“No one,” I said. “I lived alone. My landlord had a key. Maintenance, I guess, if there was an emergency, but there wasn’t one. Nobody else.”
“No family?”
The question tightened something in my chest. “No.”
“No ex-boyfriend? Friend? Neighbor?”
“My ex hasn’t been here in years. I don’t give out keys.”
He watched me for a second, his expression unreadable. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Then, because the silence pressed on me, I added, “Why are you asking?”
Grant shifted the clipboard under his arm and looked toward the back of what used to be my apartment. “The fire didn’t start where we’d expect an accidental residential fire to start. Not in the kitchen. Not near an outlet. Not near a heater, appliance, charging cable, or anything with an electrical source.”
I swallowed. “Then where?”
“Near the back bedroom window.”
The words were simple. They should not have frightened me as much as they did.
“There’s no wiring there,” I said.
“I know.”
“There’s nothing there but the window and a dresser.”
“I know,” he repeated, softer this time.
For the first time since the fire, fear shifted shape inside me. Until then, I had been afraid of what had happened. Now I began to fear why.
Grant opened the folder tucked beneath his clipboard. “We found evidence of an accelerant in that area. The burn pattern suggests something was poured along the base of the wall near the window. We’re waiting on lab confirmation, but preliminary indicators are consistent with gasoline or a similar flammable liquid.”
I stared at him. “Poured?”
“Yes.”
“Deliberately?”
He did not look away. “That’s what it appears to be.”
The hallway seemed to tilt slightly beneath me. I reached for the wall, then remembered too late that it was covered in soot. My fingers came away black.
“But I was inside,” I said. It came out so quietly I barely heard myself. “I was asleep.”