Free Alien Heat by Lynn Hightower Page A

controlled.
    Even him. For different reasons, that were really the same reasons. The inability to live with uncertainty.
    It started several months after he’d joined the force. Rose had been expecting their first child, a dark-haired baby with brown eyes, a perfect, pink and white little girl, Kendra. And while Rose stalked the house, heavy-bellied and depressed, David had been ravished by the work. He welcomed it, absorbed it, wondering if his new and formidable skills as an investigator could be used to find out just what had happened that night when he was a boy, when his father had gone out for doughnuts and never returned.
    But every tiny thread, any hint of a lead, went nowhere.
    He did not think he would ever get over that sense of shame, the humiliation of money spent while bills went unpaid and he and Rose scrimped for baby things. The memory of secrets shared that should not be shared, spilled in his eager need to be fed hope. The shame of having the psychic set limits on how often he could come, when he had grown desperate for news and encouragement.
    â€œLights down,” someone said.
    Detective Clements sat on the edge of the table and began the disc. People shifted their weight and moved their chairs so they could see. Someone reached for a doughnut and a napkin. Light flickered on the television and the static cleared.
    The images were cloudy, details difficult to make out. There were dark spots like shadows. David leaned forward, wondering if he was mistaken. No. He saw the girl he’d found in the middle of the tracks, her white dress tight, shiny and clean, her hair soft, face young enough to leave no doubt that she was underage. She stood by the bar, talking to a woman in a blue dress, both of them animated and happy, dark hulking shadows of men close beside them. A balloon drifted by, large and purple, a happy note.
    The balloon sank behind the bar by the kitchen. Detective Clements froze the image.
    â€œThat, right there, is our incendiary device. Our murder weapon, if you will.”
    David looked up, met her eyes. “The balloon?”
    â€œI think so. We found potassium chlorate and sugar down there, behind the bar.”
    â€œPotassium chlorate and sugar, huh?” Mel closed one eye. “I know that’s significant, Yo, I just don’t know why.”
    Detective Clements tossed her head sideways, the thick wedge of hair flipping over her shoulder. “Put sulfuric acid in a balloon. Then put that balloon inside another one that’s coated with fire fudge—”
    String waved a fin. “Fudge chocolate?”
    â€œNo, baby, the fudge isn’t something you eat. You mix it up with sugar, but instead of chocolate, you add potassium chlorate.”
    David rubbed his temples, thinking the headache was going to be a bad one. “The acid eats through the balloon?”
    Clements nodded. “Yeah, that’s the whole point, see. Eats through the first balloon, ignites the fudge in the second one. And you got yourself an A-number-one incendiary device.”
    David pulled his bottom lip. “How long?”
    â€œHow long what, baby?”
    â€œHow long does it take the acid to eat through the balloon?”
    â€œDepends on the balloon, and you can layer it. My guess is anywhere between fifteen and forty-five minutes.”
    â€œWe’re still testing it out in the lab.”
    David looked around to see who’d spoken, saw the man who was scratching himself earlier in the bull pen. David frowned at him, trying to remember his name. Rufus Cobb. Detective Cobb. He had reddish-brown hair and a coarse-looking mustache that needed attention.
    Cobb was frowning at Clements, his arms tightly folded next to his chest. “We’re still just speculating, Yolanda, you might make that clear.”
    â€œI figured you’d do it for me.”
    He shrugged. “We haven’t been able to duplicate this in the lab. We can’t make the balloon