Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,96

helped himself to a fresh slice, no doubt thinking he’d earned it.

“Which brings us to the arsonist.” Flora spoke up, redirecting them. The woman looked tired, D.D. thought. She probably hadn’t slept since first seeing Conrad’s picture on TV. But she had acquitted herself well today.

“The suspected arsonist is a firebug. Obsessed with one thing only.”

“He’s not the shooter,” Quincy filled in.

“If it doesn’t involve flame, it would never hold his attention. His services are for hire, however.”

“The shooter employed the firebug to burn down the house in order to cover up any evidence he might have left behind,” Quincy said.

Flora nodded. Keith looked impressed by her new leading role. “Now, this arsonist, Rocket, isn’t exactly big-time muscle. More like a local kid with a reputation for playing with matches. He’s smart, though. Smarter than I originally gave him credit for. He’s never been caught or charged with a crime, so while his services are available for hire, how you learn about him …” Flora’s voice trailed off. She looked at Keith. “I was wondering about the dark web again. Earlier, you and SSA Quincy were discussing that Jacob was definitely using it. Evie says the images her husband had loaded up on his laptop were on an Onion site. This Rocket kid, how would someone know enough to hire him unless his … interests … appeared somewhere?”

“Entirely possible,” Keith said. “The dark web is a known clearinghouse for everything from drugs to weapons to, yes, illegal services. For that matter”—he addressed the group—“you can also find a gun for hire on the dark web.”

“Great,” D.D. muttered. Most major criminal enterprises had moved online. A good detective adjusted. She still missed the good old days, however, when the felons were up close and personal, versus a computer screen away.

Flora was shrugging. “Since I located Rocket in his own backyard, we conducted our business mano a mano. I got him to give me the location of the money exchange. I leave an initial deposit and target address. He picks up, then goes forth in fiery bliss.”

“You’re going to hire the arsonist?” Quincy asked with a frown. “Shouldn’t you just have arrested him and be grilling him for a description of his previous employer?”

D.D.’s turn: “Given his drop-box method, Rocket probably doesn’t know who hired him. Safer for him that way. What matters is the handoff location. Assuming it’s the same one he used last time, I’ve assigned two detectives to start tracking down all video surveillance in the area. Traffic cams, security systems, ATMs. If we’re lucky, the drop box itself is covered by a camera. If not, we know the same person had to visit the area twice—first time for deposit, then final payment, within a short span of time. Not the easiest parameters for ID’ing a potential suspect, but we’ve worked with less.

“All right.” D.D. looked around the room. “Phil, you’re on deck to follow up with the bank. Neil, Carol, the Jax sheriff’s department. Kimberly, you’ll keep us in the loop regarding code-breaker progress. Flora, your job is to get a good night’s sleep. Keith, I don’t know actually what the hell you’re doing, but the Inverness thing was good enough for now.”

“I’m still chasing some leads,” Keith said, completely straight-faced.

D.D. had nothing to say to that. She rose to standing. “Kimberly, you headed back to Atlanta?” Because the FBI agent could phone in any new findings.

But Quincy was already shaking her head. “Oh no. I’m staying. From what I can tell, this party is just getting started. And I’m not going to miss whatever happens next.”

Chapter 27

FLORA

KEITH AND I WALK OUT of HQ together. The sky above is pitch black, the horizon around us aglow with city lights. I have no sense of time. It feels like this night has been going on forever, but dark comes early in December, so it might be only eight or nine P.M.

Keith has his computer bag slung over his shoulder, his hands in his pockets against the cold. I like to exhale and watch the cloud of steam. I don’t have a hat or gloves. I should be freezing, but I rarely notice such things. Sometimes I think rage is like a furnace, and I’ve been angry for so many years now, I’m perpetually heated from the inside out.

“I. N. Verness,” Keith states finally. He smiles, and I realize he’s happy. I’ve spent the day battling with demons from my past. But for Keith this is simply a six-year-old puzzle