Primary Suspect. Laura ScottЧитать онлайн книгу.

       ONE

      Fire Investigator Mitch Callahan cautiously approached the burned-out shell of a warehouse located on Milwaukee’s south side.

      Why had Fire Chief Rick Nelson requested a meeting here, late on a Wednesday night? Mitch had picked up the case after Jeff Walker’s untimely death from a sudden massive heart attack and had already deemed the cause to be arson, despite the attempt to make it look like faulty wiring. He was sure he hadn’t missed any sort of key evidence. His boss’s voice had sounded strained on the message. Jeff’s files didn’t jibe with his investigational findings, so maybe this meeting was related to this disturbing trend.

      Either way, he wasn’t about to dismiss a direct order from his boss, no matter how unusual.

      The pungent scent of smoke hung heavily in the air, something he was as used to as breathing. Stepping carefully, he crossed what had once been the threshold of a doorway. The interior was dark, so he pulled his flashlight from his back pocket and flicked it on, the narrow beam illuminating the interior.

      “Hello? Anyone here?” he called, meticulously placing his feet around blackened two-by-fours strewn over the concrete floor. The place didn’t look much different than it had earlier in the day, although seeing it at nighttime added an eerie dimension.

      The interior of the building had sustained significant damage, but the metal walls of the warehouse were still standing. There were gaps in the metal roof from steel that had warped in the heat, wide enough that he could see stars flickering in the night sky.

      This place had less damage compared to the two others he’d investigated over the past few months. Fire-damaged buildings were notoriously unstable, which made it doubly odd that his boss had requested to meet here tonight.

      And where was Rick anyway? Mitch had been running late, but there was still no sign of his boss. Mitch stood for a moment, sweeping the area with his flashlight, debating heading back outside to wait.

      A hint of blue caught his eye, making him frown. He aimed the flashlight toward the only bit of color amongst the blackened wreckage. He sucked in a harsh breath when he saw what looked like two denim-covered legs peeking out from beneath a pile of rubble way in the back corner of the building.

      Was that a person buried under there?

      His boss?

      No, it couldn’t be. The legs looked too narrow, as if they belonged to a skinny person rather than Rick Nelson’s heavy-set frame. When he’d cleared the scene earlier that day, there hadn’t been anyone inside. Besides, the blue denim wasn’t blackened with smoke, so whoever this person was, he or she had come into the warehouse somewhere between five in the evening and now, nine thirty at night. Mitch moved quickly forward, just as he heard a noise behind him.

      He started to turn around, but a second too late. Something hard crashed down, sending him sprawling forward. Pain exploded along the left side of his neck and shoulders, and he hit the concrete floor with a bone-jarring thud.

      Then there was nothing but darkness.

      * * *

      Pain