reason. It’s almost guaranteed failure. So this man was either crazy, or desperate, or stupid, because if you mess with me, you lose. Do you understand? Nothing in life is completely safe, but coming for me is about the most unsafe thing I can think of.”
A trace of a smile played around the corners of Kennedy’s lips.
“Having said that, it’s not pleasant to shoot someone, or to be shot at, and it’s even worse to kill someone. I wish I hadn’t had to do it. But sometimes you have to do things you don’t like, and this morning was one of those times.”
“And how’s your butt feeling? The wound?”
“It hurts a little. But I wouldn’t call it a wound. More like a scratch. A bullet ricocheted and creased my bottom. It was nothing. Really. A few stitches…”
Kennedy regarded her skeptically.
“Do I seem
“You’ve been walking funny, and the clown pants you’re wearing are sort of strange-looking,” Kennedy deadpanned.
Shit. She’d completely forgotten about the pants she had on.
“It’s really nothing. And these are very fashionable right now.”
Kennedy rolled her eyes. “Sure, Mom. I can’t wait to get my own pair of big mama pants. Hey, can I see the wound?”
Silver stood and returned to preparing the salad. “If you’re good, after dinner. But all it’s going to look like is some stitches and some bruising. It’s probably ugly.”
“Okay. That will give us something to do besides watching TV. Now can we talk about Richard? Is he cute, or what?”
Silver shook her head. Another road she was not going down tonight. “No, we cannot talk about the agents I work with like they’re pieces of meat.”
“Is he single?”
“Why? Isn’t he kind of old for you?” Silver asked innocently.
“Is he?”
Silver sighed. She’d raised a pit bull.
Kennedy cocked one eyebrow. “Come on, Mom. Is he single or not?”
“I suppose so.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Kennedy. Seriously. Are you just trying to get under my skin? Haven’t I had a hard enough day as it is?”
Kennedy grinned. “Sorry for asking. It says online that you should establish your romantic interest in a firm yet relaxed manner. Men can get confused with mixed signals.”
Great. Now she was getting dating advice from her ten-year-old.
“Thanks for the tip. Where do you get this from? You’re too young to be reading about men and romance.”
“Oh, Mom. We aren’t living in the Middle Ages.”
“Keep this up, and I will be putting you into a convent until you’re eighteen.”
“I’m just saying. If you
Silver exhaled noisily. “Noted. Now get over here and make yourself useful.”
The next morning, after two hours of being grilled by the psychiatrist, Silver had convinced him that she wasn’t going to swallow her pistol or go on a shooting rampage in a mall. She’d been involved in a shooting once before, seven years earlier, when she was working in Organized Crime, and had gone through the same post- shooting counseling then.
Certified as fit for duty, she returned to her office and sat gingerly in her chair. It was a good thing the bullet had hit the top of her buttock because if it had been any lower she would have been standing for a week.
Among the stack of messages there was one from Eric. She would ignore that one for the time being. She hurriedly returned the rest of the calls in the half hour she had before her meeting with Seth.
Richard had picked her up in the morning, which was way above the call of duty, but he had insisted, and Kennedy seemed quite taken with the idea, so she didn’t fight it. Kennedy had given her a knowing look when Richard had moved around the car to open their doors, and Silver had silently cursed her for her insistence that he was hunky — though she had to admit he was.
Her intercom buzzed to shatter her daydream. She punched the button.
“Yes?”
“We still on for eleven forty-five?” Seth’s voice sounded tinny on the crummy speaker.
“You bet. In my office.”
“Be there in a few.”
Seth ambled in five minutes later with a milk crate filled with files and documents, his notebook computer precariously balanced on top of the pile. He set it down on the floor next to her circular meeting table and pulled up a chair. She rounded her desk and took a seat.
“So what do you have?”
“Well, I first did a search for fires that in any way matched our perp’s MO. Going back ten years. Turns out there are a lot of fires. Tens of thousands. So that didn’t really help.”
“Did you narrow it down to fires where a parent and offspring were involved?”
Seth nodded. “Yes. That dropped the number to hundreds.”
“I really believe the way he’s killing has symbolism for him — there has to be a deeper connected meaning. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
“That’s why I started with the fire. It’s the most obvious — I mean, if he’s being literal, that is. If he’s twisting the meaning and obscuring it, or if it’s more indirect…then we’re kind of screwed.”
“I know, Seth. But we don’t really have much else. Unless you believe, as Sam does, that this is all an elaborate ruse to cloak the actions of a terrorist cell or something.”
“This doesn’t really seem like a hit team, does it?” Seth asked.
“Not really. Which brings us back to what you’ve found.”
“There are roughly three hundred house fires that sort of match up, where only a parent and child were killed. But if we further refine the search, we see that there are only nine that really fit the exact description of a parent killed by fire…and a child killed by smoke inhalation.”
“Nine? Well, that’s promising.”
“Of the nine, six would appear to have no match that I can see. But I brought all nine so you can look them over. Let’s see what you think.”
Seth ducked down to his cache of folders for a moment then reappeared and spread out photocopies of nine newspaper articles in front of her.
“Can we cut to the chase and just go to the ones you like? Your top three?”
“Humor me.”
Silver squirmed in her seat, reminding herself that it would be a few days before her wound was really healing. It was tender and starting to itch. She resisted an urge to scratch at the sutures and, as she began reading the first article, made a mental note to check for infection.
Ten minutes later she leaned back and asked, “Which one do you want to start with?”
“Might as well go with the one in Pennsylvania. Six years ago. Stanley Erickson and Sheryl. Father and daughter. He was fifty-one, she was twenty-three, living at home after a brief marriage that didn’t go well. Wife, Louise, was out of town visiting her sister. The fire started in the master bedroom from a cigarette, and because of the age of the house quickly spread and trapped the daughter in her room. The firemen fought the flames for a half an hour but couldn’t get to her. She’d covered herself with a wet blanket, which avoided the worst of the burning, but not the smoke. Survivors were the wife, and two sons, Ralph and Henry, now thirty-one and thirty-four. Ralph is a warehouse manager for an industrial supply company, and Henry is a private detective, after spending ten years on the Pittsburg police force. His discharge was controversial — he was implicated in several incidences of unprovoked violence while on the beat, although no charges were ever filed. Reading between the lines, it looks like
