After helping the Petrovs pack up what they could carry from the bakery, Tim had two police officers escort them home. He wasn’t taking any chances. He and Frodo returned to headquarters and went upstairs to Dylan O’Leary’s computer cave. The team’s tech expert was at his station when they entered.
“Hey, do you have a moment?” Tim asked.
Dylan lifted his hands from the keyboard and spun in his chair to face him. “Of course, bro. What’s up?”
Tim smiled at the moniker. Dylan was the closest Tim had ever come to having a brother. They’d been roommates until Dylan had married this past fall. “I need you to do a deep background check on two people.” He gave him Barry Johnson’s and Greg Sherman’s names.
“I need to know financials, criminal history and anything else you can dig up that might be relevant to my arson cases.” He supplied him with the dates and properties.
“Sure thing,” Dylan said, already turning to his computer.
“Do you mind if I wait?” Tim asked.
“Not at all.” His friend opened a drawer. “There’s treats here.”
“Thanks.” Tim grabbed a handful and for the next few minutes put Frodo through a set of exercises. It was best to have the dog work for his food as often as possible, to keep his mind and body active when not out in the field.
When he’d run out of treats, Tim instructed Frodo to a down position, then waited to see what Dylan dredged up on his suspects.
An hour later, the tech expert said, “Greg Sherman has a criminal history. Petty theft five years ago.”
“No arson?”
“Nope. And no big deposits in his bank accounts.”
Johnson could be paying Greg in cash. “And Mr. Johnson?”
“Barry Johnson has no criminal history. However, he is financially strapped.”
“But he owns several properties downtown.”
“He does indeed. And all the burned properties belong to him. He’s drowning in expenses.”
Tim rubbed his chin. “Reason enough to burn down the buildings and commit insurance fraud.”
“Can you prove it?” Dylan asked.
“Not yet,” Tim said. “But I will.”
“Let me know if there is anything else I can do,” his buddy told him.
Tim hesitated as some force within brought to mind the man who’d assaulted Vickie in college. “There is something. I want you to find out all you can on a guy named Ken Leland. I want to know where he is and what he’s doing.”
“Who’s this?”
Wanting to respect her privacy, Tim hedged, “A man from Vickie Petrov’s past. They attended college together.” He gave Dylan the name of the school.
His colleague tilted his head. “Are we using government resources for a personal matter?”
“No, of course not.” Tim didn’t miss the amusement in his friend’s eyes. “It’s not like that.”
Dylan grinned. “It sure looks like that to me. You’ve got it bad. Not that I blame you. Vickie Petrov is a pretty lady. And nice.”
Tim shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m protecting Vickie. Nothing more. There’s nothing else going on.”
“Bro, you can deny your feelings all you want, but it’s written all over your face.”
Tim’s stomach churned. Was he in denial about his feelings for Vickie? “So I care about her. There’s no crime in that.”
Dylan grew serious. “No. But don’t lead her on. I know you, bro. You’re a die-hard bachelor.”
“I am,” Tim confirmed, only the conviction didn’t resonate through him as it normally did.
“Be careful. Don’t hurt her.”
“That’s the last thing I want to do.” Tim’s mouth went dry as his friend’s words ricocheted through his brain. He needed to get his head on straight and remember Vickie was a victim of a crime and it was his job to bring the criminal to justice, not to fall for the woman he was protecting.
With resolve to keep his emotions in check, Tim headed for the door. “Come on, Frodo. Time we have a chat with Mr. Johnson.”
“Have a seat, Mr. Johnson.” Tim held on to his patience as he instructed the older man with a gesture toward the metal chair pushed up to a matching table in the center of the Billings Police Department’s interrogation room. Police Chief Fielding stepped in behind them and closed the door.
The sheen of sweat on Mr. Johnson’s brow glistened in the intense glare of the overhead fluorescent lights. His expensive wing tip shoes scuffed along the linoleum floor as he scooted past Frodo with a look of distaste. The dog sniffed the man’s shoes and pant leg and then lifted his nose toward his hands. Johnson recoiled, clearly afraid the dog would bite.
After a moment, the German shepherd lost interest in him and lay down near the door.
“I demand to know why you’ve brought me here,” Mr. Johnson said as he plopped his rotund self on the metal chair.
The chief gave a slight nod, indicating for Tim to take the lead and question the suspect.
Tim laid out four file folders. “I’d like to know why several of your buildings have been targeted by an arsonist. And why you didn’t mention your other properties the night of the shelter fire.”
Mr. Johnson took a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his wool coat and mopped his forehead. Stressed by guilt? “I didn’t realize these incidents were connected.”
