Free St. Albans Fire by Archer Mayor

entrance to the alleyway, sweating and out of breath. Already, in the distance, he could hear sirens approaching. He didn’t have much time.
    He poked his head around the corner. The alleyway ran straight and narrow to a streetlight at the far end, allowing him to see that there was no one in sight. Still, crouched low, he entered the narrow space warily, watching and listening.
    About halfway down, he found something. A side door into the empty building was slightly ajar. Using his flashlight, Ledoux saw a set of melting footprints leading inside.
    “You dumb bastard,” he said in a low voice, killing his light and silently stepping through the doorway.
    It was cold in the building, almost as cold as it was outside, and very dark. The only light came from the parking lot fixtures, far away and filtered through the long row of dusty front windows. The room was huge, as befitted a space that once housed a department store and was now only home to a scattered jumble of counters, broken shelving units, forgotten furniture, and dozens of boxes.
    It was otherworldly in its stillness and oddly disconcerting, since above a certain height, all obstacles ceased to exist, the abandoned rubble not reaching above five or six feet. It was like being in an enormous movie soundstage, designed for cameras and lights to fly overhead for hundreds of feet, totally unimpeded.
    Except that Leon had no access to airborne lights or cameras. He was stuck on the ground, and that ground was increasingly resembling a maze of potential ambushes.
    He hesitated, considering his options. He knew he was in trouble. The car crash had reduced his derring-do to the swagger of a reckless cowboy. His choices, as he saw them, were to retreat and face some serious disciplining, despite having taken in all but one of the suspects, or to finish the job, make a clean sweep, and hope that his success might offset his transgressions.
    It wasn’t even a contest. Walking on the balls of his feet, Ledoux advanced into the cavernous room, keenly aware of his shoes crunching on the debris underfoot.
    Even with the tumult before him, he could pick out the ordered pattern of erstwhile aisles, and began calculating what route Rick Frantz might have taken. He then moved toward the long back wall, instinctively bent over, and got the dim light coming through the far windows to reflect off whatever wet footprints were still visible.
    Feeling surer now, and further stimulated by the appearance of blue strobe lights in the parking lot, he killed his radio and pager so they wouldn’t give him away, removed his heavy shoes, and silently began traveling parallel to Frantz’s glistening tracks.
    He moved fast. Even buried inside the building, he could hear car doors slamming outside, along with a few muffled shouted commands. It wouldn’t be long before his colleagues followed his example, informed by the kids he’d left behind, and found the same door he had in the alleyway. He needed to get his hands on Frantz before that happened.
    He was nearing a collection of tall shelf units, lined up like dominos, row on row, when at last the footprints inevitably faded to nothing. Undeterred, Ledoux remained against the far wall so that as he worked the row of shelves, he only had to look in one direction. He hadn’t seen a weapon during his earlier surveillance, but by now, he was beginning to fantasize that one reason Frantz alone had taken off was that he was probably armed. Instinctively, Ledoux slipped his gun from its holster.
    He glanced down the first alley-like aisle and stopped dead in his tracks. The shelves were too tightly packed to allow the light from the front windows much access. Disappointed, he pulled his flashlight free, aimed it down the shadowy corridor, and hit the switch for just an instant. In a burst of light barely longer than a camera’s flash, Ledoux saw only empty floor space. He slipped along the wall to the next aisle.
    He’d worked his way up five