Climbing out, he grabbed the kit he kept in the bed of his truck. The one he used when he investigated scenes he felt were suspicious—like this one. This entire scenario screamed setup to him, from the deserted location to the visible trails of superheated scorch marks.
He quickly donned a set of gloves. The less contamination of the scene, the better. Ducking beneath the bright yellow caution tape his crew had used to cordon off the area, he straightened, scanning the ground for evidence. He knew how important it was to take his time, look for any clues. Sometimes the most insignificant things made the difference in determining a fire’s triggering incident. Taking each step slow and methodical, he watched where he walked, did a circuit around the remnants of the barn, making a visual note of all his surroundings.
After the fire, he’d gone through the site, documenting the fire’s aftereffects with photos and video. Collected and bagged evidence. It had been pitch-black, other than the lights from the firetrucks and headlights from his personal truck, but he’d conducted an initial investigation, knowing every aspect of the scene needed to be carefully and thoroughly documented. But something didn’t feel right, so he’d come back this morning to take another look. Possibly gather any evidence that might have been missed or overlooked, to send to the forensic laboratory in Austin.
Unfortunately, the Summers’ barn didn’t have a whole lot left to identify. The roof had caved in from a combination of the flames and the high velocity of the water used to put out the fire. A couple of structural beams still remained, blackened and scarred from the heat. Large chunks of the walls were gone, debris scattered in darkened husks on the ground inside where the building once stood.
Brody shook his head. He remembered playing in this barn growing up, spending hours with Greg Summers talking about horses, what they wanted to do when they grew up, and girls. Shoot, he’d probably spent as much time with Greg and his family as he had at his house. Douglas and Ms. Patti encouraged Brody to make friends, knowing he needed to be with others outside his brothers at the Big House. It had taken him a while to fit in with the other boys—his brothers—and Greg had been his best friend in Shiloh Springs. Too bad they’d grown apart once Greg moved to San Antonio. He hadn’t loved small-town life, not the way Brody did. Greg had hightailed it out of town the first opportunity he got. He’d come around occasionally to visit his folks, but now even those visits had pretty much dried up since his parents moved to South Florida.
A glint of something at his feet caught his eye. He stooped and ran a gloved finger across the piece of glass. Lifting it from the dirt, Brody examined it, noting a small piece of paper, some kind of label maybe, still adhered to the fragment. Pulling a plastic bag from his pocket, he slid the shard inside, sealed and labeled it as evidence. Good thing he’d grabbed a couple of baggies at the same time he’d picked up the gloves. It was hard to tell how long the glass had been there, but sitting on top of the packed earth, it was safe to assume it hadn’t been there all that long. If he was lucky, they might be able to get some prints off it. He couldn’t help wondering if it had been part of a container used to start the blaze.
He walked the interior of what was left of the charred husk, picking up a few more fragments of bottle and one singed piece of fabric, which smelled suspiciously like gasoline. Might be kerosene, it was hard to tell. Shaking his head, he shoved it into a separate evidence bag, all too sure now his suspicions were correct.
This fire had been no accident. He was dealing with an arsonist. Shiloh Springs had their very own firebug, and he was escalating. Brody decided to do one more sweep of the barn, and then he’d head into town. The evidence he’d collected needed to be sent for gas chromatography and mass spectrometry to help determine what chemical or chemicals were used, though he felt certain they’d find gasoline as the culprit. If they were lucky, they might be able to lift some DNA from the pieces of glass.
Brody straightened and glanced toward the dirt road when he heard a car pull up, and watched Rafe climb out of his pickup and walk toward the yellow caution tape.
“I suspected I’d find you here. Find anything?” Rafe stayed on the other side of the caution tape barrier, which Brody appreciated. The less contamination of the scene the better. It had taken hours to douse the blaze, and by the time they’d contained it, everyone was exhausted. He’d walked the perimeter, looking and studying it for clues. Evidence. Any items which might help him determine what had ignited the barn. Or in this case who—because he was certain this hadn’t occurred naturally. It had been helped along by somebody, and that pissed him off.
Brody held up the dozen evidence bags with the items he’d collected. “Found enough to convince me we have a serious problem.”
Rafe pushed his cowboy hat back and glared at the baggies, a scowl marring his expression. “You’re sure it’s arson?”
“As sure as I can be, until I can deliver these for testing. But from the burn pattern, traces of accelerant use, and the findings of what looks like glass and fabric, I’m saying this fire was deliberately set.”
“This does not make me happy, bro.”
The accompanying pout on his brother’s face almost made Brody chuckle. “Can’t say it’s the highlight of my day, either. This is the fourth fire in the last few months. The first were small
