Page 19 of Forged By Fire (Danger in Destiny #9)
Chapter Eighteen
O rtiz may have been a lot of things, but Clint had a hard time believing the man was capable of attempted murder. Especially since, from the moment he sat down in the interrogation room, he couldn’t stop apologizing for all the things he’d stolen at the fire station.
“I never wanted to take them, but I had no control over it. I thought about putting them back, but I was afraid I’d get caught. That’s why I threw most of it away. I certainly didn’t deserve to keep them.” Ortiz hung his head. “It was never my intention to hurt anyone I worked with.”
Clint looked to his left where Dr. Gerard was sitting.
The two of them were watching the interview from the other side of a one-way mirror.
Only Detective Paris was in the room with their suspect.
Dr. Gerard had thought Ortiz might be more likely to open up if he didn’t feel as though he were being ganged up on.
“What have you been doing since you quit working for the fire department?” Paris had clearly thought through his line of questioning. By avoiding words like “fired,” he was helping Ortiz feel more relaxed. Less judged.
Their suspect raked his fingers through his hair before pressing palms together and placing them between his knees.
“I went to rehab for a while. Four months or so, maybe? It helped some. My doctor prescribed medication, and I’ve been working on some behavioral therapy.
I think that’s helped the most. I’m also going to support groups and doing my best not to relapse. ”
“That’s great, Mr. Ortiz. I’m happy to hear that. Where do you work now?”
“I transcribe documents from home for a doctor’s office here in town.
On the weekend and evenings, I help a non-profit organization with their food pantry.
” For the first time since coming into the station, Ortiz looked engaged and excited as he spoke about his work.
“Being able to provide food for people who might otherwise go hungry is a true privilege.”
Paris nodded and offered a kind smile. “It sounds like a wonderful opportunity. You know, I only have a few more questions for you, but I could use some coffee. Can I get you a cup?”
“Please. Sugar, if you have it.”
“Absolutely. I’ll be back in just a minute.” Paris patted the table with his hand and stood.
Less than a minute later, the door to the observation room opened, and Paris slipped inside.
“Thoughts, Dr. Gerard?”
“He seems to genuinely regret what’s happened in the past. The combination of medication and behavioral therapy, coupled with a support group seems to be doing a world of good to keep his kleptomania under control.
By making a living transcribing medical records, he’s removing the general temptation to steal that he might face by working outside the home.
Spending his free time helping others in need keeps him from getting bored and helps put a focus on others.
” Gerard motioned to the man sitting patiently in the interrogation room.
“I see nothing in his behavior to suggest he’s the man you’re looking for. ”
Paris nodded thoughtfully. “I was thinking that as well. I want to ask him about taking the turnout gear and the man he seemed to be working with that day. Do you see any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“Avoid making it sound like an accusation, or he could become agitated and withdraw.”
Clint leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “If stealing something like the gear is not common for someone with kleptomania, then Ortiz was likely very uncomfortable taking it in the first place. It could be that the man who was helping him orchestrated the theft.”
“All right. I’m going to grab us both some coffee and head in for round two.” Paris left the room and closed the door quietly behind him.
“I’ve never known someone with kleptomania,” Clint said conversationally. “It sounds like it’s not unlike alcoholism or drug use.”
“You’re right. It’s an addiction that hurts him as much or more than it does the people he steals from.
There’s a lot of shame and embarrassment associated with the illness, and it’s difficult to ask for help.
The fact that Ortiz has done so much to better his condition and his life speaks volumes about his character.
He can’t help having kleptomania, but he’s doing everything he can to thrive in spite of it. ”
Yeah, there was no way this guy was targeting firefighters and trying to kill them. If it hadn’t been for his illness rearing its ugly head, Ortiz likely would’ve been a valuable addition to the Destiny Fire Department.
Paris entered the interrogation room again, this time with two cups of coffee. He set one in front of Ortiz, gave him three packets of sugar and a coffee stirrer, then took a seat.
“Look, Ortiz, the main reason I needed you to come in is because I need your help locating someone. There’s a man in Destiny who started a dangerous fire and was seen wearing a set of gear stolen from one of the fire stations.”
The other man had been adding the packets of sugar into his coffee and stirring it, but at the mention of stolen gear, he set the cup back down on the table with a shaky hand. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“I’m not suggesting that you do. But my understanding is that, right before you quit your job as a firefighter, you’d considered taking a set of turnout gear.”
Ortiz sat up straighter. “I returned that gear and apologized to the chief. It was never something I wanted to do.”
“I believe that, and so does Chief Menendez. We know there was someone else at the station that day. A man that we suspect may have asked you to take the turnout gear. What can you tell me about him?”
