A Perfect Match

"I saw this at Amanda's memorial," he says, and hands me a picture. It is a picture of who I will assume is Amanda Hopkins building a snowman with a little boy I also assume is her son.

"So what?" I ask, and he points to the top of the picture in the background. "What am I looking at?"

"Marlene drove an orange mustang," he says, and I scoff.

"A lot of people drive orange mustangs. Forty seconds."

"Marlene is still in the car," he says, and I squint a little. He is really reaching here. "Blonde Caucasian female. That is Marlene."

"Chase, you want it to be Marlene," I say, and he groans and goes back to his office. "Chase."

"I still got thirty seconds," Chase says, and comes back with a few more pictures. "These are stills I took from a video of them arriving at the park. The mustang pulls in a minute after they do but loiters before taking a parking space. Look at the license plate."

Chase got her license plate? Now I am curious so look at it. Even out of focus I can see it is a plate from this state. The numbers and letters are blurry, but if I had something to compare them to, I could take the leap.

"What's her license plate number?" I ask.

"N-A-V-2-1-7," Chase says. I look at the blurry plate, and I see it too. I actually fucking see it. "If you tell me right now, I'm seeing what I want to see, I will shred everything I have and..." he says, before I interrupt him with a kiss.

"Get this fucking bitch," I say as my seal of permission.

"Thank you," Chase says and hugs me. I hold him tightly and feel his dick from behind the towel.

"Is it a murder case yet?" I tease.

"Nope," Chase says, and picks me up to carry me into the shower with him.

I am stripped naked in a heartbeat and I restart the water to get it hot again. Before we step in, I suck his dick for a minute to get it firm. When he is up, we step into the shower and he fucks me from behind with the water flowing down my back. His hands squeeze my hips to pull me into him. My hands are pressed to the wall to keep me from jutting forward.

I wasn't expecting anything more than a quickie, and we really don't have the leisure to take our time. Sometimes though, a good hard fast fuck is all you need. The kind of sex where you don't even care if you orgasm. Chase pulls out at the last second, and he starts jerking himself onto my back. Before he releases, I drop down to finish him off with my mouth. I wait until he is finished, then resume sucking him, pushing his cum out and back onto his cock.

Twenty minutes later I am dressed in work clothes like a professional, and not like a woman who just sucked the cum out of my boyfriend's dick.

-

My inbox is already full when I arrive at my desk for the larceny cases of the day. Let's see what I have to deal with today.

One purse snatcher. Three burglaries. One report of Identity Fraud.

I open the purse snatcher case and start with the woman's initial interview with the patrol officer she managed to flag down. Described a black male - she's elderly so her language was more colorful - with a shaved bald head in a white hoody. I'm sure we'll crack this case by lunch. Sarcasm.

Burglary where a home entertainment system was reported stolen. Damage on the door suggests the suspects pried it open with a crowbar or similar object. No home security system. Neighbors on both sides were not home. There is a conspicuous boot print left on the carpet, but not much to go off.

"Morning Hill," I hear a voice say. Sergeant Frank Blanchard sits at his desk next to mine with a cup of coffee in his hand.

Sergeant Blanchard looks the part of a detective. Business casual wardrobe with long but presentable blond hair and some stubble. He's been on the force longer than anyone in the department, including the lieutenant. I am two inches taller than him without heels.

Looking the part, is completely different than acting the part. He is a tired lifer who is coasting to retirement in a few months. Every chance he has to give me his work, he takes. He always has some important Sergeant stuff to do. I know he's full of shit, because I get to go home to a Sergeant who tells me how full of shit he is. And he's my partner and supervisor. Fuck my life.

"Morning," I say politely.

"Anything good?" he asks.

"Nope. Normal stuff," I say.

"Let's have a look," he says and pulls a file off his desk. "This guy done fucked up." What adult talks like that?

"How?" I ask, though I really don't care.

"Numb nuts thought it would be a great idea to avoid a registration tag expiration by stealing someone else's license plate. That's a new one," he says, and I actually laugh a little. "Turns out the guy he stole it from, had warrants out for parking tickets. Fucking morons."

"He in custody?" I ask.

"Third precinct has him. You just came from three, right?" he asks.

