Read Burn for Free Online

J.Lo what kind of backup piece goes with slacks.”
    “I didn't know you followed fashion.”
    “Never wear a .45 after Labor Day is my rule. And by the way screw you, cowboy. This is a Donna Karan suit. DA. couldn't keep his eyes off me in court this morning.”
    Timms smirked and munched a fry. “Anything we didn't know on the money end?”
    “Nothing new. Guy's tight on paper. Took a nice income bump with the private gigs, but we knew that already.”
    “Greener pastures.” According to Todd Todman, the official talking head for Lomax Enterprises, Gregor Tavlin had bought out his own contract with the company last year due to late-blooming irreconcilable differences with executive management. He'd spent the interim freelancing as a personal trainer to several Hollywood A-listers.
    “So what happened with our mystery man?”
    “He was having himself a little snooze outside when I showed up, ” Timms said. “Claims he's never heard of David Lomax.”
    “No kidding, ” Drea said. She mimed a yawn. “How'd you make him?”
    “Haven't figured that out yet, ” Timms said. “But I'll bet you a paycheck he's got a jacket somewhere.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Knew I was on the job before I even flashed the tin. He just didn't know what. Like it could have been anything. Lets me act like I think he's the homeowner until he knows why I'm there, then he cops to the fact he's only a houseguest. Offers me coffee and his landlord's phone number.” Timms polished off his fries and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Says he's been in town a couple months, I'd say that looks about right. Somebody did a number on his face about that long ago, by the look. Same paycheck says he needed a place to hole up and lick a few wounds.”
    Drea nodded along. The vague smile on her face suggested she had a story of her own.
    Timms sipped his coffee, which had gone cold. “You get a read on the homeowner?”
    “Borland? I didn't have to read him. He was an audio book. Couldn't shut him up. Kindler's his wife's cousin, he says.”
    “Kindler gave me that, ” Timms said. “I make him from back East somewhere.”
    “Yeah? How far east have you ever been?”
    “I knew a guy at SMPD from South Boston. Pronounced his Rs the same way.”
    “Not bad. Baltimore.” Drea began to gesture with her hands while she spoke. “Borland, he's like, ‘Anything I can do to help, Detective. I don't know what he did, but I told Caroline’—that's the wife—‘I told her I don't want the guy around. I don't care if he's family. He should be in prison. Instead, he's living in my beach house.’ ”
    “Was this before or after you showed Borland the letter?”
    “Didn't even mention the letter.”
    “No kidding.” Timms folded his arms on the table. “Should be in prison, huh?”
    “That seems to be Borland's opinion.”
    “He give a reason why?”
    “Oh, you'll love this, ” Drea said. “I called a pal of mine in the Bureau field office, asked him to run Kindler through NCIC for me while I was in court. Haven't heard back yet. But Borland mentions a juvie beef that never stuck. He's all, like, hey, you didn't hear it from me.”
    Timms had learned to listen patiently. With Drea, it usually paid off in the end.
    “I made some calls, ” she said. “No record in Maryland. But here's Borland's story. You ready?”
    “More than.”
    “Put it this way.” Drea seemed to be savoring her punch line. “Does ‘Kindler’ sound like an occupational name to you?”
    Timms narrowed his eyes. “What'd he do?”
    “Nothing much. Burned his stepfather's house down. Allegedly. Like, allegedly to the ground. Stepdad happened to be home at the time.”
    Timms leaned back in the booth.
    “Guy made it out. Middle of the night, shitfaced drunk, no serious injuries. But I haven't even told you the best part.”
    “What's the best part?”
    “The stepfather? He was an arson investigator.” Drea beamed and clapped her hands. “Baltimore Life and Casualty.