Striker pointed at them. ‘They okay?’

One of the paramedics nodded. ‘Nothing critical. But who knows who else needs help.’

Striker turned his eyes away from the medic and scanned the perimeter. Here and there in the road, cars had been abandoned. Citizens wandered through the smoke like brain-dead zombies, gaping at the fire. Under an awning on the next block, a group of shop owners and customers was gathering, with many of them snapping shots with their cameras or taking video with their cell phones.

YouTube was just a click away.

Striker approached the front of the burning building. Splintered wood, torn-apart aluminium, broken concrete pieces with embedded rebar, and other rubble covered everything from the sidewalk to the docks. Also within the mess were numerous toys – wooden cars, dolls and other such stuff, most of which was half blown apart. The sight of the toys made him realize that kids could be victims here, and his guts tightened as bad thoughts flooded his mind.

He killed the thoughts and got moving. He searched through the area for more casualties, but found none.

Just smoke and fire and destruction.

At the south end of Anderson Street, a patrol car emerged. Striker waved them to a stop, then crossed the road to meet them. The car doors opened, and two young constables jumped out. Both of them looked newbie fresh from the academy and out of their element.

Striker grabbed the first man, a tall, thin East Indian guy. ‘You, block off the road and start stringing up tape.’

Then he turned to the other cop, a smaller but stockier Chinese kid. ‘And you, go around back and assess the damage. Look for survivors – but do not go inside. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.’

When the two constables raced off in different directions, Striker ran back to the front of the building and began searching through the rubble. Smoke made the air thick, and the hot ash burned his throat. He had just finished lifting up a large piece of blown-apart drywall when Felicia joined him in the haze.

‘Everyone’s en route,’ she said. ‘Medics, fire, patrol – you name it.’ She looked around. ‘Any casualties?’

He threw the drywall to the side. ‘Still looking.’

Felicia stared at the building. The flames had grown larger and were rising up over what remained of the roof. The fire was out of control. A hungry beast devouring everything in its path.

‘Someone might still be in there,’ she said.

She started for the building; Striker grabbed her by the arm.

‘No,’ he said.

She pulled away from him, but he held her tight. ‘Someone could be trapped in there, Jacob.’

‘There’s no one alive in there now.’

‘You don’t know—’

‘No one inside could survive that explosion, Feleesh . . . No one.’ He looked at the flames devouring everything in their path, and at the poisonous smoke flowing out of the building. To attempt entry was beyond foolhardy – it was suicidal.

There was a reason why firefighters called cops blue canaries.

‘We’re not going in there,’ he said.

Felicia pulled her arm away. ‘But what if—’

She’d barely spoken the words when a second explosion rocked the street. A giant spire of flame burst upwards and was followed by a dirty gust of wind that sent the dust and plaster particles hurtling into their eyes. Striker raised a hand to shield his face. He turned away, closed his eyes, grabbed Felicia.

‘Get back,’ he said. ‘Back.’

Together, they retreated.

They moved out of harm’s way to the far side of the road, then began scouring the area to make sure no one else had been injured in the second blast. The building was now completely engulfed by the fire and shrouded in a thick unfurling smoke that was quickly blocking out the blue sky.

Felicia looked back at the flames with a sick expression on her face. ‘I hope to God no one’s in there,’ she said again.

Striker offered no reply. It was going on noon, he realized. And a Wednesday. That made the odds pretty good – almost a guarantee – that someone had been working today. He expected fatalities.

The only question was how many.

Twenty

When the first fire truck took a wide turn onto Anderson Street, only to be blocked by the undercover police cruiser, Felicia called out for the keys. Striker threw them to her, underhand, and she ran back up the road to move their car.

As she went, Striker covered his mouth with his hand and tried to dampen out the burned smell. He began analysing their surroundings to make sure he hadn’t overlooked anything.

The small crowd that had gathered across the street moments after the initial blast was now thickening as more and more onlookers came to watch the fire burn. Several times, he’d warned them about the toxicity of the smoke and the randomness of the explosion, but it made no difference.

They were sheep.

Reporters were already on scene too. A guy with a CBC news shirt. Another from Global. A woman from News 1130. And all of them screaming out questions:

What caused the explosion?

Was it a gas tank?

A bomb?

Do you have any leads?

Striker ignored their questions, but soon the entire crowd was muttering about ‘the bomb’ that had destroyed the toy shop.

Having had enough, Striker grabbed a couple more patrol cops, and the three of them guided the crowd down Anderson Street to a safer gathering point. Then he pointed out an access line. ‘Cordon off the entire street starting there. No one in but emergency personnel. And don’t speak to any of the reporters about what’s going on. Leave that to Media Liaison.’

The two cops nodded, then got to work.

With the scene now preserved as good as they were going to get it, and with fire crews now preparing to tackle the ongoing blaze, Striker began the slow, monotonous process of a grid search. No doubt, search and canvass crews would be called out – Inspector Osaka was a stickler for following procedure – but an extra pair of eyes never hurt anyone.

Striker started at the farthest end of the sidewalk, just up from the dock, and got to work. Searching was always a painstaking task, and a job that could never be rushed. In ten minutes, he’d gone less than six metres.

But he found something – two dark squares on the boardwalk.

He crouched down for a closer look and saw that they were actually glass fragments. Their cuboidal shape suggested safety glass, likely blown from one of the nearby car windows, or perhaps that of the toy shop.

Striker gloved up with fresh latex, picked up the two pieces, and turned them over. As he did this, Felicia came up behind him. ‘Take this,’ she said. ‘We might need it with all the chaos going on.’

Striker looked back at her, saw that she had brought two portable radios from the car, and nodded. ‘Good thinking.’ He clipped the portable to his belt, then held up the glass for her to see. ‘Look at this.’

She did. ‘Safety glass. Probably blown from one of the toy shop windows.’

‘Look at the colour of the glass. It’s tinted.’

Felicia took a closer look. ‘That’s not tint, it’s residue from the smoke.’

Striker nodded. ‘Exactly. The glass surface is oily and dark – which could suggest there was a fire in there before the first explosion occurred. Otherwise, the surface would have been clean.’

He looked back at the shop, then at the road and walkways before continuing.

‘Look at those large flats of drywall that were sent flying onto the road. And this smoke residue on the glass . . . This explosion might have been the result of faulty gas lines.’ He moved back to the front of the building that had once been the Toy Hut. He gestured to one of the large squares of drywall that was still lying flat on the road, then to the area where the gas lines ran. ‘There’s definitely a natural gas source there. And the way the walls were blown out, it could be indicative of a pooling effect.’ He pointed to another large chunk of wall in the street. ‘See?’