Ortiz stared at the table for several moments before taking a sip of his coffee.
“I was splitting the cost of renting an apartment with this other guy. He figured out about my kleptomania when I kept showing up at home with things I’d taken from the station.
” His eyes echoed the sadness and regret he’d likely always struggle to let go of.
“He told me that if I didn’t get him a set of turnout gear, then he’d go to the chief and tell him about my illness. ”
“You didn’t want to lose your job. ”
The other man shook his head. “And I couldn’t afford for him to move out and leave me with the full cost of rent.
I figured no one would miss it, he’d stop asking, and that would be the end of it.
” He wrapped both hands around the cup. “You have to understand, I wasn’t doing well back then.
I know now that it would only have been the beginning.
He would’ve kept asking me to take things.
Getting caught meant the end of my dream career, but I’m glad it happened that way.
I never would’ve gotten the help I needed if it hadn’t. ”
Clint could tell the guy was genuine, but it was also clear that he was leaving the name of his roommate out on purpose. Combine that omission with the way he was picking at the edge of his paper cup, and he was clearly getting uncomfortable.
Paris took a drink of his own coffee and leaned forward in a way that made his questions seem more conversational.
“The man we’re looking for now shot a firefighter, and he’s still threatening others.
We need to find him and stop him before he hurts anyone else.
There are some parallels between our suspect and your old roommate.
It would be a huge help if you could give me his name.
If it’s not him, then we’ll rule him out and be on our way.
But if it is, you could be saving lives. ”
“Look, I want to help you. Trust me, I do. But I need your promise that you won’t say a word about me to him. I don’t want him to know I’m involved, whether he’s your guy or not.”
“You have my word. Your name will never come up.” Paris stretched out his hand.
Ortiz studied him a moment before clasping the detective’s hand and giving it a shake. “His name was Rick Castor. I’m going to warn you, though, I’m not so sure that’s his real name. I once heard an acquaintance of his call him Jake. I never knew for sure either way.”
“That’s a huge help, Domingo, thank you. Could you describe Rick for me?”
Ortiz leaned back into his chair for the first time since he’d set foot in the interrogation room. Clint could only assume that being able to help Detective Paris had finally put him at ease.
“He was about my height—five eight. Brown hair, brown eyes. Really, he was just your average guy. No tattoos or scars that I ever noticed.”
“Do you happen to know where he is now?”
Ortiz shook his head. “No. He’d moved out of the apartment completely by the time I got back there that same night. I ended up having to move myself within a month. I haven’t seen him since that night at the fire station.”
“All right. Thanks again, Mr. Ortiz. I truly appreciate your time. If you’ll give me just a moment, I’ll find Officer Carrington and have him take you home.”
Ortiz was escorted out of the station, and Detective Paris thanked Dr. Gerard for his expertise. The detective turned to Clint. “I’m going to have IT do a search for Rick Castor and cross-reference that name with the list of call-outs that Chief Menendez gave us. See if we can’t get a hit.”
“That sounds like a good plan.” Clint checked his watch.
It was nearly one o’clock. He really wanted to get over to the hospital and check on Leslie.
Besides, if she was even half as hungry as he was, they both needed to get something to eat.
“I’d like to stick close to Leslie this afternoon.
Between going to the warehouse and speaking with Ortiz, we may be dangerously close to disturbing the wasp’s nest.”
“Agreed. I spoke with Chief Dolman earlier. You’ve worked a lot of extra hours lately. Don’t worry about coming back to the station until tomorrow.”
Knowing that he wouldn’t have to leave Leslie’s side for the rest of the day made him feel a whole lot better. They may have gotten a slew of potential information about the shooter today, and hopefully it will eventually lead to an ID and an arrest. With any luck, they could wrap this up soon.
For now, though, Leslie was still in danger. For all they knew, the shooter could be right under their noses.
Clint had just dropped something off at his desk and was writing something down on his calendar when a shadow fell over his desk. He looked up to find Officer Mari Smith with a tense look on her face.
“I’m sorry to interrupt. We just got a call into dispatch.
One of Leslie Granger’s neighbors heard a commotion out on the street in front of her house and called it in.
A patrol responded immediately from a block over.
When they arrived, they found someone had taken a baseball bat to Leslie’s car window and left something inside. ”
Detective Paris’s jaw tightened. “I’m heading over there now.”
“Leslie’s at the hospital visiting Bracken. I’ll pick her up, and we’ll be there as soon as possible.”
Worry tightened around Clint’s chest like a vice. He couldn’t believe this guy smashed Leslie’s car in broad daylight. He was either getting bolder or becoming desperate.
Neither was a good thing.