A Perfect Match

"I got a slot at the NCFI for the task force, if I want it," I say, and he says congratulations. "Why didn't you take it?"

"It wasn't my bust," he says.

"A lot of cops take credit for other people's work," I say, and he laughs.

"Well, I don't. Reason one, it's just a dick move. Reason two, everyone knows I'm lazy so no one will believe it," he says, and I laugh this time. "Hill, I'm already fifty. I'm old, I started my career after the Air Force. I don't have the stamina or demeanor for a place like that. Also, I already have a private security gig lined up for after retirement. I don't need to fuck someone even if I was the guy who could."

Frank is lazy, but he isn't a dick.

"Should I take it?" I ask, and he's uncertain as to why I wouldn't. "I mean, I just became a detective. Do I have the experience for that? Also, Chase and I have just started talking about moving in together, and other things, and I just...this is a great opportunity at a bad time."

"You never imagined you'd have to decide between a relationship and your career, huh?" Lieutenant Northam asks, and I look at her. "It sucks. What matters more to you?"

Statistically, I shouldn't be where I am. Most kids who age out in foster care end up homeless, in prison, or dead. I didn't. I beat the odds. Even while bouncing between foster families, I still got into college and graduated. I had creeper foster dads trying to put their hands on me, but I never let myself become that kind of victim. I never submitted, and I refused to do what society expected.

I remember when I was old enough to ask my social worker where my parents were. Or even who they were. I was told euphemisms until I was fifteen. They loved me but they couldn't be with me was the usual answer. Until I was old enough to be told the truth that I was found by a garbage worker in a trash can when I was a newborn. My parents didn't love me, they literally threw me away.

No one expects that little girl to grow up to be a police detective. I can't pass up the opportunity I have been given.

-

Tuesday - May 19, 2026

-William Kaiser-

I managed to track down Brent Pascal and get him to the station for an interview. Shaggy blond hair draped in front of hazel eyes that dart left and right to avoid direct contact with my brown eyes. Light peach fuzz encircling his mouth, reaching up to his sideburns. He has a neck tattoo, as well as tattoos on his wrists, which likely are connected to arm sleeves.

As reluctant as he seems to be here, Brent did come willingly. He's not under arrest, yet, and he doesn't have to be here. He has a history to suggest he should know how this works by now.

"Thank you for coming Mr. Pascal," I say to start, and he simply nods, but remains visually evasive. He's not comfortable talking to cops. "I'm going to ask you a few questions regarding the death of Micah Xavier. You're not under oath, but..."

"...but if I lie to you, you'll charge me for lying to a cop even though you can lie to me six ways to Sunday," he says, and I pause, seeing if he'll continue, but he doesn't.

"Did you know her?" I ask, and he's hesitating. "Did you know her?" I repeat.

"I want a lawyer," he says, and I sigh, leaning into my chair.

"Why?"

"I don't need to give you a reason," he says. He is correct, he does not. "I'm willing to talk to you, clear this whole thing up, but not without a lawyer to stop me from saying something stupid you can misconstrue."

"What could I possibly misconstrue?" I ask.

"Where's my lawyer?" he asks.

"You're not charged with a crime, so you don't have a right to an attorney. You can pay for your own, but you're not entitled to one yet," I say, and just like that he stands up from the chair and grabs the doorknob to leave. "I would recommend..."

"...put me in handcuffs and read me my rights, then get me a fucking lawyer, or I'm walking out," he says, and I have nothing to say. He leaves the room with a door slam a moment later, and I kick the side of the table.

"God dammit," I say, and open the door to step into the hall.

"Detective are you done with the interview, because there is a couple here to talk to you regarding the Xavier case," the uniformed desk officer says, then points with her arm down the hall to the reception area. Who's here?

"Are they in the waiting area?" I ask, and she nods. I follow her to the waiting area, and she points out a couple sitting down.

"Sergeant Kaiser, you wanted to speak to me?" I ask, and they turn to me.

"Glenn Reynolds, my wife and I were Micah's upstairs neighbors," the man says. About time I get to have a conversation with these people.

"I'm been trying to get in touch with you for a few days," I say, and they both nod.

"We spoke with the first Detective. The female one, I can't remember her name. I thought you had all we had to say," the woman I will assume is Marisa Reynolds.

