Smoke still wreathed up from the remains of the house. There was little left of it to be honest and all Young could do was wait for the fire and crime scene investigators to finish now. And for the feds to arrive, no doubt there would be someone here from the FBI today. This was the fifth fire in as many weeks; he'd called them in two days ago and phoned again as soon as he got the call last night.
The snow had melted away around the wreckage but he was still standing in three inches of churned up grey slush and there was a foot or more further away where it hadn't been churned up by the fire department and himself and his deputies.
He sighed, watching as TJ and the other paramedic removed the one intact body from the back yard. Mr Caine had evidently managed to escape the building somehow but the combination of smoke inhalation and burns had killed him before the fire department had arrived on the scene. At least that was the working hypothesis.
Matt and Vanessa his deputies were talking to a shocked Andrea Palmer. She was sat in the doorway of the patrol car. Wrapped in a blanket with a thermos cup of coffee. Poor woman was Caine's sister, lived not quarter of a mile away and had discovered the disaster when she'd seen it out of her back door. Her brother's house, burning.
Young remembered when they were kids, he'd been friends with the Caines back then, and they'd sat on the Caines' back porch with a set of binoculars waving signals to the Andersons in the house the Palmers now lived in.
TJ walked over to him and he turned away from the smoking wreckage to face her.
"Any sign of the family?" She asked.
He shook his head, taking off his hat and running fingers through his hair.
"Fire department only just let the crime scene investigators in." He said. He sighed. "If they were in there though, then there's no hope."
She pressed her lips together and put a hand on his arm in sympathy.
"You were friends?"
"Went to school with Rob and with Janey, though she was Janey O'Hara back then." He nodded at Andrea Palmer. "Andrea was a couple years below us."
"Small place, Destiny." Said TJ.
Young nodded.
"It's been a tough year." He said. "Too many bad things. This town's had a run of bad luck."
He shivered reflexively despite the thick jacket and put the hat back on. TJ stood for a moment, then patted his arm.
"Look," she said. "We'd better get Mr Caine's body back to the hospital, but," she paused, "I know this has been hard, and...if you want to chat, just a coffee, then I'd be grateful for the company myself."
He looked at her, a little taller than him, very blond, very pretty, a good deal younger than him. Half his mind was saying no, don't burn your bridges, Emily might come back. The other half told him he was lonely, should take up the offer, it was just a coffee, just a chat. She was new, not a lot of friends, certainly no one else who would understand the kind of stress a job like hers, or his, involved. He nodded slowly.
"That'd be good." He said. "Maybe...are you working tomorrow?"
"Today tomorrow, or tomorrow tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow tomorrow."
She shook her head. He took the plunge.
"What about lunch?" he said.
Lunch was good, lunch was safe, friendly but not too intimate.
She smiled.
"I'd like that. Shall I meet you?"
He smiled in return.
"Why don't you come by the office around midday."
They said their goodbyes and she walked back over to where Cole, the other paramedic, was waiting. Young watched as they shut the back door, got in and drove off, slush flying up from the wheels of the ambulance.
He sighed and walked over to his car. This fire was exactly the same as the last, just over a week ago. Luckily in that case the family had all got out, the Dunning family dogs had woken them barking.
The Baras family hadn't been so lucky. Nor had the Franklins. Jeremy was still in a coma in hospital, the only survivor being little Luke who had been staying over at a friends. Poor kid.
Six families wrecked.
In a town as small as Destiny everyone knew everyone. Hell, half the town was related to the other half. His deputy Matt Scott and Becky Deacon who managed the office for them were double cousins, their parents having been two siblings marrying two siblings. There wasn't a person unaffected by tragedy.
The sky in the east was beginning to lighten and he decided to leave Matt and Vanessa to mind the scene and get back to the office, start on the paperwork, pick up the inevitable calls. There wasn't anything else he could do here immediately, and they could keep an eye on the crime scene and arson investigators as well as he could. He scratched the stubble on his chin and realised how filthy he was. It had been a long night.
Matt was still talking to Andrea, but Vanessa saw him shifting, turning towards the car and walked over. He paused and waited for her.
"Going back to the office?" she asked.
He nodded.
"I'll get started on the reports. Catch a couple hours sleep and then come back. You reckon you can make it through till lunchtime?"
She nodded.
"I can always trade off a couple hours sleep in the car with Matt." She said.
He nodded.
"Ring if anything comes up."
