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Ry’s quick scan showed him more thick carpet, in slate blue, rosy walls decorated with the splashy modern art he’d never cared for. Antique furniture—probably the real thing.
    Her desk was some old European piece, he supposed. They went in for all that gingerbread work and curves. Natalie sat behind it, in one of her tidy suits, a wide, tinted window at her back.
    Three other people stood like soldiers ready to snap to attention at her command. He recognized the younger man as the one she’d embraced at the fire site. Tailored suit, shiny leather shoes, ruthlessly knotted tie. Pretty face, blow-dried hair, soft hands.
    The second man was older, and looked to be on the edge of a smile. He wore a polka-dot bow tie and a mediocre toupee.
    The woman made a fine foil for her boss. Boxy jacket—slightly wrinkled—flat-heeled shoes, messy hair that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be red or brown. Closing in on forty, Ry judged, and not much interested in fighting it.
    “Inspector.” Natalie waited a full ten seconds before rising and holding out a hand.
    “Ms. Fletcher.” He gave her long, narrow fingers a perfunctory squeeze.
    “Inspector Piasecki is investigating the warehouse fire.” And in his usual uniform of jeans and a flannel shirt, she noted. Didn’t the city issue official attire? “Inspector, these are three of my top-level executives—Donald Hawthorne, Melvin Glasky and Deirdre Marks.”
    Ry nodded at the introductions, then turned his attention to Natalie again. “I’d have thought a smart woman like you would know better than to put her office on the forty-second floor.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “It makes rescue hell—not only for you, but for the department. No way to get a ladder up here. That window’s for looks, not for ventilation or escape. You’ve got forty-two floors to get down, in a stairway that’s liable to be filled with smoke.”
    Natalie sat again, without asking him to join her. “This building is equipped with all necessary safety devices. Sprinklers, smoke detectors, extinguishers.”
    He only smiled. “So was your warehouse, Ms. Fletcher.”
    Her headache was coming back, double-time. “Inspector, did you come here to update me on your investigation, or to criticize my work space?”
    “I can do both.”
    “If you’ll excuse us.” Natalie glanced toward her three associates. Once the door had closed behind them, Natalie gestured to a chair. “Let’s clear the air here. You don’t like me, I don’t like you. But we both have a common goal. Very often I have to work with people I don’t care for on a personal level. It doesn’t stop me from doing my job.” She tilted her head, aimed what he considered a very cool, very regal stare at him. “Does it stop you?”
    He crossed his scuffed high-tops at the ankles. “Nope.”
    “Good. Now what do you have to tell me?”
    “I’ve just filed my report. You no longer have a suspicious fire. You’ve got arson.”
    Despite the fact that she’d been expecting it, her stomach clutched once. “There’s no question?” She shook her head before he could speak. “No, there wouldn’t be. I’ve been told you’re very thorough.”
    “Have you? You ought to try aspirin, before you rub a hole in your head.”
    Annoyed, Natalie dropped the hand she’d been using to massage her temple. “What’s the next step?”
    “I’ve got cause, method, point of origin. I want motive.”
    “Aren’t there people who set fires simply because they enjoy it? Because they’re compelled to?”
    “Sure.” He started to reach for a cigarette, then noticed there wasn’t an ashtray in sight. “Maybe you’ve got a garden-variety spark. Or maybe you’ve got a hired torch. You were carrying a lot of insurance, Ms. Fletcher.”
    “That’s right. I had a reason for it. I lost over a million and a half in merchandise and equipment alone.”
    “You were covered for a hell of a lot more.”
    “If you know anything at all about