the scene, once the fire’s out.”
Noncommittal. Exactly how he’d have answered, if questioned by somebody you didn’t know well. “I’ve got a reason for asking. I’d like your gut instinct, just between you and me.”
“As fast as the structure burned, my first thought would be deliberately set.” He held up a hand before he continued, “Now there are a lot of variables to take into account. Gas lines. Faulty equipment still inside the restaurant. Illegal electrical wiring. You know as well as I do, the list is endless. Without a thorough examination of the scene, I wouldn’t presume to toss out a definite cause.”
“Understood. Appreciate your expertise and your opinion.”
“You having a problem in Shiloh Springs? Anything I need to be concerned with, that might spill over into my county?”
Brody hesitated for a heartbeat before answering. “We’ve had a couple of suspicious burns in the last few months. Just got back the findings from the state lab on the latest one. Confirmed as intentional. I doubt it’s anything y’all need to worry about, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep your eyes and ears open. I’ll update you if I find out anything concrete.”
“Thinking you might have a firebug, huh? That sucks. Appreciate it if you’d keep us in the loop. Lemme know if there’s anything we can help with.”
“I keep you updated. And thanks for the assist,” Brody added, gesturing toward the smoldering building. “Got this under control fast. Always a good thing.”
As he started to walk away, back to his crew, his phone dinged. He snagged it out of his pocket, sorely tempted to toss it into the still smoldering building, but stopped cold when he spotted the e-mail sender’s name. Swiping right, he read the message, feeling the knot in the pit of his stomach growing. The Forensic Arson Crime Lab had found two fingerprints on the glass fragments collected at the Summers scene, one full and one partial.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening the attached file. Skimming through the usual rigamarole, stuff the arson lab had already reported to him about the accelerant use, until he zeroed in on the one thing that mattered, the analysis of the fingerprint evidence. The Texas DPS had run the prints and had a match.
He had a suspect, a flesh-and-blood villain to focus the blame on. Somebody who could be arrested and thrown in jail. But first, he had to finish dealing with the current blaze, and ensure the fire was out and not a danger to life or property. Focus on doing his job.
Then he’d arrest the person who’d been behind torching the Summers’ property.
Greg Summers.
Evan bit down hard on the hamburger he’d grabbed from a drive-through fast-food place, one of those big chain ones where nobody paid attention to who moved past their congested drive-up window, as long as they paid and got moving, so they could attend to the next customer. Compared to the lousy food he’d eaten in the prison, this tasted like a gourmet steak.
He’d driven out of town, over an hour away from Shiloh Springs, clear into the next county, staying on the backroads to avoid any patrol cars who might have spotted him. Pouring some of his previous bottled water onto the ground, he’d made enough mud to coat the back and front license plates, partially obscuring the letters and numbers. A cop probably wouldn’t pull somebody over for that, not unless they spotted another infraction, and he’d been careful to stay under the speed limit and do nothing to draw attention to himself.
Now, with a full tank of gas and a full belly, he cruised by the cottage where one of Beth’s former neighbors at the apartment complex told him they’d moved to. It wasn’t much of a place. He’d have thought his ex would have splurged a little with all the money she’d gained from all his hard work. Even splitting the proceeds with her sister, she still should have had a couple of million bucks stashed away. Surely she could afford something better than this dump.
He’d had the forethought to park a few houses down, because he didn’t want Beth to spot him too soon. The timing had to be perfect, because he’d only get one shot. Too bad it was Sunday, because even if she wired money to his account—one nobody but him knew about—it wouldn’t process until Monday at the earliest, maybe Tuesday, so he had to be patient.
In the rearview mirror, he spotted