Fireproof

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.”

CHAPTER 77

    He pulled down the bill of his ball cap and walked against the wind. He was glad to have gloves today. Back here along the stream it felt colder. The weather was changing again and he’d be glad to get back on the road. He’d stayed too long as it was, reluctant to leave her behind.
    Over the top of the privacy fence he could see parts of the two beautiful houses ravaged by fire. It was a shame the way things turned out. He found a trail in between the two properties. No one was around today. The houses looked abandoned but he knew she came back every day to recover what the fire or the water hadn’t damaged.
    He actually hated leaving her. He was convinced they were kindred spirits. But he needed to get back home. This magpie was definitely an omen, but not a bad one. Now that her life had been turned upside down he figured she would need something—or someone—to keep her mind off her own troubles.
    He made his way up to the front door, or what was left of it. He climbed over the yellow DO NOT ENTER tape and took a look around. There was a good