Fireproof

CHAPTER 76

QUANTICO

Maggie and Tully sat on opposite sides of the conference table. Assistant Director Kunze sat at the head.

“There seems to be no evidence to support Samantha Ramirez’s claim that Jeffery Cole is a serial arsonist,” he told them.

Maggie couldn’t believe that no one was taking the woman seriously. She was in intensive care, barely able to speak, and yet she was insistent that Jeffery Cole had lit the fire that almost killed her. That he had admitted setting all the other fires.

“What about the fact that he used to teach high school chemistry? We now know the chemicals used were potassium permanganate and glycerin. Ms. Ramirez said she saw a jug of swimming pool cleaner in his SUV. She saw him pour something on purple crystals. Potassium permanganate is a crystal-like chemical found in swimming pool cleaners.”

“This is your evidence?”

“Okay, what about Cornell Stamoran? He recognized Jeffery Cole as the guy he saw pouring gasoline in the alley right before the warehouse fires.”

“You said yourself, Agent Tully, that the man appears to be an alcoholic schizophrenic.”

“Why not let us question him?” Tully persisted.

“Cole’s on assignment in the Middle East.”

It was useless. Maggie sat back and let out a sigh of frustration. The man had almost killed her brother, and Kunze was tying their hands. Several days ago he had pushed her and Tully to catch him an arsonist. He was in political hot water if they didn’t do so. She worried that now suddenly it wasn’t politically correct for that arsonist to be Jeffery Cole. She wanted to tell Kunze that he couldn’t pick and choose his madmen.

“How about the fact that the arsons have stopped?”

“Agent O’Dell,” he said while he avoided eye contact and shook his head. “We all know that doesn’t necessarily mean a thing.”

“We have sufficient reason to question him. Even on foreign soil,” Tully said.

Again Kunze shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. The Justice Department won’t allow it.”

So he had checked, was Maggie’s first thought. Someone was shutting him down again. And Kunze was shutting them down. He stood and picked up a pile of file folders from a credenza behind him. He dropped the foot-high stack on the table between Maggie and Tully.

“This is where I want your focus to be.”

“What is this?”

“Both of you, along with Keith Ganza, have told me that Gloria Dobson and Zach Lester were not murdered by the same person who set fire to the warehouses. Isn’t that correct?”

“There’s not a way to connect them, that’s correct,” Tully admitted. “Neither of us believes Jeffery Cole committed those murders.”

And neither one of them believed that he had followed Maggie down a manhole or sneaked around behind her house. Cornell Stamoran said a man had been following him, too. He thought he was the same man who dumped the body in his cardboard box, the man who killed Dobson and Lester.

Kunze ignored the mention of Cole and continued, “Ganza’s found three similar murders at other rest areas. Different parts of the country. One of the bodies was just found about a mile off the interstate in a roadside culvert. We think this guy has killed more—many more. You both have heard of the Highway Serial Killings Initiative?”

Maggie and Tully nodded. She remembered Ganza’s mentioning it when he talked about prostitutes and truck drivers.

“More than five hundred unsolved murders near interstate rest areas in the last ten years. And that’s only the ones we’ve entered into our initiative’s data bank. I think you two may have stumbled onto one of the murderers.”

Kunze’s phone interrupted them. He looked at the ID and answered immediately.

“This is Director Raymond Kunze.”

He was quiet and listening, his face expressionless, and Maggie found herself thinking the man would be excellent at poker. After several nods Kunze said, “I understand.” Then he ended the call.

“It appears CNN has just announced they’ll be airing an interview with Jeffery Cole.”

“About what?” Maggie asked.

“He’s confessing to eight counts of arson. He’s giving them the exclusive.”