Fireproof

country could access it to find or submit similar patterns.
    The Highway Initiative had been created in 2009 in response to more than five hundred murder victims dumped along or near highways, rest areas, and truck stops. Maggie knew about it only from what she had read, despite it being an FBI-driven program.
    “I’m surprised Kunze doesn’t have you working on that task force,” Ganza said. “Seems like the perfect matrix—impossible to solve, impossible to profile—just the type of assignment he loves to send you on.”
    It didn’t please Maggie that so many of her colleagues saw what Kunze was doing. That reminded her. She glanced at her watch. She needed to get back to the District for Kunze’s mandatory psychological evaluation.
    “You seem convinced he picked the victim up somewhere along the interstate in the Midwest.”
    Ganza scratched his long, narrow jaw. “Maybe along the interstate system. I have the breakdown of the gasoline. Remember I told you that gas chromatography reveals the chemical composition of the hydrocarbons?”
    “Right. Like a blueprint.”
    “In this case, almost a fingerprint.”
    “What are you saying? That you can tell us what company made it?”
    “Better. I can tell you the gas station where he bought it.”
    “And let me guess. It’s one along the interstate?”
    Ganza nodded just as Maggie’s cell phone rang. It was Racine. She couldn’t possibly have the victim’s ID yet.
    “Are you still at Quantico?” asked Racine.
    “Just finishing.”
    “Looks like he’s moved across the river.”
    “It’s the middle of the day.”
    “Off Interstate 66 on Fort Myers. You’ll probably see the smoke. They said it’s slowing down traffic.”
    “Any chance this one isn’t related to our guy?”
    “Two separate fires, three blocks apart and within about thirty minutes.”
    “Sounds like our guy,” Maggie agreed.
    “One difference. No warehouses this time. And there might be casualties.”
    “What did he set on fire this time?”
    “Two churches.”

CHAPTER 41

    Tully had Abe Nadira print a photo of the last frame before the man with the red backpack dropped out of sight. He also got a print of the man’s face. The zoom had reduced his features to shadowed pixels. A short beard and shaggy hair were the only decipherable characteristics. Eyes, mouth, and nose were blurs of gray and black.
    Several fire investigators and crime scene technicians, along with their equipment, were still processing the rubble. Yellow police tape had been stretched around a wide perimeter to cordon off the area, but less than forty-eight hours later a couple of the homeless already had crawled under the barrier, taking up residence in the shelter of new Dumpsters and equipment that had been brought in.
    It wasn’t the alley or the Dumpster that drew Tully back to the scene. He found and planted himself in the same spot where Samantha Ramirez had been when she shot the footage of the photo he had in his hand. Broken glass glittered on the ground. Most of the debris—the big pieces—had been raked and sifted. Small piles littered the cordoned-off sidewalk where investigators used the concrete as a flat, hard place to sort.
    Tully held up the eight-by-ten photo Nadira had given him. He tried to match the photo’s background to what remained. Ramirez had shot this footage before the second blast, so the scene in the photo looked different from what surrounded him now.
    He lined up street signs and corners of existing buildings until he was certain he had the correct angle. Then he paced out measured steps toward the area where the man was last seen.
    Tully kept the photo in front of him while he walked slowly, step by step, examining the surroundings. He glanced at the grass, then the curb and street, focusing only on what was directly in his path.
    After a few minutes he thought he had gone too far and started to backtrack. He stopped to study the photo. He pushed up the bridge of his glasses. In the photo, right behind the man’s right shoulder, was a light post with a flyer taped to it. Tully couldn’t make out the details on the flyer but he could see that someone had used thick swatches of duct tape to attach it to the post.
    He looked around him and saw what had to be the same post. The flyer and tape were still attached but both had been pelted with debris. He stepped onto the curb and positioned himself in the exact spot where he believed the man had been standing. He