Page 55 of Ink and Ashes

Holland

A fter the crew leaves, I head upstairs to the conference room.

My anxiety grows with each step I take, wondering what the arsonist’s angle is at this point.

Given the number of fires he’s set for the team to fight over the past few days, it’s clear that he’s leading up to his endgame.

I’ve been trying to figure out what that’s going to be, but still not knowing who’s responsible for them doesn’t make that any easier.

I’ve been watching the crew closely over the past few days.

While some have had days off here and there, no one’s time off has overlapped with the exact moments of the fires.

Which means the arsonist is either setting them in places they won’t be seen quickly and then calling them in when he gets here, or he’s using some kind of incendiary device.

We’ve found traces of candles at the scene of every decoy fire, and I know the arsonist is doing it intentionally now to toy with us. None of these fires have burned long enough to melt the candle completely, so we’ve been finding more than just the tabs.

There was another dumpster fire yesterday, and we found an entire unburned pillar candle around the corner from it.

But it turned out the cause of that fire was simply a match thrown inside, which leads me to question whether he’s actually been using candles as his form of ignition this whole time, or if he’s been leaving them at the scene of each crime for another reason.

Since realizing last week at the station’s barbecue that maybe the Welland Ranch fire and the apartment fire are related to these ones, I’ve poured my all into figuring out how.

As it turns out, every five years since Welland Ranch burned down, Ember Grove has faced a fire worse than the ones they’ve seen in the past. Most have been wildfires that were just extra stubborn or larger than the ones in the years previous, but there have been a few structure fires too.

First at an old warehouse on the outskirts of town, then at the local grocery store.

No one was injured in either of those, and they happened fifteen and twenty years ago respectively, so I didn’t make the connection before now.

From what I can see, it seems like the arsonist—whoever they are—has been returning to the area every five years like clockwork to set a fire. It started five years to the day after the Welland Ranch burned down, and it’s continued on that same pattern every year.

Five years ago was the year Colson’s apartment building burned, exactly one week prior to the twenty-fifth anniversary since the Welland fire. I’d be willing to bet that the arsonist started that fire too, and with it being the first one to result in a death, it must’ve set something off in him.

That’s the only explanation I’ve been able to come up with for why this year has been so much worse.

I set my stuff up in the conference room, my mind stuck on Colson and the apartment fire as I do.

I hate that we left things the way we did, and I hate even more that sharing that information sent him into a panic.

If I could go back and keep it to myself longer, I would.

I thought it would be important for him to know, but with only an inkling of a suspicion that it’s connected, all it did was hurt him.

I knew it wouldn’t be easy for him to hear, but that’s the last thing I intended for.

But there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’ll talk to him about it more when he gets back, and hopefully we can finally get to the bottom of this.

Pulling out my laptop, I open it to the document I’ve been keeping of the details of the investigation so far. I have everything on here—from evidence we’ve found, to the locations and timeline of the fires, to an in-depth breakdown of everyone who could possibly be a suspect and why.

If only everyone here knew just how much I now know about them.

From their mothers’ maiden names to their criminal histories, I know just about every detail about all of the volunteers for EGFD.

I still haven’t found anything substantial enough to believe any of them are responsible, but I won’t stop digging until I do.

Since Finn’s funeral, I’ve backed off slightly.

I haven’t been in to question anyone since the fire, and I’ve been keeping my findings to myself rather than sharing every little detail with Colson.

He knows I still believe it’s someone in this firehouse who’s responsible, but he’s had so much on his plate in the past few weeks, I haven’t wanted to burden him with more when nothing I have is concrete.

He’s stopped asking about it too. He knows if I have anything to share, I will.

But I don’t want to give him more reason to distrust his colleagues when the team is hanging on by a thread as it is.

Brian Finnegan was the heart of this firehouse, and with him gone and Ollie benched while he heals, the tension has been high around here.

We’ve managed to keep quiet about the idea that the arsonist is a firefighter, but everyone knows something is up.

They’ve all been at each other’s throats, and I can’t tell if it’s because they’re all suspicious of one another, or if it’s just them trying to cope with the loss of a teammate and friend.

With a sigh, I stand and make my way to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. The stuff here isn’t nearly as good as the coffee from Cedar Lane, but I can’t be bothered to drive over there just to come back again.

