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About the Author
A graduate of Hollins University, MARY BURTON enjoys a variety of hobbies, including scuba diving, yoga and hiking. She is based in Richmond, Virginia, where she lives with her husband and two children.
The Arsonist
Mary Burton
Special thanks to
David S. “Steve” Parrott, Battalion Chief, Emergency Operations, Chesterfield Fire and Emergency Medical Services.
Prologue
Arson investigator Michael Gannon understood the obsession that drove arsonists to set fires. It was what made him good at what he did.
For seven months, he’d been tracking Nero, a monster who had set nine fires in the Washington, D.C. area, killed twelve people and destroyed millions of dollars in property. The metro area had been paralyzed with fear.
Now as Gannon stared down at the charred corpse the police believed was Nero, he couldn’t quite believe the chase was over. He’d not anticipated this outcome. Nero had been his smartest opponent yet, and he’d never made a mistake—until last night.
The body lay curled in a fetal position near the back exit of the burned-out warehouse. The heat from the newly extinguished fire still radiated from the blackened concrete floor. The low, exuberant voices of police and fire crews buzzed around his head like flies. Reporters and curiosity seekers gathered fifty yards away on the other side of the yellow police tape.
As he studied the body’s rigid arms covering an unrecognizable face, relief, anger, and yes, disappointment collided inside Gannon. He’d never get the chance to look the bastard in the eye or see him stand trial and face those he’d hurt.
“There’s not much left of him,” he said mainly to himself. If not for the evidence found in the back alley, he’d not have believed it was Nero.
The medical examiner, a thin woman with short black hair, dressed in a neat navy-blue pants suit, stood as she pulled off her rubber gloves. “Fifth- and sixth-degree burns nearly disintegrated him.”
Gannon’s sharp gaze rose to her angular face.
“Can you ID him?”
She smiled at him and offered her hand. A flicker of attraction sparked in her eyes. “I’ll ID him. Just give me a little time, Gannon.”
He shook her hand, noted it was cold and then released it. He couldn’t remember the woman’s name and didn’t have the energy to pretend he did.
“Any thoughts to height, weight, race or age?”
She sighed, sensing he didn’t notice her as a woman. “Definitely male. Maybe six feet. The rest will come when I do the autopsy.”
“Thanks.”
Folding his arms over his chest, Gannon watched the medical examiner make her final inspection of the corpse before ordering it moved to the body bag lying open on the floor.
Though it was only ten o’clock in the morning, Gannon’s eyes itched with fatigue. He’d slept very little since the restaurant fire.
Fire Chief Jackson McCray, a tall redhead, lifted the crime scene tape and moved beside Gannon. “You look like hell.”
Gannon tore his gaze from the body. “Right.”
“What are you still doing here?” The chief’s slightly round belly strained against the buttons on his white uniform.
“I’m just seeing this through.”
McCray watched as officers lowered the body into the body bag and zipped it closed.
Gannon reached in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. “Not double-checking his escape route was stupid. That kind of mistake wasn’t like Nero.” He hated Nero but he had to respect his intellect and cunning. At first they’d thought the fire had been set by another arsonist because the location was so remote. Nero liked his fires closer to people, where they could generate the most hysteria.
However, the evidence was already piling up. “Did the accelerant found near the body match Nero’s?”
“Sure did. This is our boy.”
“I just can’t believe he’s dead.”
“Believe it.” McCray nodded toward the yellow tape that blocked off the crime scene. Beyond were dozens of television news crews and curiosity seekers. “Go home. Take a few weeks off.”
Gannon felt at loose ends, oddly lost. “I don’t know what to do with myself without Nero to chase.”
“Take that pretty wife of yours out to a fancy dinner.”
Gannon pulled a cigarette out of the pack and then remembered he’d promised himself to give up smoking once Nero had been stopped. He shoved the pack back into his pocket. He’d made a lot of promises to himself these last few grueling months. Not only was he cutting the booze out, but he wasn’t working any more twenty-hour days. He wanted his life back. “Amy left me two months ago.” He spoke about the end of his five-year marriage as if it were the most mundane event. “The divorce will be final in a few months.”
McCray’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say something?”
“Nothing to say.” He and Amy had fought a lot about his job. She’d wanted him to quit the department and sell plumbing supplies for his father.
Gannon watched the officers load the body bag onto the stretcher. They wheeled it over the warehouse floor toward the yellow police tape and the row of officers that kept the press away from the hearse.
TV cameras started rolling. A blond GQ-type stood in front of the Channel Five camera. He checked his hair seconds before his cameraman panned from the hearse to him. “Live from Shield’s warehouse. The bloodthirsty arsonist is allegedly dead thanks to the brave efforts of our fire department’s Michael Gannon who cornered the suspect last night in a final standoff.”
Gannon had grown to despise Glass over the last six months. The reporter had gotten ahold of a sensitive detail of the investigation—Nero always included a pack of Rome matches with his letters. He’d reported it on the six o’clock news. After that, every nut in the city had started sending Gannon Rome matches.
Glass lapped up the extra attention. Ratings were all that mattered to him.
The reporter looked into the camera. “Gannon has worked round the clock for over six months, giving up his nights, weekends and even his marriage.”
Disgust twisted in Gannon’s gut. “He’s painting me to be a hero.”
