Page 92 of Flint’s Strike

“This guy’s cleaner than soap.” I meet Nate’s gaze. “Either he’s careful as fuck, or he’s not our guy.”

My partner nods. “If we brief AJ now, we can be at Apex’s offices when they open at nine. Feel like taking a little field trip?”

“Only if we can stop at Dot’s for lunch on the way back. It’s been two weeks since I’ve had a milkshake.”

Nate chuckles. “Fine, Captain Brain Freeze. But tomorrow, we’re getting Om Açaí.”

“No. Tomorrow you’re getting Om Açaí. That shit is disgusting. Besides, I seem to recall you promisin’ me unlimited snacks. Time to pay up.”

Pushing back from the table, Nate huffs. “I made that offer under duress. You can’t hold me to it.”

I tuck the folder under my arm and pick up my travel mug. “Watch me.”

AJ’s leaning back in his chair, coffee cup in one hand, his cell phone in the other, smiling.

I rap twice on his door frame. “Chief? Got a minute?”

He stares at me, his brows furrowed for a beat. “Come on in. Shut the door.”

As soon as we’re cut off from the rest of the bullpen, he shakes his head. “Ain’t never gonna get used to hearin’ you call me ‘Chief,’ Parker.”

“You could have turned down the promotion,” I offer. “But then Harris never would’ve retired and I’d be on desk duty for the rest of my career.”

Nate takes the chair next to me, his left hand in the air and the other over his heart. “I promise to call you ‘Cap’ for the rest of this debrief as a personal thank you for not leaving me without a partner in the field.”

“He’d bring a spreadsheet to every crime scene, Chief.” After a beat, I add, “ And highlighters.”

AJ throws his head back and laughs. “That’d go over about as well as a screen door on a submarine. Tell me you’ve got somethin’ on these fires? It’s been four days since the press conference, and the Castillo family deserves some answers.”

I cringe. Rosalie’s drawing is tucked away in the front pocket of my dress shirt. “You got our case notes on Friday night?”

“Yup. But if all you have is a company name, that ain’t enough for an arrest.” He taps his keyboard a few times. “Accordin’ to the payroll records Nate pulled, they’ve got nine inspectors workin’ for them. You gonna interview every one of ‘em?”

“We don’t have to.” Nate runs a hand through his shaggy hair, sitting up a little straighter. “I matched the signature on the Aldrich suppression system approval to one Todd Ferris. We’re headed over to Apex now.”

“He know you’re comin’?” AJ asks.

I pass Nate the folder and brace my hands on the arms of AJ’s guest chair. “You trained us better than that, Chief. Ferris won’t know what hit him.”

This time of the morning, the drive downtown should take less than fifteen minutes, but Nate refuses to get within three car lengths of the street sweeper on Grand.

“Clearly you don’t appreciate the amount of work it takes to keep this car in mint condition,” he says when I point out an opening for him to pass. Again.

“I appreciate that if you keep driving twenty miles an hour under the speed limit, by the time we reach Apex’s offices, it’ll be after noon, Ferris will be at lunch, and Dot’s will have run out of strawberry ice cream.”

Nate gives me the side eye. “Strawberry? Not double chocolate? Not cookies and cream? Strawberry? That’s what you’re going for today?”

“Yes. What’s wrong with strawberry? It’s a flavor.” I cross my arms, staring out the passenger side window.

“You don’t know.” His voice takes on a shocked, almost hollow tone.

I roll my eyes, then turn back to him. “Know what?”

“You only order a strawberry milkshake when there’s something wrong. Is SFMO down one arson investigator now? Do I need to stop at Home Warehouse Supply for a shovel?”

My jaw drops, I close it, and it drops again. “You think… Eliot… A shovel?”

“How else am I supposed to bury body parts?” Nate spreads the fingers of his right hand, his palm never leaving the wheel. “Look at those cuticles, Parker. They’re perfect. Besides, digging a shallow grave by hand leaves trace evidence behind. You know that.”