voice.
This was how she
was going to die, a car accident, a statistic.
The Vantage
crashed back to earth with jarring force and plunged wildly down the ravine through
a blur of crackling vegetation. Then, abruptly, the greenery parted to reveal
the black trunk of a massive tree.
Impact.
Sunday, December 22, 9:30 a.m.
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
“There are two police officers here to see you, sir,”
Salvador Brazza’s secretary, Lucy, informed him over the intercom.
“Did they say
what it concerned?”
“No, sir, only
that it’s urgent.”
“Send them in.”
Sal swiveled his
high-backed chair to face Edward Lumpkin, a tall, pale American lawyer who’d
been in Dubai for the last six years and Oman for four before that. They’d been
discussing the merits of a legal system, free of charge, for future guests of
the hotel who were bound to cross cultural taboos while visiting the Emirates.
“Why don’t you stick around for a few minutes, Ed,” he told the lawyer. “I
might need your advice.”
The door to the
office opened, and Lucy showed the two police officers inside. Sal and Lumpkin
stood. The taller man introduced himself as Brigadier Khaled Al Zafein, the
Deputy Director of the General Department of Criminal Security. He was dressed
formally in a peaked cap and a light brown uniform with rank badges on the
shirt collar and a red band looping under the left arm and through the left
epaulette. The short fat one said he was Inspector Abu Al Marri. His beret was
cocked rakishly, and he had a smug smile on his ugly moon face. Sal disliked
him on sight. “To what do I owe the honor, gentleman?” he said without offering
them a seat.
“I’m afraid we
have some rather disconcerting news, Mr. Brazza,” Al Zafein said in fluent
British English. “It concerns the fire at the Prince Hotel earlier this month.”
Sal frowned.
“I’ve already spoken with the fire investigators.”
“Yes, of course.
However, circumstances have changed. New evidence has surfaced that leads us to
believe the fire might not be a result of faulty wiring, as initially
believed.” He paused. “It’s now thought to have been set deliberately.”
“Arson?” Sal
said, unable to conceal his surprise. “What are you talking about?”
Al Marri spoke in
English as fluent as his superior’s: “Let me begin, Mr. Brazza, by saying that arson
is one of the easiest crimes to perpetrate, but one of the most difficult to
identify and verify.”
“Forgive my
bluntness, Inspector,” Sal said, “but I don’t need a lesson on arson.”
“Please, sir, if
you would allow me to explain?” He smiled apologetically. “Generally speaking,
investigators begin their investigation of a fire in a V-like pattern, from the
area of least damage to that of the most damage, which is usually equated with
the point of origin—and which, in the case of Room 6906 of your hotel, was the
wall surrounding the electrical socket with the purportedly faulty wiring.”
“I’m aware of all
this. As I’ve said, I’ve already spoken to the fire investigators.”
“Please, sir?” Al
Marri offered up his practiced smile once more. It squashed his thick mustache
between his upper lip and nose, giving the mustache the appearance of a fat,
black slug.
“I said the area
of the most damage is usually the point of origin. But that is not
always the case. There are any number of circumstances that can change the
dynamics of the fire. Ventilation, for example. Or fuel load. Or the unique
characteristics of the environment in question. Even the water and foam used by
the firefighters can confuse typical burn pattern interpretation. In many
cases—as was the case with Room 6906—the fire can reach the post-flashover
stage, whereby it gets hot enough to destroy vital evidence and mimic the
effects that can be caused by ignitable liquids, such as charred patterns on
the subfloors, and concrete spalling. What is my point in all this?” He opened
his
This was how she
was going to die, a car accident, a statistic.
The Vantage
crashed back to earth with jarring force and plunged wildly down the ravine through
a blur of crackling vegetation. Then, abruptly, the greenery parted to reveal
the black trunk of a massive tree.
Impact.
Sunday, December 22, 9:30 a.m.
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
“There are two police officers here to see you, sir,”
Salvador Brazza’s secretary, Lucy, informed him over the intercom.
“Did they say
what it concerned?”
“No, sir, only
that it’s urgent.”
“Send them in.”
Sal swiveled his
high-backed chair to face Edward Lumpkin, a tall, pale American lawyer who’d
been in Dubai for the last six years and Oman for four before that. They’d been
discussing the merits of a legal system, free of charge, for future guests of
the hotel who were bound to cross cultural taboos while visiting the Emirates.
“Why don’t you stick around for a few minutes, Ed,” he told the lawyer. “I
might need your advice.”
The door to the
office opened, and Lucy showed the two police officers inside. Sal and Lumpkin
stood. The taller man introduced himself as Brigadier Khaled Al Zafein, the
Deputy Director of the General Department of Criminal Security. He was dressed
formally in a peaked cap and a light brown uniform with rank badges on the
shirt collar and a red band looping under the left arm and through the left
epaulette. The short fat one said he was Inspector Abu Al Marri. His beret was
cocked rakishly, and he had a smug smile on his ugly moon face. Sal disliked
him on sight. “To what do I owe the honor, gentleman?” he said without offering
them a seat.
“I’m afraid we
have some rather disconcerting news, Mr. Brazza,” Al Zafein said in fluent
British English. “It concerns the fire at the Prince Hotel earlier this month.”
Sal frowned.
“I’ve already spoken with the fire investigators.”
“Yes, of course.
However, circumstances have changed. New evidence has surfaced that leads us to
believe the fire might not be a result of faulty wiring, as initially
believed.” He paused. “It’s now thought to have been set deliberately.”
“Arson?” Sal
said, unable to conceal his surprise. “What are you talking about?”
Al Marri spoke in
English as fluent as his superior’s: “Let me begin, Mr. Brazza, by saying that arson
is one of the easiest crimes to perpetrate, but one of the most difficult to
identify and verify.”
“Forgive my
bluntness, Inspector,” Sal said, “but I don’t need a lesson on arson.”
“Please, sir, if
you would allow me to explain?” He smiled apologetically. “Generally speaking,
investigators begin their investigation of a fire in a V-like pattern, from the
area of least damage to that of the most damage, which is usually equated with
the point of origin—and which, in the case of Room 6906 of your hotel, was the
wall surrounding the electrical socket with the purportedly faulty wiring.”
“I’m aware of all
this. As I’ve said, I’ve already spoken to the fire investigators.”
“Please, sir?” Al
Marri offered up his practiced smile once more. It squashed his thick mustache
between his upper lip and nose, giving the mustache the appearance of a fat,
black slug.
“I said the area
of the most damage is usually the point of origin. But that is not
always the case. There are any number of circumstances that can change the
dynamics of the fire. Ventilation, for example. Or fuel load. Or the unique
characteristics of the environment in question. Even the water and foam used by
the firefighters can confuse typical burn pattern interpretation. In many
cases—as was the case with Room 6906—the fire can reach the post-flashover
stage, whereby it gets hot enough to destroy vital evidence and mimic the
effects that can be caused by ignitable liquids, such as charred patterns on
the subfloors, and concrete spalling. What is my point in all this?” He opened
his
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