Page 103 of Fire and Bones

“So, what’s the grudge?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Rags retaliated in some way? This is senseless. I hate conjecture.”

“Fine. But you do grasp my point? At least tell me you grasp my point.”

“The cops should be looking into the Warrings.”

“Thank you,” she said, appeased.

“Deery says he did that and found nothing linking the name Warring to the fires.”

“Uh-huh.” Doyle’s tone was beyond dubious.

I segued to my news.

“I may have another angle on the parking decal.”

“Willie T. Pope was a bust.”

“Maybe not. Did you notice the rubble piled beside Pope’s house?”

Doyle nodded.

“Residents of Montgomery County need temporary permits for contractors doing long-term construction or repairs at their homes.”

“You’re thinking Pope obtained the decal for a worker’s vehicle?”

“A worker’s piss-yellow Camry.”

Doyle’s mouth reshaped into a balance between optimism and doubt.

“It’s an interesting possibility,” she said.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“How about you chase down the decal while I contact my guy at the Cathedral Heights station.”

I checked the time. Seven-twenty.

“Did we get a phone number for Pope?”

“If she has a landline, that shouldn’t be hard. And someone should brief Deery and Burgos.”

Before I could suggest she make those calls, Doyle had disappeared.

“Pope residence.”

“It’s Tempe Brennan, Ms. Pope. My friend Ivy and I visited you earlier today?”

“How did you get my number?”

“It’s listed.”

“Well don’t that beat all.”

“It’s standard unless you specifically ask to opt out.”

“Phone hardly rings except for my nephew. He’s the one insists I need the thing. Thinks I’m going to fall on my keester and crack my skull.”