Читать книгу Trial by Fire - Cara Putman - Страница 13

Monday

Noah raced his pickup to the fire station, images of Tricia muddying his thoughts. She’d looked so beautiful as she’d talked to the other woman, comforting and encouraging her.

He kept thinking about her conversation. The woman had trembled, as if afraid of something. Or someone. Tricia had used a low voice and a soothing tone to talk the woman out of her fear. In fact, she’d straightened and agreed to everything Tricia said. The fear had disappeared when the woman walked out of the courtroom. Then he’d noticed Tricia’s tremors. What she’d said and done had drained her.

He’d had the strangest urge to reach out to her, comfort her. The woman poured herself into each case. Even when it stripped her to the core. Maybe he’d judged her too harshly. How could he doubt her dedication to her cases after what he’d witnessed?

The thing that got him was the aura of sadness around her when she looked at him. As if she felt the same pull he did, but understood the chasm between them. One he had dug spoonful by bitter spoonful. Discomfort filled him, a sensation he hated. He whipped the truck into an open parking slot and hopped out as wolf whistles assaulted him.

“Overslept, Brust?” Graham Jackson slouched in a chair, his tall frame plopped in front of an open bay door.

“I wish. I got to waste another morning in court waiting to be called for a hearing they postponed right before the judge swore me in.” Noah rolled his neck. The muscles had knotted tight while he waited. Courtrooms would never number among his favorite places to spend time. “Don’t do anything crazy while I check in.” Noah sauntered into the office, then sagged against the door. He hated court. Hated the inefficiency of the system. Hated the taste it left in his mouth. Hated the bitter memories.

The bell rang loud enough to stop a bull in its tracks. He grinned as adrenaline started its surge through him. He opened the door and raced to his cubby.

“What are we looking at?”

Graham shrugged into his turnout coat. “Dispatch says a fire at a residence. Sounds like a detached building.”

Good. They could contain the fire before it spread, minimizing the damage. Noah pulled on his boots and coat before slapping his helmet on his head.

“Brust.” A gravelly voice yelled his name.

Noah stopped midslap and looked up. Weary stood in the back of the bay, staring at him. Surely Weary wasn’t about to stop him from leaving with his men. “Yes?”

“Come with me.”

Graham looked at Noah. One truck barreled out of the bay, lights flashing. “We can’t wait.”

Noah nodded.

“Are you serious about learning fire investigation?” Challenge filled Weary’s voice as if he expected Noah to fail before he really started.

He stiffened his back as the wail of the first truck faded in the distance.

“We can’t wait any longer. Either hop on or go with him.”

Noah groaned. He lived for fighting fires, working toward the goal of surpassing his father’s reputation, an impossible task from the sidelines. His knee throbbed, making his decision for him. Better to investigate than let someone decide he needed a medical leave. Again.

“Go ahead.” Noah slapped the side of the truck.

The last man leapt on the truck, and Noah watched it race from the garage, sirens blaring.

“This better be good.” He mumbled under his breath.

“What, Brust?”

Noah found Weary standing in front of him. “How do you do that?”

“Life’s all about making probies jump. Come on.” The man turned and walked away.

“I am not a proby.”

Weary snorted. “You are in my program.”

Noah clamped his hands on his hips and fought the urge to hit something. He tried to get the adrenaline to subside as he stripped off his protective gear and placed his helmet back on its hook. He’d thought the day couldn’t get any worse. Who knew what Mr. Sunshine had in mind for his afternoon?

When Noah entered Weary’s office, the man sat behind his desk. He’d propped his feet on the desk, and was flipping through a stack of photos.

“What are those?”

“Wrong question to ask.”

Silence filled the room except for the sound of Weary shuffling the top photo to the bottom of the pile, replacing it with the next again and again. Noah clamped his jaw against the urge to spout words he might regret.

Finally, he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “And the right question…”

“Where are these pictures from? What do they show?” Weary pulled his legs off the desk and lurched forward in his chair. He tossed a couple at Noah. “What do you see?”

Noah juggled the images. Why look at photos when he’d spent hours at the site? He tried to focus on them, but didn’t know what he was looking at. He bit his tongue. The shot looked like a close-up of a shed’s concrete floor. Swirls of iridescent colors ran through a liquid pooled on one part of the concrete. Gasoline or oil mixed with water?

