Torres calls me at nine AM the next morning.
"Jonas can meet us today. He's got a shift at Station 7, but he says we can come by around two. His captain gave him clearance to talk to us during his break."
I'm already at my kitchen table with coffee and my notebook, going over everything we discussed last night. "That was fast."
"Jonas is a good guy. When I told him we were looking into the Mercy Heights fire, he said he'd been wondering when someone would finally ask the right questions."
That's interesting. "He said that specifically? That someone would ask the right questions?"
"His exact words. I got the feeling he's been sitting on something for twenty years."
After we hang up, I spend the morning preparing for the interview. I review Elena's testimony, looking for specific details about the fire response that Jonas might be able to confirm or contradict. I make a list of technical questions about burn patterns, response time, and standard fire investigation protocols.
By one thirty, I'm in my car heading to meet Torres at Station 7. It's on the east side of the city, a older brick building that's probably been there since the seventies. The bay doors are open, and I can see one of the engines parked inside, gleaming red under the fluorescent lights.
Torres is already there, leaning against his truck in the visitor parking area. He's dressed in his work clothes, detective shield visible on his belt. Making this official, or at least official-adjacent.
"You ready for this?" he asks as I walk up.
"Should be an interesting conversation."
"Remember, let me take the lead initially. Jonas and I go back, so he'll be more comfortable if it feels casual at first."
"Got it. I'll observe, take notes, jump in when something doesn't add up."
We walk into the station together. The smell hits me immediately, that unique combination of diesel fuel, rubber, and the faint lingering scent of smoke that never quite leaves a firehouse. It's a smell that means different things to different people. Safety, danger, heroism, tragedy.
A young firefighter is checking equipment near the engine. He looks up when we enter.
"Help you gentlemen?"
"Detective Torres, here to see Jonas Reed. He's expecting us."
"Reed! Visitors!" the young guy yells toward the back of the station.
A door opens, and Jonas Reed emerges from what looks like a break room. He's in his late fifties, tall and solid with the kind of build that comes from decades of physical work. His hair is more gray than dark now, and his face has the weathered look of someone who's spent a lot of time in harsh conditions. But his eyes are sharp, alert, taking us in with the same assessing gaze I've seen in every good first responder.
"Torres!" His face breaks into a genuine smile, and he clasps Torres' hand firmly. "Good to see you, man. Been too long."
"Way too long. Jonas, this is Ethan Crowe. Former detective, now working as a consultant on cold cases."
Jonas extends his hand to me, and his grip is strong but not aggressive. "Crowe. Torres mentioned you were the one asking about Mercy Heights."
"That's right. Thanks for agreeing to talk with us."
"Come on back. Captain said we could use the conference room for privacy."
He leads us through the station, past the engine bay and the equipment lockers, to a small room with a table and a few chairs. The walls are covered with safety posters and incident response protocols. Jonas closes the door behind us and we all sit down.
"Can I get you guys coffee? It's not great, but it's hot."
"We're good, thanks," Torres says. "Jonas, before we start, I want to be clear about what this is. We're not here in any official capacity. Ethan's been looking into the Mercy Heights fire as a personal project, and some things aren't adding up. We're hoping you can help us understand what really happened that night."
Jonas leans back in his chair, and I see something cross his face. Relief, maybe. Or vindication. "I wondered when someone would finally dig into that case. Twenty years I've been waiting for this conversation."
"Why twenty years?" I ask. "If you had concerns, why not raise them earlier?"
"I did raise them. Nobody wanted to listen." Jonas runs a hand through his gray hair. "Let me start from the beginning. You want to know about the night of the fire?"
"Everything you remember," Torres says.
Jonas takes a deep breath, and I can see him organizing his thoughts. This is a story he's told himself many times, a memory he's reviewed over and over.
"We got the call at 12:17 AM. Structure fire, multiple occupants, children reported trapped. Our engine company responded along with two others, a ladder truck, and a rescue squad. Response time was six minutes from dispatch to arrival on scene."
I'm writing all of this down. Six minutes is good response time, especially at night.
"When we pulled up, the building was already heavily involved. Flames visible from the first and second floor windows on the east side. Heavy smoke pushing from the eaves and roof vents. Classic signs of a rapidly developing fire."
"What was your first impression?" Torres asks.
Jonas doesn't hesitate. "That something was wrong. I've been doing this for thirty-five years, and you develop an instinct for how fires behave. This one was moving too fast, spreading too aggressively for an electrical fire in an old building."
"Too fast how?"
