One Year Later
The informant's tip was explosive.
Excitement sizzled through Darcy Sampson's body as she
stepped off the elevator into the Washington Post"s
newsroom. She hurried to her desk. The large open room was
full of desks, lined up one behind the other. Only inches
separated hers from her colleague's.
Her computer screen was off. The desk was piled high with
papers, reference books and, in the corner, a wilting
plant.
Darcy dug her notebook out of her purse and then dumped
the bag in the bottom desk drawer. She couldn't wait to
talk to her editor and pitch the story that would propel
her byline from page twenty to the front page.
"So where's the fire?" The familiar raspy voice had Darcy
looking up. Barbara Rogers, a fellow reporter, was wafer
thin. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut short and her wire-
rimmed glasses magnified sharp gray eyes.
Darcy flipped her notebook open. She wanted to be sure of
her facts before she talked to her editor. "Just kicking
around a story idea."
Barbara had been in the business for thirty years. She
knew all the angles. And she knew everything that went on
in the newsroom. "Must be some story. You look like you're
about to start salivating."
Darcy didn't dare confirm or deny. "I've got to run."
Barbara wasn't offended. "Sure, cut your best friend out
of the loop."
Best friend. Barbara had stolen two story ideas from her
in the last year. She hurried toward her editor's office.
Visions of a Pulitzer prize and national exposure danced
in her head. Through the glass walls of his office, she
could see Paul Tyler was on the phone, but she knocked
anyway.
What she had was too good to wait.
The phone cradled under his ear, Paul glanced up at her.
He looked annoyed but motioned her inside.
Darcy hurried into the cramped office littered with stacks
of newspapers, magazines and piles of books on the floor.
She moved the books from the chair in front of his desk
and sat down. The heavy scent of cigarettes hung in the
air. He wasn't supposed to smoke in the building, but that
didn't stop him from putting duct tape over the smoke
detector and sneaking a cigarette once in a while.
Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. A swath of graying
hair hung over his tired green eyes. "Right, well, do the
best you can. And call me if you find another lead."
Hanging up the receiver, he sighed as he looked up at
Darcy. "What is it, Sampson?"
She sucked in a deep, calming breath, willing herself to
talk slowly. "I have a story."
He stared at her blankly. "And?"
Darcy leaned forward. "Remember Nero?"
Paul sat back in his chair. A dollop of ketchup stained
the right pocket of his shirt. "Sure. The arsonist that
tried to torch D.C. last year. Killed twelve people."
"Right."
Paul glanced at the pile of papers on his desk as if the
conversation was already losing him. "He died in one of
his own fires."
She spoke softly. "What if he didn't die?"
He looked up. Interest mingled with doubt in his eyes. "He
died. The fire department and police department had
mountains of information on the guy...Raymond somebody."
"Mason. Raymond Mason." She flipped her notebook open and
searched several pages before she found the right
reference. "He was a homeless man. Also, a college
graduate and Gulf War vet. Volunteer firefighter."
"Right. I remember now. So why should I care about all
this?"
"I got a call from a woman yesterday. She is Raymond's
sister, Sara Highland."
"Why would she call you?"
A valid question. Until now, all Darcy had covered were
city planning and council meetings.
"My ex-boyfriend, Stephen." She hated giving Stephen-the-
creep any credit for the tip, but he had been the reason
Sara had contacted her. Stephen, a reporter for TV Five
News, had made quite a name for himself covering the Nero
fires. "He interviewed Sara last year and thinking she
might remember something of interest, he had given her his
home number β which in fact was my number because he was
basically living at my place most of the time. Anyway, she
called. When I played back Sara's message on my answering
machine, I knew I had to talk to her."
Paul's glazed look was a signal that she was
rambling. "Get to the punch line."
"Sara doesn't believe that Raymond was Nero. She believes
he was set up."
Paul yawned. "She said this last year. And who could blame
her? No one wants to believe their brother is a serial
arsonist and murderer."
"This time she's got facts to back up her statements."
Darcy flipped through a couple of pages in her
notebook. "It took Sara time get over the shock of it all.
When she did, she started talking to the men who knew
Raymond."
He lifted a brow. "Homeless men?"
"Yes. There was one man in particular β a Bud Jones. He
was a veteran, too. He and Raymond were good friends. I
went to talk to him. Bud said a week before the last fire
a well-dressed man stopped and talked to Raymond. The two
hit it off and the stranger gave Raymond five dollars. The
guy came back several more times over the next few days.
Finally, he offered big money to Raymond for a job."
"What kind of job?"
"Raymond never said." She scooted to the edge of her
seat. "But Bud thinks it had to do with Nero's last fire."
"Did Sara or you pay this Bud character money for
information?" There was no missing his cynicism. Paul
believed Bud had simply told Sara what she wanted to hear
in exchange for money. "I tried to give him a twenty but
he wouldn't take it."
"Where's Bud been all this time? Why hasn't anyone else
mentioned him?"
"He took off the day before the last fire. Thumbed down to
Florida where he stayed until last month."
Paul steepled his fingers. "Keep talking."
"Raymond was supposed to meet the stranger at Shield's
warehouse."
That had Paul's attention. "The spot of Nero's last fire."
"Where Raymond died." She closed her notebook.
"I think Raymond was set up by the real Nero. I think the
real Nero knew the police and arson investigators were on
to him and that if he didn't do something quickly, he'd be
caught."
"Great theory, but where's the proof?"
"I don't have it, yet, but I intend to get it."
"Where?"
"Remember Michael Gannon?"
"Sure, chief arson investigator on the case. Dropped off
the scene after Nero's death was confirmed."
"I talked to a couple of buddies of his in the department.
I said I was doing a year anniversary thing on the fires.
Anyway, one let it slip that Gannon never really believed
Nero was dead. When I questioned him further, he started
backpedaling."
"Where's Gannon now?"
"He moved down to Preston Springs, Virginia, and opened a
motorcycle shop."
"Aren't you from Preston Springs?"
Darcy's stomach tightened. That was the major fly in the
ointment. She and her mother didn't get on so well. And
the last time she'd been home had been a year ago for her
father's funeral. "Yeah."
"So what are you going to do β interview Gannon?"
"If it were only that easy. Gannon hates reporters. Which
we can thank Stephen for."
Paul rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "Stephen
did harass the hell out of Gannon."
"Made his life rough. I'm afraid if Gannon knows I had
anything to do with Stephen, reporting or Nero he'd shut
me down."
He drummed his fingers on his desk. "So what do you want
from me?"
"Like you said, I'm from Preston Springs. I can go home
under the guise of visiting my mother and brother. And
while I'm there, make contact with Gannon. With any luck,
he'll open up."
Paul folded his fingers over his chest. "Long shot, if you
ask me."
She rubbed her palms together. "But you've got to admit,
it's worth the chance. If we could prove Nero didn't die,
the coverage would be incredible. We'd get picked up all
over the country. All I need is two weeks."
He nodded. "It damn sure would be." He sighed staring at
the stacks of paper on his desk. "I can't give you two
weeks. Only a week."
Darcy swallowed a smile. She had Paul. Now it was a matter
of reeling him in. "Ten days."
"Eight."
"Nine."
He glared at her. "Sold. But this adventure is on your
dime until you come up with something hard."
She jumped to her feet. "No problem. I'll leave first
thing in the morning."
Standing, he held up his hand to stop her. "I want you to
keep me posted. Call me every day or two. Gannon won't be
easy to crack. Can be a real son of a bitch from what I
remember."
"I'm not afraid of him."
"You should be."
Just the idea of this story had her nerves humming.
"Michael Gannon will talk to me. I can guarantee it."
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