Page 58 of Fire and Bones

“Asian female.”

That took me off guard.

“What?”

“The hair in the fecal matter came from an Asian female.”

“You’re sure?”

Bluestein didn’t bother to respond.

“Thanks, Artie.”

“You’re welcome. Shall I email the report?”

“Please.”

I stood a moment, totally baffled. Was repocketing the phone when it sounded another incoming call.

Ivy Doyle.

“Can’t talk.” Sounding rushed. “I’ll be home for a bit before my eleven o’clock. Wondered if I should bring takeout. Wednesday is Lan’s night off.”

Thank God. The woman did get time to herself.

“Please don’t bother—”

“It’s no bother. I’ve been AWOL and it will be nice to catch up. Do you like Greek?”

“Love it.”

“See ya!”

I expected gyros on pita with fries.

As usual, Doyle had gone all out.

Feta-brined roasted chicken. Braised lamb shanks. Lemon broth poached asparagus. Goat cheese smashed potatoes. And, of course, baklava.

We exchanged updates as we ate.

Doyle had zip. Was still researching W-C Commerce. I suspected Big Ben was the distraction causing her lack of progress.

The night was warm and Potomac-basin sultry, so we took our pastries to a deck at the back of the house. Using her mobile, Doyle put Sinatra on the audio system. It was pleasant watching day yield to night as Frank crooned and June bugs body-slammed the screening around us. For a while we said nothing.

Old Blue Eyes was singing about strangers in the night when we began discussing the arson examiner, Lubu Burgos. Neither of us had much confidence in the guy. Burgos was convinced the Foggy Bottom fire had been deliberately set. Had it? We both sensed his investigation had been cursory. Were we right? Or was our judgment clouded by our impression that the man was a jerk.

The Foggy Bottom building was more than a hundred years old, a tinderbox of dry timbers, untreated plywood, ancient appliances, and outdated wiring. Might the fire have been accidental?

We considered multiple possibilities.

Was the blaze triggered by a spark from a socket? A gas leak? A faulty circuit? An overloaded breaker? An ash from a carelessly discarded cigarette or joint?

Burgos consistently refused to explain how he’d ruled each of these out. Had shared only that the place was definitely being used as an illegal Airbnb.

Though loath to reveal her source, Doyle viewed the meth tip as valid. That led to a new pathway of speculation.

Might the building have been torched by a rival drug dealer? Might the lab have exploded due to sloppy cooking protocol? Faulty equipment?