Tim arched an eyebrow. “Don’t play me for dumb. I’ve already checked with your insurance company and you’ve filed three claims.” He opened the first file, which showed the burned-out shell of a three-bedroom, two-bath house on a residential street. “The house on Lazy Willow Lane.” Tim opened another file, revealing the charred remains of the back half of a building. “The tire store downtown.” He tapped the third file without opening it. Mr. Johnson couldn’t deny having seen the damage to the shelter. “The homeless shelter.”
The man made a face and looked away from the files. “Someone is out to get me.”
Tim didn’t buy the rationalization for a second. The property owner stood to gain from the blazes in insurance payouts. “Now Petrov Bakery.”
Tim slammed his palm on the table, eliciting a startled yelp from Johnson. Frodo rose to all fours and growled. Tim gave him the stay command with his other hand. “And I’m sure I’ll find a way to connect you to the house on Picador Way.”
Visibly gathering his composure, Johnson held up a hand. “Now wait a minute.” He patted his chest. “You don’t think I’m responsible for these fires, do you?” His gaze darted to the police chief. “Why would I want to burn down my own buildings?”
Tim opened the last file folder and turned it so that Mr. Johnson could view the contents. “Your financials. You’re in the red by millions. Setting a fire and claiming the insurance money is one of the oldest and most common money scams out there.”
Clearly shaken, Johnson shook his head emphatically. “No. I did not set these fires.”
Prepared for the denial, Tim said, “I’ve also talked to your current tenants in your other holdings. It seems you’ve been very reluctant to renew leases over the past year, demanding they go month to month. And you’ve increased the rent on all of your tenants. Some have even suggested you wanted them to vacate. Which begs the question, why?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Johnson said. “You can’t pin these fires on me. You have no proof that I was involved.”
“Why did you try to run Vickie Petrov down?” Tim asked the pointed question, hoping to trip him up.
Johnson reared back. “Excuse me? What are you talking about?”
“What were you doing behind Petrov Bakery this morning prior to the fire?”
“I was checking the electrical meter,” Johnson said.
Tim made eye contact with Chief Fielding. Okay, then. They were halfway to a confession. Johnson’s admission placed him at the scene of the crime.
“The electric company claims the building is draining too much power and is leveling me with fines,” Johnson continued. “I’m sure it’s the Petrovs who are causing the problem, though I can’t prove it. No one else in the building uses much energy.”
“Why not talk directly to Sasha Petrov, rather than skulking around the back of the building?”
“I wasn’t skulking. I’ve been keeping tabs on the usage.”
“Why was Greg Sherman with you?”
“He’s my employee,” Johnson said. “I’ve tasked him with keeping an eye on the meter. If you don’t believe me, ask him. Check with the electric company.”
“I will,” Tim replied. “How much are you paying Greg to set these fires?”
Johnson sputtered. “I am not paying him to set the fires.”
“Why would someone target buildings you own?”
Spreading his hands wide, Johnson said, “I don’t know.”
Tim hammered at him. “Why are you trying to push your tenants out?”
Johnson frowned, but clamped his lips together, clearly unwilling to divulge his motivations.
“Did you send someone to assault Vickie?”
Johnson’s eyes widened with shock. “I would never.” His gaze narrowed. “You need to talk to Greg. He’s got a thing for the Petrov girl. She’s trouble. That whole family is trouble.”
Anger ignited within Tim’s chest. “Enough trouble for you to want them gone?”
Johnson’s expression turned bulldoggish. “If you’re going continue questioning me, I want my lawyer present. Otherwise I want to leave. I have rights.”
Frustrated by the lack of progress in eliciting a confession from Johnson, Tim met Chief Fielding’s gaze. The older man shrugged and gestured toward the door.
Tim gathered the files. “Sit tight,” he said to Johnson. With Frodo at his heels, he followed Chief Fielding into the hall.
“We don’t have enough to hold him,” Fielding said. “The insurance companies will be doing their own investigations, and if the FBI wants to make a case against the man, you’re going to need to come up with more than you have.”
“I know,” Tim muttered. “I’m counting on Greg Sherman to provide some answers. Because right now all I have are more questions.”
If Barry Johnson really wasn’t involved, who was burning down his properties? And why? Was Greg trying to hurt Vickie?
“I’m releasing Johnson,” Chief Fielding said. “But I’ll warn him not to leave town.”
Tim nodded. He didn’t like letting the man off the hook, especially without answers.
His phone dinged just then, indicating a text coming in. It was from Dylan.
Tim read: I have the info you asked for.