"The scope of the investigation has shifted," I say, not saying we're investigating it as a murder. "Could you please follow me, we'll get a room to talk in private."

They both nod and follow me to the room I was just interviewing Brent in. I'd much rather interview them separately, but it looks like they're coming in together.

"Excuse me, where can I smoke?" Glenn asks, and I look at him as he holds up a pack of American Spirits. "I'd like to smoke before we start."

"Sure, straight down the hall, out the emergency door, ignore the sign saying alarm will sound. You'll see the designated area straight back near the fence," I say, and he thanks me. He checks his pockets for a lighter, then asks his wife if she has matches, and she hands him a matchbook. I guess I will get a chance to interview at least one of them alone. "Right in here."

"You said the scope has changed? How so?" Marisa asks.

"This in an active investigation, so I can't divulge too much. I'm just going to ask a few, simple questions, if that's alright," I say, and she nods. "Some of the questions will sound dumb, but bear with me."

"Of course."

"Did you live in unit four, one-three-one-five, Lakeview Street?" I ask, and she nods. "Were your downstairs neighbors, the occupants of unit three, Ms. Micah Xavier, Kimberly Drew and her son Jacob?"

"Yes."

"Did that apartment building burn down from a fire that was set some time during the night of the fourteenth, or the morning of the fifteenth?" I ask. Notice how I ask set and not started. Arson is set, accidents start.

"I don't know about it being set, but it started about that time," she replies. Damn, she's incredibly observant.

"At what time were you alerted to the fire in the apartment beneath you?" I ask.

"Around two in the morning. You don't exactly check the time when you're fleeing for your life," she says with a small laugh, and I smile a little to make her comfortable. Someone died in this fire, so it isn't funny. "Someone died, I shouldn't laugh." She's self-aware at a bare minimum.

"Did you hear something that could have sounded like an explosion, or a gunshot? Something concussive?" I ask.

"Nothing like that. I was sleeping when Glenn came rushing in to tell me the apartment beneath us was on fire," she says, and I think for a moment. How did he know the apartment was on fire? She knows I'm about to ask. "Glenn wakes up early to get to the farm, usually has a cigarette before leaving because I don't let him smoke in the car. He says he saw it while he was smoking."

"He gets up around two in the morning?" I ask, and she nods.

"A little before, but yeah. He drives the hour out to the farm to not fight traffic," she says, and now I'm not just curious. I'm actively suspicious.

"You say the farm? What's the farm?" I ask.

"Glenn and I own an organic farm outside of the city. That's one of our businesses," she says, and I ask what the others are. "We own...owned the apartment building, and I'm the minority owner of a bar downtown."

This is why I hate when a crime is committed on Friday. Any warrant or request for information I put in is shelfed because of the weekend. I usually would have known this by now. They owned the building, and that opens a new batch of questions.

"What was your relationship with Micah Xavier?" I ask, and this time she hesitates. It is physically noticeable. Her posture sinks in and became guarded.

"Honestly, not very good," Marisa says, and I'm surprised she's at least attempting to be open about her displeasure. "She was in constant violation of her lease. It's a non-smoking building. Before Kimberly moved in, I had tried to evict her because of those violations."

"Besides smoking what other terms of her lease was she in violation of?" I ask, and she exhales, trying to think.

"Smoking, failure of lawn upkeep, unreasonable noise," she rattles off quickly. I imagine the noise was Micah's television volume.

"What prevented the eviction?" I ask.

"The legal fees would have cost us more than it was worth in the end. We'd have to air out the apartment, repaint, and probably have to redo the carpet. It just wasn't worth it," she explains, and a knock comes from the door, and I lean over to open it.

"Sorry about that," Glenn says, calmly walking in and having a seat.

"Your wife was telling me you work on a farm?" I ask.

"Own a farm," he says proudly. "We employ four people."

"When you smoked at home, where would you smoke?" I ask. Glenn seems confused by the question, but one look at his wife seems to illustrate I'm asking because of something she said.

"I smoke on the street next to my car. I saw the fire that night through Kim's front window," he says, preempting my next question.

"About what time?" I ask.

"A little before two I think," he replies.

"Did you see anyone around the building? Familiar or otherwise," I ask, and he shakes his head.

