CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Optical Illusion”
Otto sent the images with gleams to Alvarez, pushed himself away from the desk, and went to the door. Steve followed at his heel. They went down the hall to the bullpen where Alvarez huddled in his cubicle intent on the monitor, which displayed scrolling numbers. Otto stood silently as Steve thrust his snout over Alvarez’ thigh. Alvarez looked down in surprise, then back at Otto. Alvarez removed a set of minute headphones.
“Gus, you’ve seen the Froines and Albrecht videos.”
“We’ve all seen them.”
“Did you notice a tiny gleam next to the heads of both victims?”
Alvarez stared. “No. Can you show me?”
“It’s in your inbox.”
Otto waited while Alvarez opened the file. He stared at it a long time before painting to what might very well have been digital interference. “That?”
“Yeah.”
“It could be any number of things. A drop of sweat.”
“I thought so too. There’s one in the Froines’ video as well.”
“Could be electronic interference, resistance, an impure chip.”
“Both parties? At more or less the same time in each sequence? Do you have videos of any of the others?”
“The Russians have one. We’re trying to get it.”
“Might be interesting to see if that one has it too.”
“I’ll see what I can do to isolate that image, run some tests. Where did you study arson investigation?”
“I was a volunteer fireman when I was a kid. Then I was an MP at Fort Bragg. We had a series of arsons--mostly outbuildings, and I caught the guy. Pure luck. Naturally the Army assumed I was an expert.”
Alvarez swiveled his chair and indicated a chair in the corner. Otto sat. Alvarez took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“How did you catch him?”
“First one was a storage locker. Burned to the ground. I could tell the fire had been started inside by the carbon on the inside walls. Figured he piled up a bunch of rags, doused them with gasoline, tossed in a cigarette and ran like hell.
“I was the first one there so I caught the job. That’s the way the Army works. ‘Son, from now on you’re an arson investigator!’ I started going through personnel files looking at criminal records. Technically, you can’t join up if you have a record but we know how well that turned out.
“Week later, second fire. A gardening shed behind the base commander’s house. This time the fire was set from the outside. Looked like ’he had walked the perimeter with an accelerant. But how did he set it off? I found a stain in the grass that looked like a long cigarette burn--like someone had set down a fuse and lit it.
“But it was all burnt up. Didn’t know what it was. No cigarette butt, no matchbook, nada. A few days later another fire. Now he’s reducing the period between episodes and we’re getting worried that he might be building up to something. This was pre-9/11, year 2000.
“This one’s on the obstacle course. He lit the Weaver, which is kind of like a wooden jungle gym, and there’s that same black scar on a portion of timber. Only this time, it didn’t entirely burn. Left a hardened clearish lump. I scratched it. Smelled like Testors’ plastic model cement. I know about that shit because I’ve been a model builder all my life. I remembered seeing an issue of Military Modeler at the base PO. Only one guy on base gets it. Private Dennis Pratt. AWOL. We put out a bulletin.
“Month later he burns down a warehouse in San Diego with him in it. I was just in the right place at the right time. And that’s how I became an arson investigator.”
Alvarez grinned. The Army’s funny that way. Let me take a look at these videos.”
Otto stood. “Thanks, Gus. Let’s go big fella.”
Otto and Steve stepped into the hall. A couple agents waved at Otto.
“Nice dog,” one said.
Otto and Steve left the bullpen and turned left toward their office. Behind them the elevator door dinged open. Otto was about to swipe his key card.
“Excuse me,” a voice rang out in the slightly querulous tone of someone who suspects malfeasance. Otto ignored it.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man said approaching. Otto looked up.
Stared.
The man stared back equally incredulous.
“Hornbuckle?” Otto said.
“White?” Hornbuckle croaked.
***