Steven James - The Rook

“Or maybe not.” Her words caught my attention, and I saw that she was pointing to a pair of black leather gloves strewn about fifteen meters away, beside a worn footpath that led over another small hill.

I joined her beside the gloves. I didn’t have an evidence bag with me, but I leaned close to the gloves. Sniffed. “Gasoline,” I said.

“Take off your gloves,” she said.

“Why?”

“Humor me. Take them off, toss them to the ground.”

As I removed the gloves, Lien-hua watched me thoughtfully.

When both gloves were on the ground, she said, “So he pulls one glove off, then the other one, just like you did. And see how one of your gloves landed on each side of you? It’s natural. So he was on the trail here, between the leather gloves, heading north.”

“Good work,” I said. Then I thought through the way I’d taken the gloves off. “And it also means he touched the outside of the second glove with the fingertip and thumb of an ungloved hand as he pulled it off. If his hands were sweaty enough from wearing gloves or from the heat of the fire-”

“We might have some prints.” “Call it in,” I said. “Let’s have Aina get the criminalists back out here.”

Lien-hua pulled out her cell, and while she spoke with Aina, I followed the footpath over the hill and found that it ended in a long, scraggly, brush-covered ravine. I was gazing across the ravine when Lien-hua rejoined me. “I hope,” she said apprehensively, “that you’re not thinking about searching all of that.”

I shook my head. “We’d need more eyes. We’ll let Aina’s team work the ravine.”

I froze.

More eyes. A blind spot.

We’re looking in the wrong place.

I was starting to feel the juices flow. “Lien-hua, what’s different about this crime?”

“The offender. The accelerant.”

“Yes, but not the location. It fits. So our serial arsonist didn’t start the fire last night.”

She seemed surprised I was repeating what we’d already hypoth-esized. “That’s our working theory, yes.”

Facts, facts locking together. “Because someone else did.”

“What are you thinking, Pat? Where are you going with this?”

“Somehow the crimes are connected. If we can find the guy from last night, he might be able to lead us to the arsonist from the other fires. It’s like you said, we’re looking in the wrong place… What are some of the reasons crimes that are started aren’t completed?”

“Well, victim resistance, law enforcement activity, natural interruptions. I don’t see where you’re-”

“Right.” I turned toward the house. “Natural interruptions.”

She hurried to catch up to me. She was smart and I knew she’d catch on. “So,” she said, “you think maybe the serial arsonist was interrupted by John Doe’s suicide?”

“Yes. And then someone else came to finish the job.” I was jogging down the hill by then. “I need to check on something.” Yes, yes, yes.

Exits and entrances.

“Pat?” She was following me. “Is everything OK?”

“No, it’s not,” I said. “The bowl is in the way.”

“What are you talking about?”

I ran around to the front of the house. “Do you have your computer with you?”

“No. It’s at the hotel. What’s gotten into-”

“We need to go.” My mind was clicking, pieces falling into place.

I threw off the borrowed boots, grabbed my shoes. “Now.”

“Pat, what did you see?” She caught up to me. Put her shoes on.

“Did the guy leave something else behind?”

“Yes.”

She unlocked her car and we jumped inside. “What’s that?”

“A map.”

As gentle and soft-spoken as Lien-hua is, when she’s in a hurry she drives like Jackie Chan on caffeine.

But I have to say, I like it.

As long as the car has air bags.

We flew around a corner, and I put my hand on the dash to avoid slamming into the door.

“You need to explain yourself,” she said. “What do you mean he left a map? And why do we need to hurry?”

“Do you have a notepad?”

“There should be one on the backseat.”

I snagged her legal pad and started calculating as many of the geographic profiling algorithms as I could freehand, but algebraic equations never were my specialty. I really needed my computer.

“So, why the big hurry?”

“Because I’m not as smart as I pretend to be. I need my computer before I lose my train of thought. I think I might be able to get us a picture of the original arsonist.”

“How? What’s going on?”

“The bowl is in the way.”

“Why do you keep saying that? What does it mean?”

“You’re familiar with cognitive mapping, right?”

“Sure. It’s how people envision their environment. Everyone creates mental pictures of the roads they take, the routes they travel, estimated distances between points on the map. Things like that.”

“Right, but the mental maps are distorted by-” “Barriers and familiarity. Yes, I know. Attitudes, past experience, and comfort with different locations all skew our perceptions of distance and space. And we overestimate the distance between two points when natural and man-made barriers appear-things like rivers, mountains, bridges, malls.”

“Wow. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“I know. I was paraphrasing from your book. Your word choice was a little too stilted. I had to change it.”

I cleared my throat slightly. “My point is that we all create cognitive maps without even being aware of it, even those of us who are serial arsonists. And sports stadiums are large mental barriers. So, because of the proximity to the fires, Petco Park would change the way the arsonist views the city in his mind and change the dynamics of the geo profile.”

“So is that the bowl?”

“The big salad bowl, yes. You see, they were serving pork tenderloin with mangos and pineapple and I had to order two salads-never mind, it’s a long story. Can we go any faster?”

“Not without filing a flight plan. How are you going to get us a picture of the arsonist?”

“I’ll get to that. Listen, as soon as you drop me off, I need you to call Aina, see if she can meet us. If not, ask her for the access codes for the videos taken at the depots for all of the city’s mass transit stations.” We were pulling into the hotel parking lot. “Got it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll need to search their databases, not just view the live footage.”

Lien-hua braked at the entrance to the hotel. “OK, but I’m not sure I understand-”

“I’ll meet you in my room as soon as you’re done parking.” I jumped out of the car.

Then, carrying her legal pad, I hurried to the elevators, hoping I’d be able to decipher my scribbled notes and formulas when I finally got my computer in front of me.

Acquiring Cassandra had been easier than Creighton expected.

She’d barely struggled at all. And, once they arrived at the warehouse and she’d regained consciousness, she’d been a model subject.

Yes. The last couple hours had been very productive.

Creighton almost had enough footage to finish the video.

Then all he had to do was wrap up the editing and make the phone call that would put everything into play.

He could hardly wait.

The anticipation of her coming death, and his own, made his fingers quiver with excitement.

In my hotel room, I pulled up the computer files I’d been working on yesterday morning when I’d started comparing the geographical and demographic data with the timing and progression of the fires.

I’d been on the right track, just on the wrong, well… track.