"The heat signature was wrong. When you get an electrical fire, it usually starts small, smolders for a while before it really takes off. This was already a fully developed fire when we arrived, and the call had only come in minutes before. That suggests either multiple points of origin or an accelerant."
Multiple points of origin. That matches what Torres and I discussed last night.
"Did you voice these concerns?"
"To my captain, yeah. He told me to focus on rescue and suppression, worry about investigation later." Jonas's jaw tightens. "We had victims to save. That had to be the priority."
"Walk us through the rescue operation," I say.
"We split into teams. My team took the east entrance, tried to push into the first floor. But the fire was too intense. Flashover conditions in multiple rooms. We had to back out and go defensive."
"Flashover conditions?" I ask, wanting him to explain for the record.
"That's when a fire reaches a point where everything in a room ignites simultaneously. The heat builds up, the gases accumulate, and then boom, the whole room goes up. We're talking temperatures over a thousand degrees Fahrenheit. You can't survive that, and you can't fight through it."
"So you couldn't reach the first floor victims."
"No. But there was a caregiver on the second floor, Elena something, she was getting kids out through a fire escape on the west side. We got ladders up, helped her evacuate twelve children. She saved those kids' lives by keeping her head and knowing the building layout."
Elena. So Jonas remembered her, remembered her heroism that night.
"What about the victims who didn't make it out?" Torres asks gently.
Jonas's expression grows heavy. "Two adults and four children. They were on the first floor when the fire reached flashover. By the time we could push in with protective lines, it was too late. We found them during overhaul operations."
Overhaul. That's the phase after the fire is knocked down, when firefighters search for victims and hidden pockets of fire.
"Where exactly were they found?"
"Two children in what was the dormitory on the first floor, east side. Two more children and one adult in the administrative office area. One adult near the kitchen."
I make careful notes of these locations. "And the fire investigation. Who conducted it?"
"Fire Marshal Chen was the lead investigator. He arrived on scene around three AM, started his preliminary investigation while we were still doing overhaul."
"What was his initial assessment?"
Jonas is quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "He focused pretty quickly on the electrical system. Old building, outdated wiring, history of minor electrical issues. He found the point of origin in the basement mechanical room, where the main electrical panel was located."
"Did you agree with that assessment?"
"I told him what I thought. That the fire spread pattern suggested multiple origins. That the burn indicators on the first floor didn't match a fire that started in the basement." Jonas meets my eyes. "He didn't want to hear it."
"Why not?"
"Said I was overthinking it. Said old buildings burn in unpredictable ways. Said the ventilation system could have spread the fire from the basement to multiple locations simultaneously."
"Could it have?"
"Technically, yeah. But the HVAC system in that building was ancient. Half the vents were blocked or non-functional. It wouldn't have distributed fire that evenly, that quickly."
Torres leans forward. "Jonas, are you saying the fire marshal deliberately misidentified the cause?"
"I'm saying he came to a conclusion very quickly and dismissed evidence that didn't fit his theory. Whether that was incompetence or something else, I don't know."
"Did you document your concerns?"
"I wrote them in my incident report. Listed my observations, my questions about the burn patterns and fire behavior. That report went to my captain, who forwarded it up the chain."
"And?"
"And I was told that my job was firefighting, not investigation. That I should leave the forensics to the experts." Jonas's voice is bitter. "About a week later, I was strongly encouraged to amend my report. Remove the speculative language, stick to factual observations only."
"Who encouraged you?"
"My battalion chief at the time. He's retired now, moved to Arizona. But the message was clear. Stop asking questions or there would be consequences for my career."
This is what I suspected. Not just one person covering up the truth, but systematic pressure throughout the department to accept the official narrative.
"Did you amend the report?" Torres asks.
Jonas looks down at the table. "Yeah. I did. I had two kids in college and a mortgage. I couldn't afford to lose my job over a hunch."
There's no judgment in Torres' voice when he responds. "Nobody's blaming you for that, Jonas. You were put in an impossible position."
"Doesn't mean I don't regret it. Four kids died in that fire, and I let someone bury the truth about what really happened to them."
"What do you think really happened?" I ask.
Jonas looks at me directly. "I think someone set that fire deliberately. I think they used an accelerant, probably gasoline or kerosene. I think they started it in multiple locations to ensure maximum damage. And I think the building was targeted specifically because there were children inside who someone wanted dead."
The bluntness of it, the certainty in his voice, sends a chill through me.
"Why do you think the children were the target?"
"Because of the timing. Middle of the night, when everyone was asleep. If you just wanted to destroy the building, you'd do it during the day when it was empty. If you wanted to destroy the building and kill the occupants, you'd do it exactly the way this fire was set."
