Embers Rekindled
The fire had been in Daniel Shaw's room.
The room smelled intensely bitter and acrid—like searing iron skewers stabbing straight into the lungs.
Two walls were blackened. Though the fire had been extinguished, the charred marks reached up to the ceiling—you could still picture the flames running rampant in every direction.
Water and soot covered the floor and walls, everything faded and washed out.
The desk, bookshelf, and bed had been consumed entirely, reduced to charred heaps—only metal frames remained.
Daniel Shaw's beloved globe had been destroyed too. A large chunk had been gnawed away from the sphere, which was hollow inside, leaving only a shell with curled edges.
Marcus Shaw picked it up and wiped it. A few small red dots remained on the surface—the places Daniel Shaw had said he wanted to visit in his lifetime.
He stared at it for a while, then dropped the globe back to the floor and wiped the soot off his hands.
No one was seriously hurt.
Helen Shaw had rushed into the room to grab the savings book, scorched her hair, and sustained minor burns on two fingers. She'd applied aloe vera gel and was icing them.
Nora wasn't hurt, just choking a bit—two black smudges on her face, eyes red, coughing every so often.
Marcus Shaw checked his mother's injuries and said he'd take her to the hospital, but she refused outright. "These tiny burns? No big deal. They'll heal in a couple days."
Nora suddenly started crying, blaming herself for not taking better care of her mother-in-law. Marcus Shaw held her, patting her head gently, repeating, "It's okay, it's okay, it's not your fault." Then he got some wet wipes and cleaned the tear tracks and smudges off her face.
He insisted on putting them both in a taxi to the hospital, handing his bank card to Nora and telling her to make sure both she and his mother got proper checkups. He'd join them as soon as he could.
After sending them off, Marcus Shaw found the firefighter who hadn't yet left and asked about the cause.
"We found fragments of a light bulb at the scene, but upon questioning the family, the room only had a desk lamp, and the energy-saving bulb on the ceiling is intact. That makes it an foreign object."
Marcus Shaw's eyes widened. "Arson?"
The firefighter nodded. "Likely a homemade gasoline bomb—gasoline poured into a light bulb, the top sealed with tape and a fuse attached. You light it and hurl it." He pointed toward the window. "Second floor, window left open—not difficult."
Marcus Shaw's blood ran cold. He rushed upstairs to secure the evidence.
This house was rented.
When they married, Marcus Shaw had declared he disliked living beyond his means, refused to take out a mortgage, and wouldn't accept money from his parents. His ultimatum: "If you want to marry me, fine. If not, forget it."
Though his wife's family had objected strenuously, Nora didn't mind. She said she chose the man, not the house—they'd save up and buy one together.
Marcus Shaw had never truly felt this place was a home, especially after losing Daniel Shaw.
Now it was finally beginning to feel like one—and this happened. A chill ran through him. Something wasn't right.
He called the landlord and explained the situation. The landlord was in Hainan and couldn't return immediately.
"Rest assured, I will find out the truth and give you a satisfactory answer."
After hanging up, Marcus Shaw checked the complex's surveillance. But Daniel Shaw's room was a half-basement, the window poorly positioned—it hadn't been captured by the camera at the corner of the building.
So he checked surveillance from several nearby walkways instead, watching clip after clip for a long time. The result was staggering: in the minutes before the fire started, a figure dressed in black—hat, mask, carrying a black plastic bag—had been hovering near the building, glancing around. After the fire broke out, the same person left in a hurry, empty-handed.
A thunderbolt struck Marcus Shaw's mind—everything went blank.
The perpetrator was someone else entirely.
He was still standing there, stunned, when his phone rang. A colleague told him to come back to the station immediately—the fake sanitation worker who had framed him had been caught.
---
His colleague explained: the man in custody was named Lenny Briggs, fifty-two, originally from Millbrook, a drifter. He'd been nomadic in recent years, repeatedly approaching police claiming to have case leads, then conned officers out of travel money and free meals. This time, he'd finally been nabbed.
Millbrook.
The Shan brothers were also from Millbrook.
Was there a connection between them?
With this question in mind, Marcus Shaw entered the interrogation room. One look—sure enough, it was him.
Before Marcus Shaw could speak, Lenny Briggs grinned, revealing yellow teeth, and asked, "How was it that day? Did the lady take good care of you?"
Marcus Shaw's face flushed red, but he forced himself to maintain composure.
Lenny Briggs added, "You wouldn't eat the kidney I offered you—and that was for your own good, you know."
Seeing that Marcus Shaw truly wasn't going to engage, Lenny Briggs fell silent, lifted one foot, and began picking at the space between his toes with his fingers, apparently finding things there, which he'd bring to his nose and sniff.
Marcus Shaw's stomach turned.
After a while, Marcus Shaw interrupted this pastime and asked in a low voice: "How did you know I was investigating the catering company case? And how did you get a uniform and wait outside in advance?"