"What's your relationship with Jacob Drew?" I ask. Something he replied with caught my ear. He referred to Kimberly as Kim. He didn't refer to it as Micah's apartment, or even Kim and Micah's. Just Kim. That tells me the relationship was likely positive. That's not the relationship I want to know about. I'm more interested in Jacob.

"Jake? Fine, I guess. Though him, not so much with me. Jake doesn't like men in general. Interesting kid, and I really sympathize with what Kim has to go through with him. Especially with that dead beat of an ex-boyfriend," he says. That was real contempt for Brent.

"You know Brent?" I ask.

"I've only interacted with him a few times. He just looks like a piece of shit," Glenn says.

"I'm sure he's trying," Marisa says.

"It's true, he looks like it. I even caught him around the building while I was leaving a few times. Talking to Jake at his window. Left really fast after I showed up," he says.

"Was Brent there that night? The night of the fire?"

"Not that I saw, but he had been there before," he says, and I write that down. He might be in violation of his parole. That's enough for an arrest and questioning. I'm tempted to ask about Brent punching him, but the surrounding context might make him hesitant to talk around his wife.

"Thank you for your time," I say, closing my notebook and shaking both of their hands. "If I have anymore questions, I'll give you a call."

"We'll try to answer, we're both usually pretty busy, that's why it's so hard to reach us sometimes," Marisa says, then pulls out a book of matches to give me. "From our bar. All military, police, and first responders get a ten percent discount, and any catering event is thirty percent."

"I might check it out," I say, and pocket the matches in the breast pocket of my jacket. "Thanks, have a great day."

"You too detective," Glenn says, and him and his wife depart.

-

Turns out, Brent has limited visitation and intentionally going there without supervision is violating a court order, which violates his parole. Glenn's statement joined with Jake's is enough to give probable cause for an arrest. Within two hours of him leaving, he's back in the room again, only this time handcuffed. We're waiting for his public defender.

"That guy's a fucking liar," Brent says, before I ever said anything about someone telling me anything. He did walk past Glenn and Marisa in the waiting room on his way out, so he probably has an idea of who told me something about him.

"Who is a liar, and about what?" I ask, and he seems to realize what he just said, so promptly shuts up. "Who's a liar?"

"Lawyer," he says, and I tap the table.

"Do you visit you son at night?" I ask.

"Lawyer."

"Do you come to his window to see him?" I ask.

"Cop, I'm waiting for my lawyer," he says, and rests his cuffed hands on the table.

"That's a stupid thing to go back to jail for. Visiting your kid when you're not supposed to," I say, and his hands clench, and his lips purse.

"You know what's stupid? They take a man's kid away, say he can't see him, then call him a dead beat. When he tries to see his kid, they call him a criminal," he says, and I can't believe I'm actually empathizing with him. He's not wrong.

"Did that frustrate you?" I ask him.

"Lawyer," he says. He's said what he wanted to say. He's fully committed to the lawyer after three more questions. I receive a knock on the door and don't see a lawyer when I open it. It's a plain clothes police officer.

"Detective, a moment," the officer says, and I follow him to the hall and close the door. "Sergeant Ackerman, I'm Brent's parole officer."

"Do you know why he's under arrest?" I ask, and he nods.

"The patrol officer said for violating his visitation order. Something tells me that's your probable cause to arrest toward a different case. The arson at his ex's?" he asks, and I admit that's the reason. "Completely understand, I did the same shit back in the day, anything to get them in a room they can't just walk out of. He didn't start the fire."

"Lot of circumstantial," I say.

"I'm telling you he didn't, because I know exactly where he was when it was estimated to have been started. Brent works whatever jobs he can find, right now, that's a nightshift warehouse job on the opposite side of the city. I already confirmed with his place of work, and have video footage of him loading boxes into a truck at two in the morning."

How the hell do my best suspects keep getting alibis?

"You'd go to bat for him?" I ask.

"Yeah, I would. Think what you want about him, but he's passed every drug test in the last nine months, and I watch him piss. He's never missed a day of work. He's never a missed a parenting class. He's doing everything he's supposed to do, with more dedication and real effort than I've seen in the vast majority of my parolees."

"What do you want me to do?" I ask.

"He's your arrest, your call, but...don't fuck a guy for wanting to see his kid. Don't be an asshole," he says, and I see a guy dressed like a lawyer coming down the hall fast.

"I'm here for a client, public defender," the lawyer announces.