"Second," I reply. For the hundredth time. This guy never listens.

The city has four precincts and HQ that split the city into five zones. Division of Investigations is located at HQ, except a special drug task force of Narcotics at Precinct One. Word around had it Chief Whitaker is going to merge Violent Crime, Homicide, and Missing Persons all into a single entity and give them the entire sixth floor and move narcotics to the fifth. The other Precincts are patrol hubs and local lock ups.

"I'm going to head down and interview him. I got a feeling this guy is trying to hide more than just an expired tag," he says and stands up again. See what I mean about he has some Sergeant stuff to do? He will kick the can in three, two, one. "If you got some spare time after your pile, you mind hitting mine?" Called it.

"Sure thing," I say, and he leaves without another word. Fuck my life.

I finish the second case on my desk and then look at his. Before I open the next one, an email dings in my inbox. Turning to the computer, I see it isn't my main work laptop. It's the other computer for fraud.

We have a separate system for fraud so if we're fishing a scammer, we don't compromise our servers. That email went off. I roll my chair over to it and see the possible scammer has replied. It is an IRS scammer I've been trying to get for the last week. I don't recall the IRS ever collecting taxes through gift cards and Western Union. I cannot believe anyone ever falls for this.

I have said I would send the money through a Western Union near my location, then sent them an email with a link to the location. The link also traces their IP address if they're dumb enough to click on it. They usually are. I have done this dozens of times, and most of the scammers I get are from Nigeria or somewhere else in Africa. I then wrap this up into a report and submit it to the FBI, Secret Service, and IRS, who then do nothing with it.

"Blanchard?" Lieutenant Paula Northam asks from her door. "Where the fuck did he go?"

Lieutenant Northam is the polar opposite of Blanchard. A female career fast tracker who was promoted to Lieutenant before he even made Sergeant. Has been on the force for seventeen years and is not slowing down. Tall and attractive, with a reputation of dating a few people, but no one assumes she slept her way up.

"Talk to a guy who got rolled up for stealing a license plate," I answer, and she doesn't know what to make of that.

"Why?" Paula asks.

"Thinks he's hiding something else," I say, and she just slowly shakes her head.

"I'll deal with him later. You up for an Arson?" she asks. You're damn right I am.

"Yes ma'am," I say, and she smiles with a nod.

"Start heading out. I'll text you the address by the time you get to your car," she says, and I send the email from the fraud laptop before grabbing my jacket off my chair.

My phone alerts me of a message when I leave the elevator at the parking garage. Looks like I'm going back to zone three as well.

-

Friday - May 15, 2026

-Shane Watts-

It's seven in the morning, and it is finally looking like we've gotten this fire out. We received the emergency call at about two in the morning and have been fighting it for five hours. It started on the first floor of a two-story duplex apartment complex with four units, two per floor. It burned out the entirety of the lower level, and the fire spread to the second level so fast it collapsed the ceiling within two hours. The couple upstairs evacuated before the collapse. We assume there is one fatality on the first floor.

Sitting on the bumper of the ambulance is a mother and her son. I haven't had any time to talk to them yet, but now that the fire is out, I can. I have a little time before a structural engineer can give us the green light to enter.

"Ma'am," I say, and she looks up at me. "I'm Lieutenant Watts, I need to ask you a few questions."

"Okay," she says, and sniffs a little. Every time I looked over for the last few hours she had been crying. Her initial statement was that her grandmother was in the apartment and is likely dead.

"What is your name?" I ask, and I see one of my firemen ready to transcribe the conversation.

"Kimberly Drew," she replies. "My son is Jacob Drew."

Kimberly is cute and chubby with full cheeks and bobbed dark hair. Her son is similarly plump with blond hair.

"Was this building your residence?" I ask.

"Yes," she replies. "My grandmother rented it and we lived with her. I went through a nasty breakup and we moved in about a year ago."

"Was your grandmother in the apartment?" I ask, and she nods, and starts crying again. The boy does not seem to be crying at all. He is emotionally vacant like he is in shock, or he simply does not understand what is going on.

"What was your grandmother's name?" I ask.

"Micah Xavier," she replies.

"About what time did the fire start?" I ask.