Lenny Briggs picked his ear, flicked the debris, and said unhurriedly, "Coincidence. I was walking by—you were smashing the lock, making a huge scene, explaining everything to everyone. Hard not to know. I hadn't eaten all day and was hoping to run into a sucker." He picked his other ear. Flicked again.
Marcus Shaw felt his face burning.
"Just a coincidence? Nobody put you up to it?"
Lenny Briggs's picking motion froze for a fraction of a second, then resumed. "Of course it was coincidence. Of course nobody put me up to it." He held Marcus Shaw's gaze as he said it.
They stared at each other for a few seconds. Marcus Shaw looked away, resting his chin on one hand. "Do you know Shane Mercer and Sean Mercer?"
Lenny Briggs's forehead creased. "Who are they?"
"Victims in the case I'm investigating. Shane Mercer was murdered and framed."
Lenny Briggs resumed picking his nose, flicking away. "What does that have to do with me?"
Marcus Shaw sat up straighter. "I hope you have nothing to do with them..." He paused, then said coldly, "After all, this case involves multiple murders."
Lenny Briggs stopped picking. He narrowed his eyes at Marcus Shaw. "What do you mean?"
Marcus Shaw gave him a brief summary of the cases, then added, "If you know something and don't report it, that's aiding and abetting—or even being an accomplice. The charge would be far more serious."
Lenny Briggs sat motionless, his pupils dilating, his gaze locked on Marcus Shaw's face like a suction pad.
After a long silence, he said, "I—I know it was wrong to trick you, but that day—I had my reasons." Halfway through, he lowered his head, eyes darting.
Marcus Shaw slapped his notebook on the table. Lenny Briggs jumped.
"You don't have to talk. I can find out everything on my own. But when you tell me later, it won't be the same as telling me now. The consequences will be different. Think it over." He stood up and left, locking Lenny Briggs in the room alone.
About two minutes later, Lenny Briggs called out.
Marcus Shaw sauntered back. Lenny Briggs's face was scrunched up, his gaze bouncing.
After some more silence, his defenses finally crumbled.
Rubbing his hands, Lenny Briggs said, "I—I have this woman from my hometown. Her name's Vera Magnus. We met a few years ago at the train station, just chatting, exchanged numbers but never called. Then recently she contacted me out of the blue, said she'd been bullied by a young cop while working, and asked me to help get even."
Marcus Shaw's eyes went wide. "Vera Magnus? Which 'mao'? Which 'lian'?"
Lenny Briggs wrote it down. Marcus Shaw rushed out, had a colleague run the household registration, then returned to the interrogation room and listened as Lenny Briggs continued: "She slept with me a few times, said she'd always been alone, had no one to rely on. She said she knew I was capable, that I was a man who knew how to be warm and considerate, and if I was willing, she'd like to spend the rest of her life with me. My dick went soft, my brain went fuzzy, and I agreed. She even praised me for being loyal and dependable."
Marcus Shaw took notes without a word.
"She described what you looked like, what you wore, told me you were investigating a case about that defunct company, said you'd definitely show up. She even gave me the idea—told me to get a sanitation uniform and hang around there every day."
"Drugging me and framing me for solicitation—was that her idea too?"
"You think I came up with that? I don't have that kind of brain."
Marcus Shaw was about to ask more when Lenny Briggs's expression suddenly changed. "But later, I realized—the drug she gave me was poison."
Marcus Shaw frowned, not understanding.
"The kind that kills."
Marcus Shaw froze.
"Luckily, I have sticky fingers. Out of curiosity, I dripped some on a bone and threw it to a stray dog, just to see what would happen. The damn thing went into convulsions—howling, thrashing around for ages, then just died. Blood pouring from every orifice. Horrific."
Marcus Shaw sat up straight. Only when his back pressed against the chair did he realize he was drenched in cold sweat.
"There was no way I was going to use that. So I took the money she gave me, bought some date-rape drug instead, and secretly swapped them. Afterward, I went back and asked her what the drug was. She wouldn't tell me—just got mad. I mean, can you believe the nerve? I told her she could go to hell, I wasn't risking my life for her. We split right there and then."
Marcus Shaw wrote it all down carefully. "You're not lying?"
"Look at me—what reason do I have to lie?"
Marcus Shaw said nothing, but his hands were still trembling.
Lenny Briggs suddenly grinned, changing the subject. "Hey, by that logic—didn't I save your life? Tell me, how are you going to repay me?"
Marcus Shaw curled his lip and asked, "She was planning murder—and she used you to do it. Why didn't you go to the police?"
Lenny Briggs lowered his head and resumed picking at his toes. "Go to the police? Wouldn't that just be asking for trouble? Besides—she was genuinely pitiful. She could be heartless, but I couldn't be." He lifted his fingers to his nose again, narrowing his eyes as he sniffed.
Just then, a colleague rushed in, holding a printout.
Marcus Shaw took it and stared in disbelief.
Vera Magnus—was the grilled cold noodle lady!