Chapter 7
The moonless night’s air hung heavy over Waverly Junction. Tonight, a different kind of dance was taking place, one between flames and shadows.
In the heart of the city, the old Terrene Theater, a grand relic from a bygone era that still served as a playhouse, had become the stage for a raging inferno. Its ornately carved marquee, adorned with the title of its current play, curled and smoked. Fire burned, illuminating the theater”s exquisite fa?ade before sending it crumbling to the ground.
As Station 3 gathered around the table in the firehouse, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, accompanied by the sweet scent of red velvet cake baked by one of the firefighters, Samantha Rodriguez.
“Alright, everyone, dig in,” Jackson declared, cutting into the cake with a grin. “First coffee of the night shift calls for some dessert, don”t you think?”
The firefighters eagerly grabbed their mugs, some adding a splash of cream or sugar, while others took theirs black. As they settled into their seats, the friendly banter began.
“Jackson, this cake is almost as sweet as your firefighting skills,” one of the company members joked, earning a round of chuckles.
Jackson laughed, raising his mug in acknowledgment. “Thanks, but I think the real hero here is the one who baked this masterpiece. Shoutout to Sam for the delicious treat.”
Samantha smiled. “Dave’s wife is the other hero. She taught me how to make the frosting.”
Dave grinned proudly, taking a bite of cake. “Yeah, she”s a keeper, alright. Almost as good as her cooking is her tolerance of the late-night shifts.”
The group shared a knowing chuckle, recognizing the sacrifices their loved ones made to support them in their line of work.
As they savored their cake and coffee, the conversation drifted to lighter topics—weekend plans, sports updates, and the latest firehouse gossip. Laughter filled the room as they exchanged stories and teased each other like the close-knit family they were. They were laughing when the alarm sounded.
“Attention all units, attention all units. Dispatch to Station 3, Battalion 1, we have a report of a fire at the Terrene Theater; repeat, fire reported at the Terrene Theater. All available fire units in the vicinity, please respond immediately. Unknown status of occupants, exercise caution. Repeat, fire at the Terrene Theater, respond Code 3.”
His company headed toward the apparatus as Jackson hopped into his Tahoe, then they pulled out. Jackson’s gut sank. In the distance, the night sky was flickering orange. Before their arrival on scene, he began barking orders and calling for additional help. He learned early in his career, the more providers, the better.
Stepping from his truck, he heard the desperate cries for help from above the theater, voices of people trapped in terror. His protective gear crinkled as he charged through the smoke, his heart pounding.
* * *
On the outskirtsof the chaos, a sleek black sedan, red light flashing, flew through the night”s shadows, stopping at a safe distance from the turmoil. Olivia emerged from her car, popped her trunk and pulled out a pair of bunker pants and boots. After stepping into them, she slipped into her turnout coat and helmet. Both the jacket and helmet were marked with the word POLICE. She grabbed a telephoto camera and hung it from its reflective strap around her neck. Her determined stride carried her toward the blaze. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, surveyed the scene. It was an investigator”s gaze, trained to see what others might overlook.
There was something different about this fire: the way it was spreading, the intensity of the flames, and the potential choice of the landmark theater as a target.
The night air was filled with sirens and yelling, flashing lights, and rolling smoke. As firefighters fought the heat and destruction, her detective”s mind filled with questions. She watched them drag three sooty, unmoving humans onto ambulance stretchers.
Liv stood still as small eruptions of white-tinged fire popped. This was no ordinary blaze; she was sure it was an act of arson. It was her job to find the how, what and meaning. She unlocked her phone and called Michael. She wanted another set of experienced eyes on this blaze.
It had taken her two days to unscramble the notes written by the other detectives from the dead body found at the Waverly estate. The damage from this blaze would take her weeks to sort out, even with her meticulous notes. She also begrudgingly promised Michael she wouldn’t work big scenes or investigation interviews without a partner.
“Watch yourself. I’ll head to the hospital to see if I can get a witness statement,” Michael advised her over the phone. “Detective Andrews is en route to you.”
“Michael, I don’t need a babysitter, especially Andrews. What is he, twelve years old?” she asked before realizing he’d already hung up. “Argh.” He made her angry, but she had a job to do, so she shook it off.
As Jackson and Station 3 battled the inferno with hoses, axes, and gallons of water, Olivia moved closer, hoping for a clue to the fire’s origin. She walked the perimeter, camera in hand, sparks flying around her like fireflies.
“What have we here?” she talked to herself as she bent down and picked up a small black metal stopper. “What did you belong to?” She raised her flashlight and scoured the area. She’d have to look again in the daylight.
Dawn began to break. The sun’s orange rays blended into the flames and were obscured by the rising smoke and steam. Wood sizzled. The remains of the structure loudly crashed in on itself.
Liv startled, her whiskey-hazel eyes widening as her hand covered her heart. She was grateful she didn’t hear any emergency alarms attached to the firefighters. No one was trapped by the collapse. Her detective babysitter stood nearby. She ignored him.