With my mug in hand, I head back to the conference room. In the five minutes I was gone, a new email came through. It’s from a sender I don’t recognize, and the subject has my eyes widening.

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

SUBJECT: Arson Suspect

Dear Miss Rhodes,

I’m a deputy with the Enderby Police Department. I recently came across your article speculating arson within the town of Ember Grove, and I wanted to pass some information along to you.

We had a similar situation here many years ago, and I’m not sure if this will be any help, but we did find the person responsible before he vanished.

He was going by the name Owen Williams at the time he was here.

He’d been working as a volunteer firefighter and was only here for a short time before he moved on.

After corresponding with a few other towns in the lower Okanagan region, we suspected the same person was responsible for fires dating back nearly two decades, and he had aliases in each town he visited.

Walker Quinn, Michael West, Wyatt Murphy, and Nolan Wood are the other ones we know of. We never did learn his real name.

I’ve attached an article from our town paper with a witness sketch. Unfortunately, we don’t have much else on him, as he was always careful about covering his tracks and never stayed in one town for more than a couple months.

I can’t guarantee this is the man responsible for the fires down there, but I hope this article helps you find whoever is. Based on the knowledge I have of him, he’s been doing this for many years, and it’s about time someone brings him to justice.

All the best in your investigation, and be safe.

Sincerely,

Deputy Melissa Moony

Enderby Police Department

I roll my lips together as I finish reading, and when I click the attachment, a scanned copy of the article from the Enderby Chronicles opens on the screen in front of me.

Who is Owen Williams? Suspect in recent arson investigation is the title, and when I scroll down, I’m met with a sketch of a man that looks awfully familiar to one I’ve come to know by a different name.

My stomach bottoms out as I recall the note Colson’s dad received. Joseph Welland is still alive. I quickly navigate to the search engine, finding a picture of Joseph Welland from right after his family died, then pull up the sketch.

“Holy shit,” I say out loud. Side-by-side, there are clear similarities, and I’m honestly not sure how I didn’t see it sooner. My eyes widen, disbelief coursing through me as I pick up my phone and dial Colson’s number. I pace the conference room, muttering to myself before getting his voicemail.

“Fuck.” After the beep, I start talking. “Colson… I know you’re busy and now is the worst time for me to be calling you, but…” I trail off, shaking my head. This isn’t the kind of news I want to deliver over the phone. “Please just give me a call back when you get this. I know who the arsonist is.”

“And who might that be?” I hear from behind me as I hang up the phone. Startled, I spin around, trying to calm my rapid heartbeat.

Except when I see who’s talking to me, it only increases.

“Oh, hi, sir…” I clear my throat, trying to muster a smile as I hold up my phone. “Sorry. I, um, just need to talk to Colson.”

“I heard you on the phone,” he says. He takes a step closer, forcing me to take a step back. “You said you know who the arsonist is. Who is it?”

“Um…” I hesitate, glancing around the room for something to use as a weapon, spotting only my laptop, a pen, and a stack of papers sitting on the table.

He takes another step toward me.

Exhaling deeply, I force myself to remember who I am. I’ve been in situations like this before, and I know how to handle myself. I’m not going to let another man walk all over me.

“Sir, you’re making me uncomfortable, and I need to ask you to leave before I call the police.”

He laughs, taking another step closer. I inhale sharply, my back pressed against the window overlooking the bay, praying the crew will drive back through the doors.

“Who. Is. The. Arsonist. Rothwell?”

Hearing my given surname on his lips has every alarm going off in my head. There are only three other people here besides Colson and Dom who know what my true identity is—Mary, Emmett, and the arsonist, seeing as they’re the one who left the articles in my room at the inn.

Which only confirms my suspicion that it’s the man standing in front of me.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he growls. “Say it.”

My tongue darts out over my lips as he moves closer to me, and panic begins to set in. I curse myself for allowing him to have power over me. I curse myself for getting into this position. I curse myself for my inability to keep my mouth shut.

Because unless the crew drives through the door in the next thirty seconds, something bad is going to happen.

And yet, I don’t stop myself from whispering, “You are.”

A wicked smile creeps onto his face, and before I can even blink, I feel a sharp pinch—like a needle.

The last thing I see are icy blue eyes as mine fall shut.