Page 104 of Pain in the Axe
With a nod, she released me and stepped back. “Agent Portnoy called. They were able to clean up an image of the man on the video from the fire.”
Relief rushed through me. Thank God.
“Who is he?”
She headed to the kitchen table and pulled her laptop out of her bag. “Here,” she said, gesturing to the screen.
Several still shots taken from the footage from our security cameras had been blown up, making the guy’s face clear. He looked like he was in his thirties, with a shaved head. The footage was black and white and grainy, but it was better than nothing. Thank fuck Owen had insisted on the cameras.
I hummed, squinting closely at one image after another. “Don’t recognize him.”
“He seems familiar to me,” she said, flipping through the photos. “But I can’t place him.”
It was all there. The man standing near the building, holding a can of gasoline as the structure caught fire.
My blood instantly boiled. How could someone do this to us? Yes, we had insurance, but it would take months for funds to come through for repairs, which meant we’d lose not only time, but productivity.
The anger coursing through me wasn’t helpful, especially given my plan for the night, but it couldn’t be helped.
“That tattoo,” she said, pointing at the screen.
The guy on camera appeared to have a large tattoo on the back of his hand.
She shook her head. “I’ve seen that before.” With a hum, she surveyed the pictures again, then straightened and turned to me. “They’ve ID’d him and are going to make an arrest soon. Agent Portnoy said he’d call me when it’s done. Hopefully, he talks. It’s killing me not to know why he did it and who he works for.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, wrapping my arms around her.
Melting into me, she sighed. “It’s not your fault.”
“Some days,” I said, resting my chin on the crown of her head, “I feel like it is.”
She stood up and hugged me, tucking herself into my chest in a way that made the world feel right.
“I should have known,” I muttered. “I should have paid more attention. If I had, I could have stopped so much of this. If I’d been paying attention, then maybe Frank Gagnon wouldn’t have been killed.” Guilt swirled in my gut. The Gagnon patriarch had died a few years back. Although it had been ruled an accident, his kids didn’t believe it and had hired a private investigator. She was the one who’d discovered my dad’s involvement in the trafficking ring.
She shook her head against my chest. “You had no reason to suspect any of this. It took law enforcement years to catch on, and that was only because things got messy with the Gagnons.”
I closed my eyes, willing the shame and doubt swamping me to dissipate. But when it came to my father, I’d never be rid of all of it.
Deep down, I’d known he was a terrible person and a shit father, but I’d been so desperate for approval and validation that I’d ignored the signs and had stupidly put my trust in him. I’d championed him and supported him and made excuse after excuse for him.
Dr. Miller-Savard—I was supposed to call her Evelyn, but old habits died hard—had been forcing me to say a lot of the quiet stuff out loud.
My dad was a bully.
He was abusive
He’d hurt me, and he’d hurt many people I loved.
Therapy was fucking torture. I didn’t enjoy talking about myself to begin with, but dredging up painful childhood memories and walking through them step by step?
It was a damn nightmare.
The only thing worse would be losing Chloe again, so this was necessary.
“What kills me,” I said into her hair as she clung to me, “is that he took you away from me. Losing the business was awful, but nothing could have been as bad as losing you.”
She took a sharp breath and tipped her head up, her eyes swimming as she regarded me.