As she made her way back to her car, Michael stood outside the driver’s door of his own police vehicle, a gray cardboard cup carrier in his hands.
Liv exhaled. “Thanks,” she growled and pulled a cup of coffee from the tray.
“Hangry?” Michael teased.
“Pissed. Detective Andrews, you can go home now.” Liv’s tone was nicer talking to him.
Michael stared at the remnants of the old building. “Looks like they’re finishing the overhaul.” He placed the tray on the hood of his car and popped the trunk. He dressed in turnout gear and grabbed four metal evidence collection cans, draping them over his forearm by their handles. In a quick grab, he managed to also pick up his coffee.
Liv shook her head. “Quite a feat.” She popped the plastic spout on the lid of her cup and took a sip. “It burned too hot to get close. Too hot to be natural.”
“The three they pulled out were renters. All were intubated and sedated before I could get anything from them.” He asked, “Any ideas?”
She shrugged. “Something quickly incendiary. I think the job was a professional one.” She started walking toward the engine. “It burned very hot. At least five points of ignition I could see. Found a metal stopper on the C side of the building. Don’t know if it’s relevant, but I bagged it for evidence. Let’s see if we can get any information.”
“Oh, look who’s there. It’s Jack-son,” he said in an irritated tone.
Her sooty brow rose. “I didn’t realize we’re in grade school.” She kept walking.
Jackson was sitting on the back step of the ambulance. Nate Thompson, a paramedic, had rigged an IV bag filled with saline into an eyewash. The fluid poured down the bridge of Jackson’s nose, rinsing the soot from his emerald-green eyes.
“Hey, Nate, is he going to live?” Liv sat on the step beside Jackson.
“Captain Reynolds caught an ember in his eye, and both eyes were irritated. Wood fires produce thick smoke.” The paramedic turned his attention back to Jackson.
“Thanks, Nate. Morning, Detectives.” Jackson’s voice was gravelly from smoke.
Michael’s forehead furrowed. “Morning, Captain.”
Olivia shook her head. She’d sort out the pissing contest when she and Michael were alone. “Any ideas about the source?”
“Nah, but it looks like it started in the orchestra pit. Burned hot and fast. When we got into the building, we could smell garlic.”
Liv and her partner’s eyes met. “Arsenic? Calcium carbide? White phosphorous?” Michael blew out a breath. “Maybe we will get lucky.”
When yells erupted from the pile, Liv and Michael began to run. Jackson, following Liv’s lead, pulled the eye wash free and buckled his coat. The three hustled toward the cries.
The old theater was reduced to a skeletal frame of blackened timber and gray ash. Jackson and the two detectives moved carefully into the fireground, making their way through the debris to ensure they maintained their footing. The crackling sound of burning wood still echoed occasionally.
They approached what Liv guessed used to be the dressing room. Old costumes lay singed, their plastic rhinestones melted into a colorful mosaic on the floor. Firefighter Alex Turner stood, pointing. Beneath a charred set of mattress springs, partially concealed under a pile of ash, he found the remains of a badly charred body.
“Captain, over here.” Alex waved them closer, his voice high-pitched with nerves.
Jackson and the detectives rushed to Alex”s side, and the rest of the company gathered around. The body was unrecognizable, reduced to a twisted and blackened form.
Olivia reached for her radio. “Dispatch, this is Detective Olivia Everhart, County PD. Requesting immediate response from ME, homicide and crime scene units to the Terrene Theater. We have a confirmed deceased individual on site. Declaring a crime scene. Over.”
“Dispatch to Detective Everhart, confirm Waverly Junction Police and Waverly County CSI team to secure the area for forensic analysis.”
She looked at Jackson and knowingly continued over the radio, “Station 3 Captain, please relay to all firefighters present that the Terrene Theater is now a crime scene. Dispatch requesting additional county police units for preservation of evidence until the arrival of investigative units. Over.”
Jackson gave her a thumbs-up, then went over the radio, “This is Station 3, Captain Reynolds. Roger.”
Liv turned to the fire company. “We need to secure the area until the ME arrives. Preserve the scene as much as possible. Let”s keep our distance, guys and gals.”
Jackson had half his firefighters set up a perimeter around the body. “Watch for any flare-ups.”
The firefighters were quiet, their usual banter silent. He assigned the remaining men and women to continue the overhaul.
Olivia and Michael began to prioritize the first steps of their investigation. She crouched over the body and lifted her camera. “Who are you?”
She and Michael began to walk in concentric circles from where they found the body as she shot photographs. Looking through the lens always focused her thoughts. Any anger she felt toward Michael disappeared. Work took the priority.
“What do you see, Liv?” Jackson’s baritone voice was warm against her ear.
She shuddered. “Nothing yet.”
* * *
Smoke and flameserupted from small hotspots as Jackson’s keen eye watched the scene. He needed to keep the detectives and his firefighters safe. He knew Michael, the same age as him, had transferred to the Waverly Junction Police Department from the New York City Police Department. He had more time on the job and more experience than Olivia.
