Page 49 of The Burning

“You know I’ve got a history with him,” I say.

“Yeah.” Rasmussen lowers his voice. “Kate, Bogart called BCI before he called me. Your name came up, and now the agent liaison is all over my shit. Evidently, this Bogart character has already talked to the media, too, and they’re running with it.”

“Must be a slow news day,” I mutter.

“Always is when it’s that juicy.” He sighs. “Look, the BCI agent is here now. So is Auggie. They want to talk to you.”

“I’ll be there in ten,” I say, and smack my palm hard against the disconnect button.

CHAPTER 13

With a homicide investigation in the queue and spooling hot, the last thing I want to deal with is the reprisal of a disgruntled citizen. But when you’re a public servant, community perceptions carry a lot of weight. Even if you’ve done nothing wrong, the precept of “innocent until proven guilty” goes out the window. If the situation appears suspicious in the eyes of the public, you are guilty, your career is in peril, and you’d damn well better set the record straight before the situation spirals out of control.

It takes me eight minutes to reach the station. By the time I pull into my slot, I’m officially worried. One look at Lois’s expression when I walk through the door and I know it’s worse than I thought.

“Hi, Chief!” She says the words with far too much enthusiasm and with a side-eye toward the two men standing in the hallway outside my office.

I follow her gaze to see Mike Rasmussen leaning against the wall, finger-pecking something into his phone. A man I don’t recognize—a BCI agent, judging by his attire and persona—stands across from Rasmussen, doing the same. Jim Bogart manspreads on the ragtag sofa and offers me a gotcha-bitch smile as I cross to the dispatch station.

Lois attempts to communicate something to me via a hand signal I don’t understand.

“Messages?” I ask.

She plucks a dozen or so slips from the slot. I spot the sticky note she’s placed on top of them and read her handwriting.

Bogart is claiming your brother is involved in the murder and he’s accusing you of protecting him!!!

Good grief.

“Chief?”

I turn to see Mike Rasmussen shove his phone into his pocket and stride toward me. “If you’ve got a few minutes, we’d like to have a word.”

“Sure, Mike.” The words come out sounding surprisingly composed. Tucking Lois’s note into my pocket, I glance over his shoulder to see the second man approach. No visible badge. Eyes direct and homed in on me. Mouth pulled into an indecipherable grimace.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jim Bogart get to his feet. “You want me in there, too?” he asks, looking a little too eager.

Rasmussen practically snarls at him. “Stay put, Mr. Bogart, we’ll call you if we need you.”

Looking disappointed, Bogart settles back onto the sofa.

“There’s a little more space in the war room.” I look past the sheriff, make eye contact with the BCI agent, and extend my hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Agent Chambers,” he says, giving my hand a too-hard squeeze. “BCI. Call me Neil.”

“Appreciate your being here.” I motion toward the war room and head that way. “We need all the help we can get.”

Rasmussen makes a noise beneath his breath. “This won’t take but a few minutes,” he assures me.

Knowing I’m walking into an ambush, I take the hall at a brisk pace, push open the door, flick on the lights. “Did you get with the fire marshal about the blaze at Stutzman’s Cabinetry?” I ask the sheriff.

“They’re going to take a look at the case file,” Rasmussen tells me. “Copy us on everything. As it is, the fire was not ruled arson. No accelerant. And the misplacement of the jacket near the heat source was deemed accidental.”

I take the chair at the head of the table and sit. Looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here, Rasmussen takes a chair two spaces down. Chambers closes the door behind him and takes the chair next to the sheriff.

Symbolism, I think, and turn my attention to Rasmussen. “What’s this about?”

“Citizen out there in reception, Jim…” He grapples with his notes.