“I’m heading back to my office,” he said to the chief. “Let me know when your officers bring Greg in.”
“Will do.” Fielding reentered the interrogation room.
Tim and Frodo left the police station and headed to the FBI building a few blocks away. Tim found Dylan in his office. “You found something on Ken Leland?”
“I did.” Dylan took off his black-framed glasses and rubbed the lens with a cloth. “Leland didn’t graduate from college. He left in the middle of his last semester under mysterious circumstances.”
Interesting. Tim leaned against the desk. “Mysterious how?”
Putting his glasses back on, Dylan made a face. “The school is all hush-hush about it. They won’t release his records without a warrant.”
Since this inquiry into Ken wasn’t part of an official investigation, a warrant wouldn’t be easy to obtain. “Where is he now?”
“Here’s the thing,” Dylan said. “Ken Leland disappeared.”
Tim was surprised even as a sense of disquiet sneaked beneath the collar of his shirt and tightened the muscles of his shoulders. Agitation churned in his gut. “What do you mean, disappeared?”
Dylan shrugged. “I couldn’t find any record of Ken Leland after he left college.”
“How could that happen?”
A smirk settled over Dylan’s face. “He changed his name. He was clever about it, but not clever enough.” Dylan tapped his keyboard and brought up a photo of a dark-haired man with dark eyes. His unsmiling mouth was a flat slash emphasizing a square jaw. “He’s going by his mother’s maiden name, Benson. Who just happens to be Barry Johnson’s wife’s sister.”
His mind reeling from the news, Tim said, “Let me get this straight. Ken Leland, aka Ken Benson, is Barry Johnson’s nephew.” A niggling at the back of his mind clamored for attention.
“Yep. And here’s where it gets even more interesting.” Dylan zoomed out from the photo of Ken to reveal it to be on a driver’s license. “Benson dropped his first name and is using his middle name.”
“Joseph,” Tim stated, staring at the screen. A memory of Mr. Johnson claiming to have a nephew working as a Billings firefighter surfaced and scorched through his brain like a flash of lightning. “He’s with BFD.”
“How did you know?” Dylan gave a mock pout. “That was my grand finale statement.” He clicked a few more keys and another photo appeared, of a man in turnout gear holding his helmet at his side. There was no mistaking Ken Leland, aka Joseph Benson.
Tim had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He felt like he was staring at a jigsaw puzzle. How did the pieces connect? The man who’d assaulted Vickie in college now resided in Billings. And he was a firefighter and nephew to Barry Johnson, landlord to the Petrovs. Coincidence? Unlikely. But to what end?
How did Greg fit in? Who was the arsonist? Had it been Ken or Greg who attacked Vickie in the park?
“We need to bring this guy in for questioning,” Tim said. “I’ll start the paperwork for a warrant, as well.”
“You think he’s involved in your case?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
Tim’s cell phone rang. He answered. The man on the other side said, “Sir, this is Officer Wainwright with Billings PD. Chief Fielding asked me to contact you. We’ve been unable to locate Greg Sherman. He’s not at his place of residence.”
Tim’s stomach dropped. Had Greg skipped town?
“The chief has put out a BOLO on the man,” Wainwright continued. “If he’s running, we’ll catch him.”
“I have another suspect I need brought in.” Tim gave the officer Joseph Benson’s name and the information that he worked for the fire department.
“I’ll tell the chief,” the officer said, before hanging up.
Tim hoped the “be on the lookout” would net the security guard and Joseph, aka Ken.
“Greg Sherman is missing,” he told Dylan.
Tim wanted, needed, to be with Vickie and her family. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Billings police officers stationed in front of her house to keep her safe. His need came from his heart, he realized in a moment of clarity.
A place he’d never thought he’d open again.
But somehow Vickie had infiltrated his defenses. His feelings for her went beyond caring and affection. Despite his resolve not to let himself fall for her, he had. He loved Vickie.
He wasn’t sure what that would mean in the future or even if there was a future for them. For now, he had to see her, be with her. He needed to assure himself she was unharmed.
He called the Petrovs’ home. The phone just rang. Fear clutched at him, balling his insides into knots. He dialed Vickie’s cell and it went directly to voice mail, as if the device had been turned off. Alarm spiraled through his brain and revved up his blood pressure.
“I’m heading to Vickie Petrov’s home,” he told Dylan.
“Ah.”
There was a world of meaning behind the two-letter word, but Tim chose to ignore it. He didn’t have time for another lecture.
Gripping Frodo’s lead, Tim raced out of the building. A prayer lifted from his lips. “Please, dear God, don’t let anything be wrong. Let me be panicking for nothing.”