Chapter 12 - The Second Fire
Elena made a sound Mateo had never heard from her before.
Not a scream.
Something lower.
Something broken.
Her house had been Rafael’s house too.
The place where she raised two children, buried one husband, hosted thirty Christmas dinners, and kept every photograph she had ever refused to throw away.
By the time they reached the block, flames had already swallowed the back bedroom.
Firefighters worked the roof.
Neighbors stood in the street.
A state trooper stopped Mateo at the tape.
“No one goes in.”
Elena stared through the smoke. “My photographs.”
Mateo put an arm around her.
“I’m sorry.”
She leaned into him for exactly three seconds.
Then she straightened.
“Who did this?”
Wade was in custody at Saint Agnes when the house caught fire.
Shaw had been with them.
So the answer was obvious and terrifying.
Wade was not working alone.
A woman in a navy suit approached from an unmarked state vehicle.
“Mateo Alvarez?”
He recognized her immediately.
Dana Cho.
Former colleague. Now deputy chief of the state public corruption unit.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“Good to see you too.”
Dana shook Elena’s hand. “Mrs. Morales, I’m sorry.”
Elena asked, “Can you stop them?”
Dana did not give her a comforting lie.
“I can try. But we need evidence that survives court.”
Mateo handed her a digital copy of Rafael’s bank records.
Dana’s expression hardened as she scrolled.
“These transfers are old.”
“Patterns aren’t.”
“True. But we need current conspiracy evidence.”
Shaw, now under protective custody, had agreed to cooperate.
Dana said, “He says Pike and Judge Vale are meeting tomorrow night.”
“Where?”
“The private room at Mercer’s motorcycle clubhouse.”
Elena looked at Mateo.
“No.”
He knew what she meant before she said it.
“No undercover work.”
Dana answered for him. “He won’t be undercover.”
Mateo relaxed slightly.
Then Dana continued.
“You will.”
Elena stared at her.
Dana looked directly at the seventy-one-year-old baker.
“They think you’re scared, Mrs. Morales. They think the fires worked.”
Elena looked at the smoke rising from her home.
Then at the blackened road toward her bakery.
May you like
Her eyes dried.
“What do you need me to do?”