"I don't know, I was still asleep when it started. The fire had already consumed the entire living room and she was still on her chair. I could...fu..." she starts to say then looks at her son. "...freaking smell burnt flesh. It smelled like burnt hair."

"About what time?" I ask.

"Two in the morning."

"How did you wake up?" I ask.

"I heard a loud banging sound, almost like a gunshot or a small explosion," she explains.

"Is that when you called in the emergency?" I ask.

"Not yet, I ran to see what it was and saw the fire in the living room. The heat was so intense I couldn't get through the hall. We had to escape through my son's window. I went to check on the neighbors, but Glenn was already outside because he was smoking. He then got his wife out while I called," she says.

"To confirm, Glenn is the neighbor upstairs?"

"Yes, and his wife Marisa. Reynolds."

"What did the fire look like?" I ask.

"It, looked like fire. I don't really understand the question."

"Fire has a behavior. Did different parts of the room look more engulfed than the others? Was the smoke black, white, or smokeless? Was the fire red, yellow, orange, blue, or some combination? Were there prominent smells?"

Kimberly looks unsure of how to answer, but also like she is trying to remember. She likely just tried getting out of the apartment as fast as possible with her son.

"I don't really know. I wasn't gawking at it, I was just trying to get my son to safety," she explains, and I nod.

I will not be able to poke holes in her story until after a walk through, and I will not be able to do that without a structural engineer's approval. That team is already hard at work, so I should be able to get a walk through within the hour. I give permission for the two of them to leave for the hospital.

Standing near the ambulance with a separate blanket for both were a man and woman. The upstairs neighbors I assume.

Glenn Reynolds is a solid foot over his wife Marisa, but instead of using his stature to support and comfort her, they're distant. Trouble at home perhaps? Marisa pushes his hand away or moves every time he tries to touch her. They're dressed completely opposite as well. Glenn is fully dressed like he was going somewhere, and Marisa is wearing an oversized t-shirt - likely her husband's - and shorts.

"You two the Reynolds?" I ask, and they both nod. "Could you answer a few questions?"

"Really? Right now?" Marisa asks, then scoffs and turns away from me.

"Yeah, sure," Glenn says, Marisa huffing at him.

"Where were you when the fire started?"

"I was outside, smoking, just about to leave for work actually. I own a farm and...not important. I was about to leave when I saw the light illuminating from Kim's window. I thought it was a light at first, like, you know, a lamp. But then it was, like, flickering. Then I heard a pop, really loud, from inside."

"A pop?" I ask.

"Yeah, like," he says, and claps his hands loudly and makes a similar sound with his mouth at the same time.

"What did the fire look like?" I ask.

"It looked like fire," he says, though it sounded like a question.

"Was it bright? Was it more yellow, orange, red, blue," I explain.

"Yellowish orange, really bright," he says. "I saw that and went to check on Kim and Jake. They climbed out of a window to escape. I then got my wife who was still sleeping."

"Lieutenant Watts?" I hear a voice ask me, and I turn to see a woman with a detective's shied clipped to the front of her belt. She holsters her weapon on her right leg unlike the hip or shoulder holster I usually see. Dark hair with professional clothes and demeanor. Tight body and large bust, the top buttons of her blouse screaming for mercy.

"That's me," I say, and she offers a handshake.

"Detective Hill, Property Crimes. Any indication this is an arson?" she asks, and I shake my head.

"Haven't done a walk through yet. The family who lived there just left via ambulance to the hospital," I say, and she turns to the building.

"That fire looks out," she says, almost confused as to why I have not entered yet.

"Still need the all clear from an engineer," I say, and she nods in understand.

"Sir," I finally hear our engineer say. "Structure is clear for entry."

"Let's have a look. Detective, this is a potential crime scene, treat it like one. Protective gear, don't touch anything, you get it," I say to not insult her intelligence.

"How do we start?" she asks.

"First, perimeter," I say, and start at the front of the building. I have one of the firemen follow us with a camera to record the initial investigation. We have one job right now, which is to determine if this is an arson. If we have evidence to believe it is an arson, we call the State Fire Deputy who sends an investigator.

