Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,89

are like serial killers. Once they find their true selves, they can’t go back. As Keith Edgar and his true-crime buddies would tell you, there’s no serial killer out there who’s ever been able to quit. What starts as a horrific crime becomes a terrible compulsion. And compulsions can be used against you by law enforcement—and by people like me.

I heft a small bottle of vegetable oil in his direction. He catches it effortlessly.

We both take a small step back. Then he oil-bombs the fire. More boom, now accompanied by a splatter and hiss. Whatever kids stayed earlier officially retreat. Fire might be cool, but hot oil is just plain dangerous.

Rocket smiles. I understand his grin. I’ve worn it enough times on my face.

“I’m trying to figure out how you did it,” I say at last, voice conversational. There’s still a presence behind me. I drift left, trying to get the form into my side view. Meanwhile, I help myself to another kerosene-dipped pinecone and add to the festivities. Rocket holds up a hand. I toss one in his direction.

His flares blue. I like it better than the red. Who needs Christmas lights when you can be doing this?

“I’m thinking pest control,” I continue now, Rocket still staring at the flickering flames. “I mean, you walk into a neighborhood like the Carters’, people are gonna notice. Especially lugging a few gas cans. But a young guy in a pest control uniform, walking the property with spray cans … People see what they want to see. Which is good for the likes of you and me.”

My turn. I go with another small bottle of veggie oil. No cool colors, but I like the sizzle sound. This is fun. Maybe I should try for arson next.

Rocket still isn’t speaking.

“You pick the back lock. No one to watch. Easy to do. Set up your stove-top ignition. Spray the ‘pesticide’ all around. Hell, if a neighbor saw you through the window, they wouldn’t think twice. Very clever, I gotta say.”

He holds up a hand. I toss two pinecones. This time, green and blue flames. We’re both impressed.

“Too clever,” I say, “for the likes of you.”

Shadow behind me has drawn closer. I slowly but surely unzip my jacket. I want ease of movement for what comes next. Not to mention, I never leave the house with empty pockets. Even now, I’m pulling out a small canister of my homemade pepper spray. Now, what this stuff could do to that fire …

Rocket finally looks at me. He’s clearly reluctant to leave the flames. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You did good work. The burn patterns, total destruction of the second floor, the way it collapsed onto the first … a thing of beauty.”

“You a cop?”

“Nope. Just an interested party.”

“Interested in what?”

“Hiring you. That’s how it works, right? Your age, where you live, your world …” I gesture to the burning trash can. “This is what you’re about. There’s no way you and Conrad crossed paths—”

“Conrad?”

“The guy whose house you burned down.”

“Who?”

“Exactly. You didn’t care about him or his wife or their unborn baby. You cared about the fire. You were there for the burn, and how much better that someone paid you to do it?”

He frowns for the first time. As if finally seeing the trap. I don’t give him a chance, though. I toss another bottle of vegetable oil in his direction and of course he has to catch it. Of course he has to throw it on the blaze.

“I’m not a cop,” I say now. “But I saw a bunch of them pulled up in front of your house. Bet they’re ripping apart your room now. Finding the uniform, the ‘pest control’ cans. Then, wow, you’re going to have some explaining to do.”

But I made a misstep, because immediately, Rocket shrugs, then returns pointedly to staring at the fire. The uniform, I realize, probably soaked in gasoline and used to start this blaze, because what kind of self-respecting arsonist wouldn’t burn up the evidence?

“I want to hire you. One grand.”

He frowns, staring at the flames. I find one of the last pinecones, toss it in. Red. We both nod in fascination.

“Five,” he says. “Cash.”

“Don’t got it on me.”

“I’ll tell you where to leave it. You drop off half, with the address. Afterwards, other half.”

“Trusting of you.”

He finally stares at me. In his dark eyes all I can see are the dancing flames. “I like to burn things. All kinds of things. No one