Weary cleared his throat. “Guesses?”

“Something leaked gas or oil there.”

“The cause?”

“Lawn mower stored there? Other small, gas-run tool?”

“Do you think this fire started on its own?”

Noah shrugged. “Probably not. But.

“But we investigate first. Rule out other causes of the fire. Never walk in assuming arson. You have to keep an open mind or you’ll miss key details and evidence because they don’t fit your model.”

Noah paused and studied the picture more. “I still say this looks like evidence of gas or another accelerant used to start the fire. But…”

“But it could be caused by any number of things.” Brian Weary leaned back in his chair, a grimace on his face. “Welcome to fire investigation. The liquid could be from a lawn mower. Or it could be remnants of what an arsonist used to start the fire. There’s the challenge. Determining the cause.” He swiveled in his chair, pointed at a map taped to the wall behind his desk. “See that? Each pin represents a fire we’ve investigated this year. Orange represents arson. Green electrical. Blue lightning. You get the idea. See anything unusual?”

Noah stepped closer to the desk and leaned against it to get a closer look. “You’ve got quite a few arsons. More than usual.”

“Yep.” Weary leaned back, locking his hands behind his head. “It’s too early to tell much, but those grass fires on the outskirts of town could be connected to your shed fire. If it’s arson.”

Noah rubbed his jaw and tried to memorize the map. He had so much to learn.

Weary grabbed a thick binder from the floor behind his desk. He tossed the volume at Noah, who lunged to catch it before paper flew from it. “Remember the photo. I want you to figure out what it is. This book should help.”

Noah looked from the photos to the book. “You want me to use this?”

Weary put his glasses on the tip of his nose and looked over them at Noah. Then he pivoted his chair until Noah stared at his back.

Heat filled Noah’s face. “Fine,” he muttered. He stood and stalked from the room with the photos and binder.

Everybody had warned him that Weary was unpredictable and mean. Why had he thought he could make his experience with the man different? Noah plopped down at one of the tables in the kitchen area, binder falling to the table. He opened the volume and started flipping through the pages. He needed to calm down or the words would swim as he read. After trying to find a match for an hour, he stood and paced the room. He needed some fresh oxygen pumping to his brain before he pitched the book in the trash.

He grabbed a bottle of water and slumped down at the table. The rumble of a truck pulling into a bay grabbed his attention.

“Weary get to you already?” Graham pulled out and then straddled a chair, his face covered in soot and his body reeking of the fire. He feigned a look of concern, but his eyes danced with laughter.

“Don’t say it.”

“I told you so?” Graham shook his head. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

Noah rubbed his hands over his head. “Can you believe he wants me to study this?” He wanted to kick the thick volume back to Weary’s office. He’d signed up to read fires, not tomes.

“It’s just a book.”

Yeah. For anyone else. But how could Noah hide his dyslexia? Studying in a group was one thing. But he doubted he’d find an audio version for this volume.

Graham flipped it open. “Look, there are even pictures.”

“I guess that’s all I need. Find a picture that matches this one.” Noah tossed the photo to Graham. “Out of eight hundred pages.”

“No problem.” He flipped a couple of pages, then pushed it back to Noah. “I’m sure you’ll find the match in a few days.”

Noah snorted. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Graham slapped the table and stood. “Let me know if you need help.”

Noah rubbed his knee where it throbbed. He couldn’t afford to let this opportunity go. If he couldn’t fight fires the rest of his life, then he’d settle for determining cause.

Noah pushed back from the table, and paced the room. He locked his hands behind his head and concentrated on breathing. A steady in and out pattern. He knew the pattern in the water. Weary had asked an impossible question. Weary knew he couldn’t determine whether the gas existed at the site prior to the fire.

Yep, Weary was seeing where he’d run with this. He could waltz back into his office with a tale of woe to find himself forever cut out of investigative work. Definitely not what he wanted.

A woman walked past the window. Her head tilted away from him so he couldn’t see her features. But her dark-brown hair reminded him of Tricia Jamison. Once the thought took hold, he couldn’t shake it. He didn’t want to think of her. Couldn’t think of her. Needed to think about the picture. But all he saw in his mind’s eye was Tricia.

A woman he had misjudged and unjustly pushed away. A woman he needed to forgive.

And a woman he needed to ask to forgive him.