Sean Slater - The survivor

Felicia sorted through the bag of fast food, handed Striker a burger. ‘Why Hall Eleven?’

He accepted it, tore off the wrapper. ‘I know the Chief there. Brady Marshall. He’s a good man, and he owes me one.’

Felicia removed her own burger from the bag. ‘How can he help us?’

‘He can give us paper on the Pandora call — the house fire. God knows, we can’t find any reports at the Vancouver Police Department, so we’ll get them from him.’

‘They’ll be different. Less detail. You know how Fire writes things up.’

‘If they have anything, I’ll be happy. They’re all we got.’

Striker ate while driving, careful not to spill anything on his suit. They turned left on Victoria Drive and drove south.

Felicia swallowed a mouthful of burger, grumbling, ‘We should be out there looking for Shen Sun, not visiting Fire Halls.’

Striker put his coffee into the cup-holder. ‘Fifty units are already doing that. What we need now is a good, solid motive. If we can find that, then we’ll be one step closer to solving this thing. All we’ve got right now is a mishmash of theories, none of which come together very well.’ He gave her a questioning look. ‘Unless you can connect it all.’

Felicia shook her head and pulled out her cell phone. She ate her burger and went through her emails; Striker was grateful for the silence. He used the time to down his own food and go over all they had done, making sure they had all their bases covered.

He thought they had. He’d been precise.

Damn near everyone in Operations had been called out. Mandatorily. Both Strike Force Teams were set up on the fly — Team One on a possible location for the Shadow Dragons’ Headquarters, way down in the 4800 block of East Pender; Team Two on the suspected 14K Triad Headquarters up on Kingsway and Kerr. All four Emergency Response Teams were on scene as well: Team Blue on Shen Sun’s apartment on Hastings, Team Green at St Patrick’s High School, Team Grey at the Kwan residence, and Team Red at the only other known associated address.

Shen Sun’s father’s place on Raymur Street in the Strathcona Projects.

And that was to say nothing of the Investigative Units. Detectives had been pilfered from every section — Robbery, Assault, even DVACH, the Domestic Violence and Criminal Harassment section. They were sent to assist the gang squads with anything required, no matter how important or trivial the task.

The entire Department was on high alert, as were all the surrounding areas — New Westminster, West Van, Port Moody, Abbotsford and the RCMP. All were geared towards the same goal: finding Shen Sun Soone. He was arrestable for murder on multiple counts, and considered the highest level of threat. Flagged as a possible suicide-by-cop, because there was little doubt he intended to have police kill him in a gunfight.

Like leaves caught in a whirlpool, the thoughts circulated in Striker’s head. He drove past First Avenue and the Fire Hall came into view.

Fire Hall Eleven was located on Victoria Drive, just east of Commercial. Situated north of McSpadden Park, it was shrouded by the darkness of the forest overhang. When Striker pulled into the driveway, at just before six o’clock, the only light chasing away the charcoal greyness was that of the car’s headlights and the hall itself.

Striker parked in front of Bay Three and walked inside.

Fire Chief Brady Marshall was dressed in a creased white shirt. He looked like an average guy, five foot ten and maybe two hundred pounds. A bit of a belly. Harsh blue eyes that were partly hidden behind bushy grey eyebrows. He sat behind a large desk that was so clean it looked polished with wax. A half-empty bottle of apricot brandy sat on the desk in front of him.

Striker pointed at it. ‘I thought rum was your drink of choice.’

Brady smiled behind his walrus moustache. ‘It is, and it’s gone.’

‘We’d get fired for that,’ Felicia said.

‘So would we — if anyone knew.’

Brady let out a boisterous laugh and waved Striker and Felicia closer. His cheeks were ruddy, as if he’d been out shovelling snow all day.

‘I got the folder you wanted,’ he said. ‘Though I’ll tell you, it was a bit of work. Thing got filed in the wrong place.’ Brady reached into the drawer, pulled out a thick green file. He met Striker’s eyes, looked truly concerned. ‘Any luck out there?’

‘Yeah, all bad,’ Striker said tiredly. ‘We know the gunman’s identity, but we can’t locate him.’ He stopped talking for a second and looked at Felicia. She was standing there, playing with her phone. She flipped it closed, looked up.

‘This is my partner,’ Striker said. ‘Detective Santos.’

‘My pleasure,’ Brady said. He didn’t stand, but he did reach out and shake her hand.

‘Likewise,’ was all Felicia said.

Then Striker got down to business. ‘So what can you tell me about this Pandora Street fire?’ he asked.

Brady shrugged. ‘Kind of what you’d expect. Typical Suspicious Circumstance call that turned into an Arson. I’ve given the report a quick read. It’s not overly detailed, but it’s not lacking either.’ He flipped through the pages. ‘Why you so interested in this anyway?’

‘I think it’s somehow related.’ Striker circled the desk, looked over Brady’s rounded shoulders. ‘What are the specifics?’

Brady ran his finger down the page. ‘Accelerants were used, which is typical. White gas, most likely.’

Striker thought it over. ‘How long it take for your units to respond?’

‘We were on scene in less than ten minutes from the time the call was made.’

‘That about right?’

‘Depends on the night, but yeah.’ Brady picked up his coffee cup, snagged the bottle of brandy, and poured some into it. Striker could smell the booze. When Brady looked back up at Felicia, he smiled.

‘On my time now,’ he said in his defence. He offered them some, and they both declined.

Striker took the report from Brady’s hands and flipped through it until he reached a page with a header that read: Pertinent Structure Details. Reading through it, he found some interesting details.

‘Says here something about stasis-foam being used…’

Brady finished sipping his apricot brandy and made a smacking sound with his lips. He wiped his hand under his overgrown moustache and nodded. ‘Yeah, we lucked out on that one. The fire was going good when we got there — a real beast — but, thankfully, the house was filled with that stuff.’

‘Stuff?’ Felicia interrupted. ‘What exactly is stasis-foam?’

Brady looked up at her. ‘Well, essentially, it’s just insulation. But it’s a high-end quality product — kind of like a flexible, mouldable foam. We don’t see a lot of it, since it’s cost-prohibitive. Used mainly in high-friction areas where heat might be a factor.’

Striker noted this. ‘Such as?’

‘Well, hot machinery, for one. Super computers, too, because it’s also a fire-retardant.’

Striker flipped through the rest of the pages, then closed the folder and sat down on the desk. The entire structure squeaked and moved beneath his weight. He looked at Brady for a long moment, then asked, ‘You seen any other houses with this stuff?’

‘Not many. Like I said, it’s expensive. ’Bout ten times the cost of regular insulation. And not all that easy to get here in Canada. You got to order it in from the States, so you get stuck with the extra shipping costs as well.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ Striker held up the report. ‘Can I keep this?’

‘Sure.’ Brady raised his cup. ‘It’s a copy. But make sure you destroy it when you’re done.’

‘Thanks, Brady. It helps.’

‘Just find this fuck.’