Chapter 14: Mase
Mase stood in the shower long after the hot water had run out. The cold water served two purposes: it cleared the cobwebs from his tired brain, and it eliminated the raging hard-on he'd had since hanging up with Daisy the night before.
His pager had gone off at the butt-crack of dawn, not with a fire, but with a message to call the station. When he had, Mase was told Captain Stewart needed to meet with him.
The sun was up, which was nice. The last few days felt like unending nights, he'd gone from one fire to the next, to sleeping, to worrying. Closing his blackout curtains had helped him fall asleep, but they hadn't kept him asleep. He'd jerked out of a nightmare, reaching for his phone to call Daisy, but had stopped himself. She'd been awake as long as him; he had no reason to disturb her sleep.
Shutting off the water, he quickly got dressed and left. The bright, sunny Texas morning did little to alleviate the dread rising in his stomach. Whatever news was waiting for him wouldn't be good.
The closer he got to the station, the more it seemed his instincts had been correct. Police cars lined the side of the road, and when he pulled into the parking lot, there was no place left for his truck. Reversing, he drove out onto the street, finally finding a place behind an unmarked car.
Anxiety nipped at his heels, and he jogged to the building.
Inside was a level of activity usually reserved for when the station was leaving for a fire. It appeared Dallas PD and Station 58 were working together, with DFR as the operations head.
"Mase!" Morgan Lawrence pushed his way to him, a shaggy golden retriever following in his wake. "Thanks for coming in."
"What's going on?"
"We got the guy who left the flowers and need you to review the video."
Thank God. He didn't say the words aloud, but his entire body relaxed. If they got him on video, they could arrest him, and this whole thing would be over.
The computer in the captain's office was paused while a police officer Mase didn't know zoomed in, adjusting angles and pixels. Behind him, the door opened and closed as people came and went.
"Mase." The captain saw him, waving him closer. "Look at this guy."
He moved in, eyes narrowing as he observed the man on camera place the flowers beneath his windshield wiper. The camera must have been on one of the higher station peaks as it took in the entire parking lot.
He shook his head. "Play it again?"
As the scene replayed, Mase watched carefully.
There was nothing strange about the man. He walked straight to the truck, not looking around him at all. At the truck, he paused for a moment, and Mase realized it was probably because he and Daisy were inside. He didn't know about the other cameras placed about the station, but he made a note to find them. The next time he was tempted to have a make-out session in his car, he wanted to make sure Daisy wouldn't be captured on camera.
After the initial pause, the man put the flowers on the car and walked away without a backward glance. There was nothing skulking about him, nothing creepy. He looked like he was making a delivery.
"Are there other angles?" he asked, understanding dawning.
"Yeah. Haven't checked them yet," the man said. "We wanted you to see this one first."
Mase sat in one of the folding chairs, knees jiggling as he watched the man fast forward through the recordings. "Shit," he whispered, pausing the video.
It was a delivery. A van sat at the curb; the name of the flower delivery shop visible on the side.
"Still a lead," another detective said, opening his phone and making a call.
Something as clear cut as a recognizable face was too much to hope for. This guy was smart. He'd managed to set three fires back-to-back without being caught, and he had knowledge about accelerants and technology, if his ability to cut into their lines of communication was an indicator.
"So what's next?" he asked, pinning both the captain and Morgan Lawrence with a stare.
"Next, we let the detectives do their work while we look at the fires," Lawrence told him.
Mase stood, following both men to the conference room where the crew was assembled. At the head of the table, face red and shiny, was Emma.
"Welcome back!" Mase greeted, holding out his arms.
She stood, hugging him tight. "Thank you." She sniffed. "You saved my life."
Stepping back, he surveyed her. She looked good, healthy. "You're okay?" he asked, to be sure.
Nodding, she sat. "I am. Ready to get back to work."
"Everybody in?" Captain Stewart interrupted them, eyes roaming the conference room. "Yes? Good." He walked to the windows, closing the shutters to block out the light, and went to a laptop on the table. "This is what we know so far."
Using photos from the fires projected onto the wall, he brought them through what they'd discovered about the fires and what they suspected about the person starting them. Each fire started in a different location. The arsonist used what he found on site, making do. It showed remarkable flexibility, but also a deep understanding of accelerants.
"We're beginning to trace him back to a number of fires going back years. Morgan did a search, using Station 58 as the common link, and found eight out of the last ten fires we fought were suspicious. Three of those we suspected were set purposely, the others we now believe were arson due to similarities with the last three," Stewart explained.
He went on, pointing out the accelerants used in the house fires versus the warehouse fires.
"How many years do you think he's been at work?" Mase asked. He'd been with DFR for seven years, did the fires start when he joined the department?
"At least a decade." Morgan leaned over the computer, choosing a photo to project. "This is one of the first ones we think is his. Country club. Fifty-eight went in and put it out, but firefighters reported interrupted communication between them and the captain, and one of them claimed a song was piped in. Anytime we're on the radio, there's the possibility of frequency interruptions, but with laws about emergency frequencies staying clear, it's very rare. I think—and Stewart agrees with me—the similarities are too great to ignore."
Mase agreed, even though the fire they were discussing was before his time, it was too big a coincidence.
"What's our plan?" Devon asked, fingers tapping on the table.
Good question. Fire prevention was always the goal, but at its heart, firefighting was reactionary. First responders couldn't always anticipate the emergency, though they tried, practicing for situations that could arise. In this case, however, they had an advantage. They could look for patterns, mistakes. The guy had to have made one in ten years.
"Fire Investigations is on it, but we need to be ready. Mase"—Stewart gazed at him seriously—"there's every possibility he's coming for you. Your connection to Daisy and the station, along with her absence means he's going to get mad. Frustrated. These other fires were meticulously planned. The most we can hope for is he acts rashly. I want all of us prepared."
"Yes, sir," the crew chorused.
"Yes," Mase answered a second behind them, his mind spinning. A country club fire, ten years ago. "What country club, Lawrence?" he asked.
"Highland Polo Club," he read, glancing back up at Mase.
His stomach clenched. The club was in one of the wealthiest districts in Dallas County. Daisy's family lived there. Pulling out his phone, he dialed her number, waiting for her to answer. It went right to voicemail. He sent off a text message, heart pounding.
"Mase?" Devon asked. "What's the problem?"
"I think that's Daisy's club," he got out. "And her family goes there every day."