She nodded and for a moment he almost thought she was going to salute, but she gave him a humourless grin and turned back to the scene. Vanessa was an unusual sort in Destiny. She'd had a hankering to see the world and a bigger hankering to get out from under the thumb of her poor but god fearing mother and, for want of cash or much of an education, had joined the Marines. She'd been gone for a few years and he knew she had served in Afghanistan although she hadn't shared details. Eventually, her term up she had drifted back to Destiny and looked for something to do. Young was ex-military himself, he knew what it was like to come out without a destination in sight and had offered her the job when Lewis had retired, she was smart, alert, knew her way round a gun (every weapon he'd ever seen her with) and had a talent for defusing crises.
The only small issue had been her previous relationship with Matt, and there was history there he hadn't pried into either, but they seemed to have ironed that out.
He unlocked the car, got in and left.
It was about six AM when he got back to the office in town. He pulled into the small lot in front and parked up. The lights were on, meaning that Becky was already in. Officially she didn't start until half eight but no doubt she'd been woken up by someone to break the news. He walked through the front door. Becky was sat at the front desk, typing. She looked up as he walked in.
"Is it bad?" she asked.
He nodded.
"All of them?"
"Looks that way."
She looked away and he gave her a moment to collect herself.
"The forms are on your desk." She said finally. "I pulled the files again, and there's a message on the answer phone from an Agent Wray saying she'll be here first thing. I've made her up the spare desk and found her a couple of drawers for her papers."
He nodded gratefully, and walked through the hatch in the counter, patting her on the shoulder as he walked past. There was a small noise as he did so, and looking down he could see baby Oliver sleeping in his carry cot on the floor. Too early for her mom to have taken him like she usually did, he guessed. He walked on through. The office smelled of coffee and he could see a paper wrapped parcel on his desk. He left it for the moment and walked into the washroom, wedging the door closed with the trashcan and stripping to the waist to wash the soot and the smell of smoke away. It didn't completely fix it, but it was an improvement. A quick trip to his desk and he returned with a disposable razor and a clean shirt from the emergency supply. Cleaner and shaved he felt a lot more human. The battered sofa in the back of the office was calling him but he ignored it and sat down at his desk.
The paper wrapped parcel turned out to be ham on rye and a cup of strong coffee had appeared next to it by the time he got out of the washroom. He sat down and ate it while he started to make sense of the notes he'd already taken and tried to fill out the report as far as possible.
He only looked up when the bell attached to the front door jangled and he looked up to see it open and a well dressed woman in a sharp suit, followed by a slightly ferrety looking man walked in. The feds, definitely the feds. He stood and walked over.
"Hi, I'm Young."
"Agent Camile Wray, this is Agent Brody. You called in for some assistance with your serial arsonist."
He held out his hand.
"Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise."
She was Chinese American, well spoken, her pant suit probably cost more than he paid Becky in a month, but he noted she had sensible footwear for the season and terrain and the winter coat she had over her arm looked about right. Not entirely ignorant of what to expect out here then.
Brody wasn't as neatly dressed, a slightly shifty looking type Young thought, probably smart though. He looked around the office rather than making eye contact.
"Come through." Invited Young, lifting the flap. "Coffee? Have you eaten?"
"Coffee would be ideal," said Wray. "And no."
Becky turned from the counter.
"Becker will have opened up by now." She said. "I'll get him to send something over from the diner. IS there anything you don't like?"
They both shook their heads.
"Spend enough time travelling like this and you get used to eating whatever is put in front of you." Said Brody a little darkly.
Young snorted.
"I know that one. This is Becky Deacon who runs the office for us," he introduced her, "if there's anything you need, she's the one to go to."
Becky smiled.
"I've got you rooms booked at the local motel." She said. "It's not too bad."
"Thank you." Wray said and turned back to Young. "Where do we set up?"
Young stepped back and gestured to the spare desk and the table in the back of the room.
"It's not much," he said, "but you've got what space we've got. I've put the files so far on your desk for you to review."
"Fine, that where we'll start then."
They sat down and started on the files. He knew the contents by heart. Five fires, in five homes, fourteen dead, a further seven survivors, of which two were still in the hospital, no motive and little evidence. The town was scared, very scared. He poured coffees and passed over the sandwiches when they arrived, going back to finishing his report. They barely looked up to thank him, intent on the information in front of them.
The work finished, he excused himself, told them to wake him if they needed him, and crashed out on the sofa in back.