the dumpster.”
An hour later, they had completed their initial examination of the scene and were preparing to leave. The evidence they'd collected painted a disturbing picture of a sophisticated, coordinated assault that had come within minutes of succeeding completely.
As they walked toward the parking area in front of the clinic, Holt found himself deep in thought about the implications of what they'd discovered.
The police-grade gas canisters, the systematic preparation of the building for complete destruction, the tactical precision of blocking all escape routes—this was the work of someone with both resources and knowledge on how to get things done.
Lost in his analysis of the evidence, Holt didn't notice the firefighter approaching from the opposite direction until they collided near the building's front entrance.
"Sorry," Holt mumbled, barely glancing at the person he'd bumped into.
The firefighter was still in full gear, complete with helmet and face mask, making identification impossible in the dim evening light. The person simply stepped around Holt without speaking and continued walking toward the back of the building.
"Dad," Rad's voice called, snapping Holt's attention back to the immediate situation. "I have to go back to the station and write up my initial report on all this evidence. Can you pick up Tyler from Willa’s house?"
"I'll call your grandmother and ask her to take him home with her when she leaves there," Holt suggested. "I don't have a car here since you drove me to the scene."
"Oh shoot," Rad said with obvious frustration. "Of course. I wasn't thinking clearly."
"I can give you a ride home," Tom offered, approaching their group. "If you don't mind stopping at the hospital on the way. I'd like to check on how Lacey and Margo are doing."
"That would be perfect," Holt agreed. "I need to see them anyway."
"Holt," Tom said as they walked toward his police cruiser, "maybe tonight isn't the best time to take their formal statements. They've been through a terrible trauma, and they need time to recover."
"I wasn't planning to conduct interviews tonight," Holt assured him, though he didn't mention that June had already obtained an informal account from Margo earlier in the evening.
The ride to the hospital was quiet, with both men lost in their own thoughts about the implications of what they'd discovered at the clinic.
Tom seemed to be grappling with the possibility that his family might be connected to the escalating violence, while Holt was trying to piece together a timeline that would explain how the attacks had become so sophisticated so quickly.
At the hospital, Tom headed directly to the information desk to inquire about visiting Lacey and Margo, while Holt excused himself to find a bathroom.
The smoke and chemical residue from the clinic had left him feeling grimy and contaminated, and he wanted to clean up before seeing the attack victims.
The hospital bathroom was standard institutional design, with harsh fluorescent lighting and the antiseptic smell that seemed to permeate every medical facility.
Holt washed his hands thoroughly, trying to remove the last traces of the crime scene from his skin, then dried them with rough paper towels.
As he prepared to leave the bathroom, he pulled his phone from his pocket to check for messages or notifications from the surveillance cameras he'd installed at the police station earlier that day.
The investigation was moving quickly, and he wanted to make sure he hadn't missed any important developments.
But as he pulled out his phone, a small piece of folded paper fell from his pocket and fluttered to the floor.
Holt frowned and picked up the paper, trying to remember when he might have put a note in his pocket. His memory of the evening was focused on the investigation, and he couldn't recall anyone handing him written information.
He unfolded the paper and read the message written in block letters:
"If you were smart, you'd walk away from this. I hope you do. This is not your case."
The words sent a chill through Holt's entire body. Someone had managed to slip this threatening note into his pocket without his knowledge, which meant they'd been close enough to physically reach him during the evening's activities.
His mind immediately went to the firefighter he'd bumped into outside the clinic. The person had been in full gear, face completely concealed, and hadn't spoken when they'd collided. In the confusion of the moment, it would have been easy enough to slip something into his pocket.
Holt stared at the note, reading the words again and trying to extract every possible piece of information from the brief message.
The handwriting was deliberately disguised, printed in capital letters that revealed nothing about the writer's natural style.
The paper was standard notebook paper, the kind available in any office supply store.
But the message itself was significant. "This is not your case," suggested that whoever had written it knew about Holt's federal jurisdiction and his role in the investigation.
It also implied that there was someone else who considered this "their case"—someone who felt territorial about the attacks and wanted Holt to stop interfering.
The threat was subtle but unmistakable. "If you were smart, you'd walk away," combined with "I hope you do," carried the clear implication that failure to heed the warning would have consequences.
Holt carefully folded the note and slipped it into his pocket.
This piece of paper might contain DNA evidence, fingerprints, or other trace materials that could help identify its author.
But more immediately, it confirmed his growing suspicion that the person behind these attacks had inside access to the police and/or the fire department.
As Holt stood in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hospital bathroom, he’d just gotten a direct threat from someone who had already attempted murder twice, he realized that the investigation had just taken on an entirely new level of danger.
The attacks were escalating, the perpetrator was becoming bolder, and now Holt himself had been marked as a target. The question was whether he could identify the person behind the threats before they moved from warning messages to direct action against him, possibly his family, and friends.
But one thing was certain: Holt wasn't going to be intimidated into walking away from this case. Too many people had already been hurt, and if anything, this threatening note only reinforced his determination to bring whoever was responsible to justice.
The people of Sandpiper Shores deserved to feel safe in their community, and Lacey and Margo deserved justice for the attack that had nearly killed them. Holt wasn't about to let some anonymous coward with a threatening note prevent him from doing his job.
But as he prepared to leave the bathroom and rejoin Tom, Holt made a mental note to be much more careful about his surroundings and the people he trusted. Someone was playing a very dangerous game, and the stakes were getting higher with each passing day.