Livvy hadn’t gone through fire school yet. And though she was collegiately trained on how fire behaves, after her experience with the e-bike, he wished she had the fire school experience under her belt. Because of her injury, she wouldn’t start the academy until the following week.
He stood in the current fire scene, lost in thought. He turned to meet Liv’s eyes.
“ME is here,” she called.
“Liv, you sure enjoy ruining my day off.” Molly Everhart, her face painted with stage makeup and her hair pulled into a high ponytail, walked over to the remains. Her assistant photographed the scene from multiple angles. “He was naked. I don’t see any melted clothing or visible injuries. I’ll know more when I get him on my table.”
“Him?” Olivia asked.
“No subpubic concavity.” Molly pressed her lips together.
“Boss, he’s really crispy. We need to scoop him,” the assistant said.
Molly and her assistant used a sterilized scoop stretcher to lift the corpse into a body bag, then they sealed it to prevent leakage or contamination during transportation. Molly labeled the remains with an identification tag, including date, time, and location of recovery.
The body was placed on top of a rolling stretcher to move it from the scene. Jackson signaled two firefighters to help.
Before they left, Molly, Michael, and Olivia independently shot more pictures.
Olivia held her gloved hand up and knelt beside where the body had lain.
“Liv, I’ll grab samples,” Michael said.
“I want it all. I’ll ask the crime lab to take samples too, cast it and then take it down six inches.” She ran her gloved hand through the indentation where the body had rested. “There’s no burnt wood beneath the indentation, nor any indication of blood. The body was here before the fire. Black ash?”
Michael shook his head. “Liv, that’s skin.”
As she gently sifted through some more remains, she lifted up what appeared to be a glass vial.
“Livvy, it’s like the one at—” Jackson said.
Liv shook her head and waved her hand to stop him from speaking. “It’s a glass vial with a phoenix etched into it.” She placed the object in her palm.
Molly’s assistant looked at the object. “It’s a memorial vial. You know, you carry ashes of a loved one in it.”
“I’ll open it up in the morgue under the hood,” Molly said.
Liv dropped it into an evidence bag and handed it to her sister. “Molly, let me know what you find inside. Be careful, the captain noted a garlic smell on scene.”
Jackson swallowed hard. He watched the crime lab begin their job of molding and excavating the pit where the body was found, then he turned to his fellow firefighters, all of them exhausted. “All right, Station 3, let”s finish this up,” he called out. “We need to make sure this place is cold before we can put this baby to bed.”
He and his station began to systematically dismantle parts of the ruined structure, carefully checking for any hidden hot spots. Luke, Jackson’s lieutenant, used a thermal imaging camera to scan the area. The group worked with pike poles and Halligans to pull apart debris.
Jackson dropped to his knees, his gloved hands sifting through a pile of smoking, charred wood. As he pushed aside a piece of burnt timber, he noticed a faint glow beneath it. “Hold on,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask. “We”ve got something here.”
The team gathered around their captain, exposed the embers, and began to douse them with water. The embers hissed, and gas rose as water hit the heat, but the flame refused to be extinguished. “Livvy, sample this. It won’t go out. Smell?”
Michael shoveled the timber that refused to extinguish into one of the airtight evidence cans. “Hmm, good eye, Captain.”
After what seemed like forever, Jackson gave the signal. “Pack up and head back to the station.”
At the station, their relief was waiting. “Heard it was a tough one,” Turk, the fresh duty captain, said.
Jackson nodded and gathered the company around the engine, their faces stained with sweat, soot, and exhaustion. “Three critical and one dead body.” His voice was heavy with the night’s events.
Nate, the station’s paramedic, chimed in, “Docs say the three critical patients will pull through. We got them out in time. That counts for something.”
Jackson ran a hand through his hair, dislodging bits of ash and grime. “You”re right, Nate.” He sighed. “Everyone make sure the rigs are ready for the next alarm. I need a shower and some clean air. Then, Turk, I”ll brief you on what the cops found.”
After a long shower, he sat in his office with Turk. “Livvy found a glass vial like the one we found. She stopped me from saying anything about it. The phoenix is the same as the rattle I showed you.”
Turk sighed. “You are going to have to put it in the report.”
“But I don’t need to say we found something like it.” Jackson opened his computer to complete the report on the fire. “I found an area of the burn that refused to go out. And there was a garlic smell.”
“Shit, calcium carbide or phosphorous.” Turk tapped his finger against the desk. “Arsenic? Was there a lot of wallpaper or old ornaments?”
“Enough.” Jackson yawned.
Turk smiled. “You and Olivia?”
“Hmm, I hope so.” Jackson frowned. “You know anything about Wheaton?”
“Moved out here from New York about five years ago,” Turk said. “Why?”
“No reason.” Jackson pushed up from the desk. “I need to go home to bed.”