"Did you notice anything else unusual about the scene? Anything that didn't make it into any reports?"
Jonas thinks for a moment. "Yeah, actually. When we were doing overhaul in the administrative wing, I found evidence of document destruction. Filing cabinets that had been deliberately opened, papers pulled out and scattered. The fire damage to those documents was more severe than it should have been for their location."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning someone poured accelerant directly on those files to ensure they burned completely. That's not how a natural fire behaves. Fire spreads along available fuel sources. It doesn't selectively target specific filing cabinets."
This is huge. Physical evidence of document destruction, witnessed by a trained firefighter.
"Did you tell Marshal Chen about this?"
"I tried. He said the cabinets probably popped open from the heat, that the papers scattered in the thermal column created by the fire. Again, technically possible, but unlikely given what I observed."
Torres and I exchange a glance. Everything Jonas is describing supports our theory. Deliberate arson, document destruction, systematic cover-up.
"Jonas, do you remember seeing anyone suspicious near the scene that night? Either before the fire or during the response?"
He frowns, thinking back. "There were the usual bystanders. Neighbors who came out to watch. The orphanage director, Dr. Halloway, he showed up about twenty minutes after we arrived. He was distraught, kept trying to get into the building to look for survivors. We had to physically restrain him."
"How did he seem to you?"
"Like a man watching his life's work burn down. Genuinely devastated. But..." Jonas trails off.
"But what?"
"There was a moment, after we told him about the casualties. He asked who died, wanted names. When we told him which children didn't make it out, I saw something in his face. Just for a second. Not grief. Something else."
"What?" I press.
"Relief. Like he was checking off a list in his head and was satisfied with the results."
The room is silent for a moment. This is the most damning testimony yet. The director of the orphanage, showing relief when told which children died.
"Did anyone else see this?" Torres asks.
"I don't know. It was just a flash, a micro-expression. But I've seen enough death notifications to know what genuine grief looks like. That wasn't it."
I flip to a new page in my notebook. "Jonas, I need you to think carefully. Did you see anyone near the building before you arrived? Any vehicles leaving the scene, anyone who seemed out of place?"
He closes his eyes, and I can see him replaying the memory. "When we turned onto the street, there was a dark sedan pulling away from the curb about half a block from the orphanage. It took off fast when our sirens approached. At the time, I figured it was just someone who didn't want to get blocked in by emergency vehicles."
"Can you describe the car?"
"Dark blue or black, four-door sedan. American make, maybe a Ford or Chevy. Couldn't see the plates."
"Driver?"
"Only got a glimpse. Male, that's all I can say for sure."
It's not much, but it's something. A vehicle leaving the scene right as the fire department arrived. Someone who didn't want to be identified.
We talk for another thirty minutes, going over every detail Jonas can remember. The weather conditions that night, the wind direction, the specific locations where he found evidence of accelerant pour patterns. He sketches the building layout from memory, marking where the most severe fire damage occurred.
Finally, Torres asks, "Jonas, why are you telling us all this now? You've kept quiet for twenty years. What changed?"
Jonas is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is heavy with emotion. "Because I'm getting close to retirement, and I don't want to carry this guilt anymore. Because those four kids deserve justice, and their families deserve to know the truth. And because twenty years ago, I chose my career over my conscience, and I've regretted it every day since."
He looks at both of us. "If you're really investigating this, if you're trying to find out what happened, then I'll help however I can. I'll testify, I'll provide documentation, whatever you need. I just want the truth to come out."
Torres reaches across the table and grips Jonas's shoulder. "Thank you, brother. This is going to help a lot."
"Just promise me something. Promise me that if you find out who did this, you won't let them walk away. Those kids, they deserved to grow up, to have lives. Whoever took that away from them needs to pay for it."
"We promise," I say.
We leave the station with pages of new notes and a recorded interview that Jonas consented to. In the parking lot, Torres and I stand by our cars, processing everything we just heard.
"That was heavy," Torres says.
"Yeah. But it confirms everything we suspected. Multiple points of origin, accelerant use, document destruction, pressure to accept the official story."
"And Halloway showing relief when he learned which kids died. That's consciousness of guilt right there."
"The question is, can we prove any of it? Jonas's testimony is valuable, but it's one firefighter's observations from twenty years ago. Any defense attorney would tear it apart."
Torres leans against his truck. "We need more. We need to talk to Marshal Chen, see if we can get him to admit he was pressured to close the investigation quickly. We need to find those amended incident reports, see what Jonas originally wrote before he was told to change it."
"And we need to figure out what documents were in those filing cabinets. What was worth burning children alive to destroy."
