Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,116

information on Rocket, who appeared to be their prime suspect for burning down the Carters’ home. Not to mention this whole firebug-for-hire gig. Had Di Lucca heard of such a thing before? Did it fit with her impressions of the scrawny kid? And how exactly would prospective clients learn of such services?

Clever in his own way, Flora had said about Rocket. In D.D.’s world, nothing good came from that.

She was just reaching for her cell phone when it rang. She took one look at the caller ID and smiled.

“Great minds think alike,” she said, as she took Patti Di Lucca’s call.

“Though fools seldom differ,” Di Lucca finished the proverb.

“Uh-oh. Does that mean I’m not going to like this call?”

“That depends. What are your feelings on a second fire?”

“Where?”

“Defense attorney Dick Delaney’s town house. Reeks of gasoline—and I’m told the first firefighters on the scene discovered a burnt-out pot on the stove and thick smoke from cooking oil.”

“Rocket Langley,” D.D. breathed.

“I’m already on scene,” Di Lucca reported.

“Any injuries?

“Nope. Residence was empty at the time the fire was started.”

“Meet you there.”

• • •

PHIL HAD TO park several blocks back from the scene of the blaze. Thick smoke drifted up in a dark column ahead, and D.D. found herself coughing the minute she stepped out of the car. The street near Dick Delaney’s Back Bay town house was already choked with fire engines and emergency responders. Given the brownstones nestled shoulder to shoulder down the stately block, the BFD hadn’t wasted any time knocking down the flames.

Phil and D.D. flashed their credentials, then ducked under the crime scene tape. D.D. found Di Lucca tucked behind one of the fire engines, taking refuge from the heat of the blaze. The sharply dressed arson investigator nodded at their approach.

“I still don’t know anything more than I told you by phone. Scene’s way too hot to enter. But the first responders all reported the smell of gasoline. Also, they spotted a clear burn pattern, which would be consistent with the use of an accelerant.”

D.D. nodded while slowly turning in place. As befitting a notoriously successful defense attorney, Dick Delaney lived on one hell of an expensive block. The street was lined with imported automobiles, and every expensively restored town house appeared slightly grander than the one before. Huge wreaths decorated dark-painted doors. Pots of fresh Christmas greenery flanked front stoops, while the precisely manicured bushes were decked out in sparkling white lights.

“He’s gotta be watching,” D.D. murmured.

“Firebugs love to admire their own work,” Di Lucca agreed.

“Any empty buildings in the area?” D.D. asked Phil, studying the row of windows across from them. This time of day, it was impossible to see inside. The windows merely reflected back the smoky sky. It was possible Rocket was standing at one of those windows now, the young kid staring down at them. Or he was hunkered on a fire escape, or tucked in the crowd of gawkers. So many possibilities. And yet she swore she could feel his eyes on her.

“Witnesses?” D.D. asked Di Lucca as Phil went to make some inquiries.

“Nothing. But not many people home this time of day.”

“He blends in,” D.D. said. “We have reason to believe he might have dressed up as pest control for approaching the Carters’ residence. No one thinks twice about service people. Plus, gave him an excuse to walk around with giant spray cans.”

“Smarter than I would’ve thought for a kid who’s only ever been known to have an interest in abandoned real estate.”

“We think he’s expanding his skills—arson for hire. Getting paid for doing what he loves best.”

Di Lucca sighed heavily. “Great, gangster turned entrepreneur. Just what this city needed.”

A commotion in the crowd. D.D. and Di Lucca turned to see Delaney walking quickly up the street toward them. Evie trailed behind him, talking on her phone. Delaney came to a halt in front of the patrol officer working the perimeter. The patrol officer put up a hand to block his progress. Delaney uttered something sharp and the younger man nearly leapt out of way to let him through.

Evie looked up, spotted D.D. waiting for them. Something flitted across the woman’s face. Guilt? Whomever she was talking to, Evie ended the call abruptly, stuck her phone in the folds of her coat.

“Mr. Delaney,” D.D. called out, summoning them both over. She peered into the crowd as she waited for their approach. Again, nothing. But Rocket had to be around. She knew it.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” D.D. said as Delaney

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