Gordon nodded. “That’s what it looks like. And no, nothing special about the chemical used. We’re still looking at it in the lab, but I think it’s widely available Class A foam, from fire extinguishers. It’s used to contain small brush and grass fires by creating a fire break.”
“So,” Rooney said, “armed with that knowledge, let’s talk about what we know about the people who start these fires. We classify them according to their motives: vandalism, excitement, revenge, crime concealment, profit, and extremist. All are self-explanatory.”
“Excitement?” Dixon asked.
“They get off on setting fire. They’re seeking thrills, attention, recognition, even sexual gratification—but the sexual component is pretty rare.”
Dixon said, “So are you saying we need to investigate each of these potential motives so we can eliminate them as possibilities, then narrow our suspect pool to those who are likely to have the remaining motive?”
“That’s one approach,” Vail said. “But rather than running in six different directions while still trying to zero in on this wine cave killer, I think we can logically eliminate crime concealment and extremist. There was no other crime he could’ve been trying to hide. Unless someone is aware of something, I don’t see a social, religious, or political conflict. Is there anything you know of I’m not seeing?”
“Nothing I’m aware of,” Brix said. He looked around. No one offered up anything.
Ray Lugo said, “If there was a profit motive, why just burn down the one structure?”
“Doesn’t make sense, I agree,” Rooney said. “Still, be worth looking into the owners, see if they’re in financial distress. Do they have a business partner with a beef? Have there been offers to buy the property that’ve been rebuffed by the owner? Anyone who’d stand to benefit by burning down the structure? An architect or contractor who was talking with the owner about a remodel the owner didn’t want to do? All this needs to be ruled out. Remember, the offender doesn’t think he’s going to get caught. He doesn’t think he’s leaving any clues for us.”
“Yeah, but . . .” Vail stopped, then shook her head. “Why would he go to such efforts to ensure the other structures wouldn’t also get destroyed?”
“An important question, for sure, but one we can’t answer right now,” Rooney said. “We’ll eventually know the answer, but for now it’s another thing to stick up on the whiteboard.” He turned and wrote “Arson,” then, below it, listed the question Vail had asked. “Another thing to keep in mind is that I’ve given you a very basic primer on arson—a number of those categories we discussed have
Fuller leaned forward, both forearms on the table. “Since you’re a profiler and your job is to profile, how about telling us who we should be looking for?”
“That’s really putting him on the spot, Scott,” Vail said.
Rooney held up a hand. “No, no. That’s a fair question, Detective.” He folded his arms across his chest and thought about it a moment. “If we go with the percentages, we’re looking for a younger white male, between eighteen and thirty, with a generally poor marital history. That suggests this UNSUB has a history of unstable interpersonal relationships. And a guy like this will have average or higher intelligence, and between a tenth- and twelfth-grade education level. There’s a fifty-fifty chance he’ll have one or more tattoos.”
“Will this guy have a sheet?” Brix asked.
“Highly probable. You’re looking at about a 90 percent chance he’s had a felony arrest and better than 60 percent chance he’s had multiple felony arrests. So, yeah, that’d be a good place to start: known offenders with potential motives for wanting that structure—or Agent Vail—in ashes.”
“Speaking of which,” Vail said, “were you able to tell anything about the front door?”
“In what way,” Gordon asked.
“I’m not sure, but it may’ve been jammed shut. I couldn’t open it.”
“There wasn’t much left of the structure, let alone the front door. But we can go back over there, take another look. You sure about it being jammed?”
“I was pretty freaked. The knob was very hot. Burned my hand.” She stole a glance at her palm. It was red and it hurt, but nothing serious. “I’m not sure, but I couldn’t open it.”
“Check it out,” Brix said to Gordon. “Anything else on the profile?” he asked Rooney.
Vail said, “There’ll probably be a history of some form of institutionalization. Not just prison—orphanages, juvenile homes, or detention, even mental health institutions.”
“But,” Rooney said, “unlike serial killers, a majority of arsonists come from intact and comfortable family units.”
“That makes me feel real good,” Dixon said. “Something went wrong somewhere.”
“Here’s something else you won’t like,” Rooney said. “Nationwide, law enforcement has a clearance rate on arsons of only about 20 percent, give or take. So we’ve got our jobs cut out for us.” He handed the marker back to Brix, then walked toward his seat. “If we find out this guy’s set other fires, there’s more to this equation, because then he’d be serial, and that brings in some other trends that’d help us catch this guy.”
“Like what?” Fuller asked.
“Like most serial arsonists walk to the scene of the fires they set, and they usually live within two miles, so they’re familiar with the neighborhood. About a third stay at the scene and a quarter of them go somewhere nearby where they can watch the fire department do their thing. Forty percent leave the scene.”
“But,” Gordon said, “almost all return to the scene from twenty-four hours to a week afterwards. So we’ve got an undercover watching the area to see if anyone comes by.”
“In case anyone’s wondering, the other guests have been placed at other B&Bs,” Brix said.
“We’re assuming,” Rooney said, “that we’re dealing with an honest to goodness arsonist. But if the intent was pure and simple, kill Karen Vail, then a lot of this goes out the window.”
There was quiet while everyone considered that.
“Any questions?” Rooney finally asked.
Fuller leaned back and stretched his arms upward. “Yeah, I’ve got one. How long are you gonna be in town?”
“I’m not. I’m headed to SFO for a flight back to Quantico. But I’m reachable on my cell.” He waited a minute, looked around the room, and saw there were no questions. “Karen, will you walk me out?”
While Vail rose, Rooney reached out to shake Gordon’s hand. “Pleasure, Detective. Please, keep me in the loop. You need something, anything, ATF will get it for you.”
“Appreciate that.”
“Oh—one more thing. An agent is on his way over from the San Francisco ATF Field Division office. I’d really appreciate it if you’d include him on your task force. Name’s Austin Mann.” He consulted his watch. “Should be here any—”
He stopped at the rapping of knuckles against the door.
Brix yelled out, “It’s open.”
The door swung in and revealed a suited man of average height, but heavy around the shoulders and thighs. He stepped in and nodded at Rooney. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“This is Agent Mann,” Rooney said. He then proceeded to introduce everyone in the room to him.
Vail couldn’t help but notice Mann had scarring on the left side of his face and a prosthesis—an artificial left hand. This was odd, to say the least. Vail would have thought such a condition would result in a forced retirement due to medical disability. Then again, she knew of agents with severe injuries who were permitted to remain on the job—but that was rare and usually due to their exceptional service records.
However, there was one thing she could be reasonably sure of: An ATF agent missing an extremity meant it had been blown off while defusing an IED on the job.
Mann turned to face her. “You’re Agent Vail?”
“Karen, yes. Good to meet you.”
“Karen was just about to walk me out to the car. You okay here?”
“They can get me up to speed.” Mann extended his right hand and Rooney took it. “I’ll keep you posted once you get back.”
Vail slipped the new FBI badge onto her belt, grabbed the envelope from the table and left the room with Rooney. As they cleared the front door to the building, Rooney reached into his inside suit coat pocket and handed