We're both quiet for a moment, the weight of this case settling over us.
"Crowe, this is bigger than we thought. This isn't just about a cover-up of an accidental fire. This is about multiple people, probably in positions of authority, conspiring to hide mass murder."
"I know."
"Are you prepared for where this might lead? Because if we keep digging, we're going to make powerful enemies."
I think about Samuel, waiting at my table every night. About Emma, who forgave her killer. About the purpose I've found in giving voice to the dead.
"I don't care about powerful enemies. I care about the truth."
Torres grins, and it's the grin I remember from our best cases together. "That's my partner. Okay, we're doing this. But we're doing it smart. Document everything, verify everything, build a case that can't be dismissed or covered up."
"Agreed. What's our next move?"
"I'll track down Marshal Chen, see if I can set up an interview. You should go back through Elena's testimony, see if anything she said aligns with what Jonas just told us. And we need to start thinking about how to approach Halloway."
"Not yet. Not until we have everything else locked down. He's the final piece, and we only get one shot at him."
"Fair enough." Torres checks his watch. "I need to get back to the station, wrap up some paperwork. But Crowe, good work today. That was a productive interview."
"It was your relationship with Jonas that made it work. He trusted you enough to tell the truth."
"He trusted both of us. You asked the right questions, pushed in the right places. We make a good team."
After Torres leaves, I sit in my car for a while, reviewing my notes. Jonas gave us so much, confirmed so many suspicions. But he also raised new questions.
The dark sedan leaving the scene. Was that the arsonist? Or just a bystander who didn't want to get involved?
Halloway's reaction when told which children died. Was it really relief, or is Jonas reading too much into a traumatized man's expression?
The documents in the filing cabinets, deliberately destroyed. What information were they hiding?
I start the drive home, but my mind is still at that fire station, still processing everything Jonas told us. This case is breaking open, layer by layer. But each answer reveals new mysteries, new horrors.
By the time I reach my apartment, it's almost seven PM. I make dinner mechanically, not really tasting it. My mind is on burn patterns and pour patterns and the systematic cover-up of multiple murders.
Samuel appears right as I finish eating.
"You look tired," he says.
"Long day. Good day, but long."
"Did you find something?"
"We talked to one of the firefighters who responded to the fire. Jonas Reed. He confirmed that the fire was suspicious, that there were signs of arson."
Samuel leans forward eagerly. "So people believe me now? They believe it wasn't an accident?"
"Some people do. The firefighter, he's been carrying guilt about staying silent for twenty years. He's ready to tell the truth now."
"Will that be enough? To prove what happened?"
I consider the question carefully. "It's a piece. A important piece. But we need more. We need to talk to the fire marshal who investigated the scene. We need to find the original incident reports. We need to prove a pattern of cover-up."
Samuel nods, understanding. "What about Dr. Halloway? When do you talk to him?"
"Soon. But we're saving him for last. Once we have everything else, once we've built our case, then we'll confront him."
"Do you think he'll tell the truth? Or will he lie like he did before?"
"Honestly? I think he'll lawyer up the second we ask the first question. People who get away with murder for twenty years don't suddenly decide to confess."
Samuel is quiet for a moment. "I heard what that firefighter said. About Dr. Halloway looking relieved when he learned which kids died. Like he was checking off a list."
"You heard that?"
"I'm always around, Mr. Crowe. Even when you can't see me. I've been following this investigation, listening to your interviews."
The thought is both comforting and unsettling. A ghost witness to my investigation, guiding me toward justice.
"Samuel, when Dr. Halloway looked relieved, was it because you specifically died? Were you one of the kids he wanted gone?"
Samuel's expression grows dark. "I think so. Because I saw things. I heard things. I was one of the kids who asked too many questions."
"What kinds of things did you see?"
"Men visiting late at night. Children leaving and never coming back. Dr. Halloway meeting with people in expensive cars. I didn't understand what it all meant when I was alive. But now, looking back, I can see the pattern."
"You were a witness to a trafficking operation."
"And that's why they killed me. That's why they burned us all. To get rid of the witnesses who knew too much."
We talk for another hour, Samuel sharing more memories, more details. Every conversation adds another piece to the puzzle, brings me closer to understanding the full scope of what happened at Mercy Heights.
When he finally fades, I'm left alone with my notes and a burning determination to see this through.
Tomorrow, Torres will reach out to Marshal Chen. Tomorrow, we'll take another step toward exposing the truth.
And somewhere out there, the people responsible for six murders are living their lives, thinking they got away with it.
But their time is running out.
Justice is coming, even if it's twenty years late.