Some of that is investigating, some is talking to people, and some is just staring into space and thinking, and then jotting those thoughts into my notebook.
Brady had an accomplice in town. That is a fact. There is absolutely no way someone coincidentally set fire to that shed when Brady was out of the cell. His accomplice put poison in his food, enough to make him violently ill. That gets Brady out of the cell and into the clinic, which was exactly the scenario I expected the moment I saw him throwing up. Not this old chestnut--prisoner fakes illness to get to a less secure environment. Except he hadn't been faking. He'd gone the extra step and let himself be poisoned.
From there, I'd supplied Brady with a hostage. A nurse at his bedside. Then his accomplice sets the fire and Brady grabs Val as insurance to get him out of town.
Next Brady knows the wolf-dog is near that spot. He poisons her--and kills her poor cubs--to slow us down. It also gives him an "excuse" for Val not being there, in case we catch up with him. He couldn't exactly leave her with a frothing canine, right?
And the sniper? It could very well have been his accomplice, hoping to convince us Brady was in danger. Or hoping to scatter us so he could rescue him.
As a hypothesis, this solidifies Brady's guilt. He is a monster. A killer.
But it's only a hypothesis. The assassin might have come from his stepfather. That would give Brady reason to panic. Then Brady enlisted a local mercenary of his own, with promises of rich reward.
Was Kenny that local mercenary? He is just about to leave, and he'll need money. Still, when I consider him as a suspect, I feel sick. I won't interview Kenny until both Dalton and Anders are back. The point is that Brady has a confederate in Rockton, and it doesn't matter right now if it's Kenny or . . .
There's another possibility. One person that I know suspects Brady is innocent. The one who delivered that petition. Also the one who came running to notify us of the fire. Jen.
Too much to think about. It's a puzzle of configuration, and each piece in it has two sides--guilt or innocence--and the meaning changes depending on which side I place up. If Brady is innocent, then x. If he is a monster, then y. Two ways of looking at everything, leading to two ways of investigating.
Stop. Focus.
Take it apart. Look at the trees, not the forest. That's what my first detective partner taught me. There are times when, yes, it's good to step back and see the whole. But there are also times in police work when you must focus on the minutiae. On the trees. On one puzzle piece. Figure out where that fits and that'll help you find where another goes. Get a few of those done and then step back, or you'll go crazy with possibilities, each configuration sending the investigation spiraling in a new direction.
Focus.
Start with the fire.
The problem with determining the cause of a fire? The evidence has gone up in smoke. Which is why there are trained experts for this--experts who are not police detectives. But I am every investigator in Rockton, and this is one of the many areas I've been researching. I've always been a believer in lifelong learning. I took every course my department would send me on. Learned every new technique. Subscribed to every journal. Attended every local conference on my own dime, even as my colleagues rolled their eyes and said, "We hire experts for that, Casey." True. I did not need to know anything about forensic anthropology, because I wouldn't ever be the person analyzing buried remains. But I wanted to know. And now I am that person. Jack-of-all-trades, feeling truly master of none.
Arson investigation.
I evaluate the scene. Document it. Process the evidence.
This time, the building has been saved. There's damage, but it can be repaired. And it doesn't take much investigating to know it's arson. The smell of kerosene gives it away, as it did the last time.
It is an arson easily set by anyone with any knowledge of wood and access to kerosene. Which really doesn't narrow it down in Rockton.
Dalton comes back ahead of the others. A dripping black rug trails behind him with a look that is unconvincingly contrite.
"Got too close to the lake, didn't you?" I call as I walk toward them.
Dalton only sighs.
"We need to take her there more often," I say, "so the siren's call of water is a little more resistible."
"I'm not sure it ever will be. Been thinking of buying one of those pools."
"The plastic kiddie ones? She's a little big for that." I gingerly pat her wet head, and she slumps happily.
"I mean the ones you set up," he says. "The bigger pools."
"Then we'll have to keep the humans out of it."
"If they want to swim in dog fur, they can go ahead. Just make a rule: you use it; you clean it."
He walks over. I take his hand to examine it, but he wraps his fingers around mine, holding tight. His expression is calm, as if he's just returned from a walk in the woods, but his tight grip tells me the rest.
"Not a trace," he says. "Storm did well. She found the trail out of town and followed it along the path. They turned off before the spot with the wolf-dog."