"Don't bother," I say and open the door again. Brent looks up at me, and then straightens up a little bit when he sees Sergeant Ackerman. I dig the keys for the cuffs out of my pocket and uncuff him. He rubs his wrists for a moment, but doesn't stand up.

"You're lucky you have a parole officer who gives a shit. Don't violate your parole again," I say, and he looks at Ackerman who nods, and he quickly leaves the room. I look at Ackerman who mouths thanks to me, and I nod in reply.

Now what?

-

Tuesday - May 19, 2026

-Chase Kramner-

The only thing I know about the Amanda Hopkins case, is that Midge and Officer Graham are going TDY to interview the participants of the video. Other than knowing that, I'm completely out of the loop. Thankfully, I have plenty to occupy my time in the interim. Nothing eats time like a twenty-eleven case review.

It's about quitting time when I hear a light tap from my door. I look up and see The Kaiser.

"Lieutenant Eastland let me in," The Kaiser explains so I don't have to ask how he entered the office space. He couldn't get through our door without someone letting him in. "Got a minute? I need to pick your brain."

"Do I look like I got a minute?" I ask, then gesture to the tower of Narcotics cases to go through. "Anything to get me a break from this. Need a second opinion on that arson case?"

"My partner is gone, doing some shit that sounds like it should be in your court," he says, and takes a seat on the chair in front of my desk. "What is your court exactly? What do you actually do up here?"

"Right now, twenty-eleven case review. At least the ones that led to convictions. Every five years we need to go over those cases. Make sure they'll still hold up to an appeal," I say, and he does some math. "I said five years, but I'm doing twenty-eleven. That's how neglected this is."

"Fuck that," he says, and I laugh a little.

"Need some confirmation bias push back?" I ask, and he nods. "Walk me through what you know so far."

The Kaiser goes over the case for about ten minutes, and I ask a question every minute or so. Not as straight forward as I thought it would be. Anyone with a motive, has an alibi. Rock solid alibis.

"I've never had a parole officer give an alibi for someone," he says in frustration. "Every time I feel like I have traction, it slips away."

"You mentioned they found a bug? Did an entomologist come back with anything?" I ask.

"Not yet, but I haven't checked in about an hour," he replies, and I think for a moment.

"How sure are you about window entry?" I ask, and he says he's admittedly lukewarm because the kid would have to let that person in peacefully without freaking out, after turning off the cameras. "Who doesn't freak out the kid?"

"Family. Maybe the neighbors if he sees them enough," he says.

"Who doesn't have an alibi right now? Regardless of how unlikely you think they are?" I ask, and The Kaiser thinks, moving his chin independent from his face.

"Kimberly, and the neighbors. I don't think Kimberly is realistic at this point," he says, so I recommend investigating the neighbors a little more. I then recommend we just start from the ground floor and build with the basics.

"Besides serial arsonists who do it for the jollies, why do people commit arson?" I ask, and he sighs.

"I don't have time for psychology right now man."

"You came to me," I say.

"I hate this academy shit," he says, trying to think. Then he starts citing the most common motives, tugging at each finger to keep count. "Concealment, profit, extremism, excitement, vandalism..." he says, then switches hands, "...and revenge."

"Concealment a motive?" I ask, and he nods. Obviously. "Profit?"

"None that's apparent. The only suspect who could profit has an alibi, and no correspondence hinting to outsourcing it," he says.

"Who owns the building?" I ask, and he says the neighbors upstairs did, and I tilt my head. "I'm digging into them, nothing concrete so far."

"Extremism, excitement, and vandalism are safely gone, and because the boyfriend alibied, there goes revenge. Concealment, and profit. What crime are they hiding?" I ask.

"The murder," The Kaiser says as a matter of fact.

"What if the murder is to hide the arson?" I ask, and he's confused.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," he says, and I laugh. I'm honestly spit balling, but I suggest we humor the discussion.

"Think about it for a moment. A ninety-two-year-old great grandmother who never leaves the house. Kimberly works during the day, and the kid is at his special school, right?"

"Yeah," he says, not following me yet.

"Middle of the night, is arguably the worst time to attempt a murder. Someone is guaranteed to be home, and the cameras are on. If the kid let them in and turned off the cameras, this is a person who would know that. Why do it then if your true intent was murder?" I ask, and he's starting to follow.