"Lieutenant Shane Watts, fire station two, beginning initial evaluation of property fire at building one-three-one-five, Lakeview Street. Date, May Fifteenth of twenty-twenty-six. Time zero eight ten. Recording the walk through is Fireman Second Grade Parker Michaels. We are joined by Detective Hill from property crimes."

"Just Lauren," she says, and I smile at her.

"Examining the entrance of the structure. Two story apartment complex with four units, two per floor, top floor directly over bottom. Entrance is on the southern end of the structure. Living room window still intact, but there is visible warping of the glass although it is not consistent, suggesting different levels of temperature. Also, indications of fractures on the glass, possibly from the small explosion the resident claims to have heard. First indication of arson. Front door closed and no scorch marks or smoke damage. Heat was primarily focused in the living room and moving further into the apartment. Less consumable fuels likely cause, will evaluate after external investigation."

I walk around the side of the building and address that I do not see any indications of fire and move to the back. A window is closed with no indications of damage. On the last side, there is an open window with minor smoke damage. The window is under the stairs that lead to the second-floor units.

"No scorching from the back windows, suggesting fire was focused in the living room. Continuing exterior walk." I walk around the other side and annotate no damage. I then go to the second floor and evaluate the upstairs neighbor's apartment exterior. "Smoke above open door frame, no scorching. No warping on the window. Fire was primarily on first floor. Ruling out second floor as origin of the fire. Proceeding to enter first floor apartment from the southern and front entrance."

I return to the first floor with Lauren. I ensure we are wearing masks, gloves, and over boots before we enter. I direct her on where she should not step.

"How do you investigate fires? We very briefly go over it on our end and are told to primarily rely on you guys," Lauren asks.

"Start from the least damaged parts, and work your way in toward the middle," I reply and step through the front door. There is a small wall to the right of the door between the living room and hallway. I cite this as a possible reason as to why the fire damage was minimal toward the door and no scorch marks. Much of the carpet in the hallway looks surprisingly intact, suggesting it did not spread that far and was mostly in the living room. It could be an electrical fire in the living room.

I pass the wall and look toward the living room, and see it is completely gone. This room was so utterly destroyed it collapsed the ceiling to the second floor, so another massive pile of burnt junk is everywhere. The fire in here was intense, but it did not spread to the rest of the floor. The carpet alone was not adequate fuel. The first few feet beyond the hall is burnt, but nothing after that. The carpet might be fire retardant.

"Recommend determination if carpet has an aluminum hydroxide or similar fire-retardant solution. This additive could have prevented spread," I say and move further down the hall. Bathroom door was shut, and I see indications the smoke seeped under the door, but no burn damage. I see the same for the two rooms. Both doors were left open, but the door to the son's room indicates the window was open which allowed ventilation. This might be the only reason the fire did not die faster because it had a supply of oxygen. The son's room is on the west side of the apartment next to the bathroom, and the mother's is on the North. The mother's room has more smoke damage because her window was shut.

I annotate the lack of fire damage for the rooms and then proceed with Lauren to the living room and kitchen area. The first few linoleum tiles of the kitchen had begun to curl and melt, but stopped two tiles in. The wood of the counters is burned only on the side facing the living room, and the char damage did not burn through the wood. All the plastic Tupperware in the cabinets had melted into their neatly stacked selves. Nothing in the kitchen suggests it started here either.

"All other areas of the structure do not have indications of origin, beginning evaluation of living space," I say and start looking at the living room with full attention.

"The fire was intense enough to cause structural instability of the upper floor which led to collapse. However, there is no apparent adequate fuel source within the living room. Carpet is likely fire retardant. Cabinets likely have a fire-retardant staining with material already having a high flash point," I say, and step around debris from the collapse. It looks like the living room from above fell in. I see normal living room furniture sprawled around and burned at different rates if at all. It looks like part of the fire could have even been smothered by the collapse.

"Fire was intense, but isolated," I say, and start trying to find the true floor of the room. I see clear indications of heavier scorching in certain areas of the room, and I can see residual scorching that looked crispy. Like someone took a sponge, covered it in soot and spackled it around the walls. This doesn't look like an explosion, more like a short-lived flash fire. If the ceiling did not collapse, it likely would have snuffed itself out.