Blue Smoke

demonstrated. “Pow, pow, and he wason the floor, curled up like a steamed shrimp. I don’t want you to worry about this, about me.”
    “We decide what to worry about.” Bianca set the pile of eggs on the table. “Eat.”
    S he ate, and she went in to work. The blue line formed. Every cop in her unit stepped up—with a brisk nod, a pithy comment, a lame joke. Their support followed her into the captain’s office.
    “Guy’s sticking that you hit him first. Pushed on the ex-girlfriend angle. He got a little sweaty there, claimed she’s wacked, and how she assaulted him prior to their breakup.”
    “Can I pick ’em or can I pick ’em?”
    “We’re going to talk to her. We got a few names out of him—people he claims might have a grudge seeing as he’s so successful and handsome. Few clients, few coworkers. His former assistant. Takes the heat off you, Hale. Added to which you’ve got a solid alibi, and cooperated with a search that turned up nothing to tie you. Unless he presses formal charges, which he’s rethinking at this point, you’re cleared for full duty.”
    “Thanks. Sincerely.”
    “Got a call from John Minger. He got wind of this.”
    “Yeah.” She thought of her parents. “I think I know where the wind blew in from. I’m sorry if that complicates matters.”
    “I don’t see how it does.” But he sat back and she knew he was measuring her. “John’s a good man, he’s a solid investigator. He wants to poke around on his own time. I’ve got no problem with that. Do you?”
    “None. Can you give me any more details?”
    “Younger and Trippley are working it. They want to share, it’s up to them.”
    “Thanks.”
    She stepped out, thought about the best way to approach the men assigned. Before she could decide, Trippley shot a finger toward her desk.
    “File on your desk,” he said, then went back to his phone.
    She crossed to it, flipped open the file. Inside were photos of Luke’scar, exterior and interior shots, the preliminary reports and statements. She glanced back at Trippley. “Appreciate it.”
    He shrugged a shoulder, cupped a hand over the phone. “Guy’s an asshole. You like assholes, you ought to go out with Younger.”
    With barely a pause from typing on his keyboard, Younger shot his partner the finger, and sent Reena a sunny smile.
    I t was hard to stay away from the scene, to restrain herself from taking a direct look at the collected evidence. But there was no point in muddying the waters. Instead, she treated the case like an exercise, studied the file, the updates the investigators passed her way.
    It was straightforward, almost simplistically so, in her opinion. Someone had done a quick and nasty job—and had probably done others before targeting Luke.
    She mulled it over, sipping a glass of Chianti as she reread the file and ignored the noise of Sirico’s.
    She’d taken a table facing the door so she spotted John as soon as he came in. She sent a wave, patted the tabletop, then rose to get him a Peroni herself.
    “Thanks for coming by,” she said when she came back to the table.
    “Never a hardship. Split a pizza?”
    “Sure.” She called out the order to Fran. It wasn’t food she wanted but conversation. “I know you’ve been looking into this mess on your off time. Can you tell me what you think?”
    He picked up his beer, sipped at it. “You tell me first.” He nodded toward the file.
    “Down and dirty job. Somebody who knows vehicles. Pops the lock, disengages the alarm. If it went off, nobody’s coming forward to say they heard it. But nobody pays much attention to a car alarm—especially if it stops within a couple minutes. Gas as accelerant, poured over interior, on the hood, inside the hood. Used the flares in the trunk as an ignition device there.”
    She paused, gathered her thoughts while John remained silent. “Thatwould’ve been enough to do a decent job. The synthetics in the interior are susceptible to flame ignition. Thermoplastics melt as they burn and ignite other surfaces, as they likely did here. Fast fire. The gas was insurance. He didn’t need it. He had ventilation, and could’ve accomplished a pretty damn destructive fire with enough crumpled newspaper lit under the seat or dash.”
    “Thorough or sloppy?”
    She shook her head. “You almost want to say both. He took the stereo out—most arsonists can’t resist taking valuables they can sell or use, but it doesn’t feel like a random vehicular