Charred (2 page)

It was gruesome as hell.

But this was her job, what she’d signed on for when offered the position. In northern Wisconsin, when working with the county sheriff’s department, she’d been a detective handling all sorts of cases. Now that she was a homicide detective in a fairly big city, dead bodies were going to be part of the scenery.

Still, she didn’t like this aspect of her job and doubted anyone would. The hunt, yes, but not the reason for it.

One foot in front of the other. That was how this worked, right? The carpet squished under her shoes and fixtures from the ceiling hung like stripped skeletons, naked and useless. The room was close with death; steaming, wet, and at the moment could be the most unpleasant place on the planet.

“Jesus, it’s hot in here.” Santiago mopped his brow with his sleeve, his voice muffled by the mask.

Ellie had to agree with that. “This is staged. Victim was dead before the place was torched.”

“Oh, yeah. Hell yes. My thoughts exactly. Victim torched before the fire. Look at the table, it really isn’t all that burned, not nearly as much as Mr. or Ms. Crispy.”

She was really going to have to learn to ignore the tasteless remarks.

They both stood very still, gazes roving over the topography of destruction; quiet, apart, thinking. She could see why even identifying the sex of the victim could be a problem. The body was nothing but a blackened outline suggestive of a human being.

Ellie went closer, though it wasn’t particularly what she wanted to do. “The arms are crossed. No one dies that way.”

“I have to agree with you on that one.”

“Why is the body laid out and posed?” She pulled gloves out of her pocket from habit, and slipped them on.

“I’m thinking it’s a statement.”

“Maybe gang related? Can you tell?”

“Is that an inference because of my last name, Detective?” His smile was thin.

“No.” For a second she was puzzled, but then caught on.
Seriously?
She couldn’t really care less about his background. He looked just as Scandinavian as she did. “I was asking if you have something to impart, so feel free. I’ve not been in Milwaukee that long, remember?”

Truthfully, she was struggling more than a little not to gag because the scene was so disturbing, but there was no way she’d give him that satisfaction.

No. No gagging
.

“I was in a little trouble when I was younger. Jesus, gossip in the department is as bad as a high school hallway.”

His eyes were straightforward, not openly hostile, but it was there. He half unbuttoned his shirt, the material hanging open. “Leave the last name at the door. It wasn’t gang related either.”

“Actually, no one has mentioned to me anything about your juvenile activities until you did just now. You always this defensive? I merely wondered, since I agree it looks like a statement, if it was a signature you might recognize from your police experience as a
detective
.”

“Nope.” The word was flippant, but his whole attitude was flippant in her opinion.

“You do realize we are supposed to work as a team, right?”

Because of the mask she couldn’t see his expression, but his eyes narrowed a fraction. “Yeah, I sure as hell realize that, Detective MacIntosh.”

*   *   *

It wasn’t that
great a start to this case that they were already arguing.

MacIntosh didn’t want to work with him. He got the vibe every single time she looked at him.

That was fine.

He wasn’t thrilled either. Honey blond hair, wide hazel eyes … Normally he liked pretty women; he was quite a fan, actually, and though it sounded sexist, he really didn’t want someone who looked like a high school cheerleader for a partner. Besides, though she’d worked a few homicides according to Chief Metzger, in Jason’s opinion, she hadn’t paid her dues. The only thing that had landed her the job was one high-profile serial-murder case up north and the fact that she’d helped recover the missing niece of a federal judge this past spring.

He’d worked dozens of cases and he was good at it, and he resented the idea he might have to baby-sit her. She’d gotten the job so easily, equal footing with him, equal money …

Jason adjusted his gloves, looked at what they had to work with, which wasn’t much, and shrugged. “We have a few problems in this city with gangs. And no, this is not gang related. They like to leave a calling card. This might be a statement, but if it is, I have no idea what the motherfucker is saying.”

The language bothered her. He could tell from the flicker of disapproval in her eyes, but he really didn’t care and she was going to have to get used to it. Surely she’d heard worse. She’d gone a little pale too since they’d entered the nightmare, but otherwise she hadn’t so much as flinched.

“
If
the message is intended for us in the first place. It seems to me the homeowners are the likely target.” MacIntosh walked gingerly around the destruction of the room, her slender shoulders tense, her attention everywhere but the body. Couldn’t blame her for that, he had to admit. They couldn’t touch it, and until the scene was processed, anything else either. She said decisively, “Let’s go ahead and do the interview now. The crime scene guys can let us know when they’re done.”

See now,
that
was another reason he didn’t like her. He’d been with the department for twelve years. Busted his ass to get hired in the first place because of his juvenile record, worked his way up as a patrol officer, then paid his dues through vice and up to homicide. He looked younger than he was, he’d guess he was at least four years older than she was, and he sure as hell knew more about the Milwaukee crime map than she did.

No two ways: He didn’t like her trying to take charge and she really, really needed to realize it or they were not going to get along. “I’ve already talked to them. I offered the notes on the interview, but you gave them back.”

“
I
haven’t talked to them,” she responded, looking directly at him since the first time they had entered the stinking room. If she wore makeup it wasn’t easy to tell. Natural lips, clear skin, hair straight and shining blond to her shoulders, eyes unadorned. Not married that he knew, but he’d heard a rumor she’d moved down from northern Wisconsin because her boyfriend lived in the area.

It was in him to argue, but he managed to contain it and not point out that she was being insulting, but then again, they really hadn’t worked together yet except for a couple of cases that were mostly paperwork. So he said nonchalantly, “Go for it. I’ll stay here with our overdone friend.”

Maybe, just maybe, she caught the tone because she sent him a sharp look. “I might catch something you didn’t during the interview, Santiago.”

“You might.” He hunched his shoulders and looked at the grisly corpse, then glanced out the window. Through the scarred glass and smears of soot, water still dripping from the frame, he saw the medical examiner’s car had rolled up.

About time.

He didn’t envy the guy this one. Dr. Reubens was young, fairly new to the job, not one of the gray-faced old guard that had seen it all. This might even rattle a seasoned ME.

MacIntosh looked at him. “Looks like the room is going to get crowded. I’m going next door to talk to the owners.”

Chapter 2

I’d wondered once or twice about the basement. It was one of those things, a kid’s nightmare that resurfaced, the closet that needed to be looked in because you just had to know, the growling beast under the bed, fangs bared and claws flexing.

But I was fascinated by that beast. Not repelled, but intrigued.

Instead it had proved to be just a small dank square, filled with junk like abandoned iron bedsteads, discarded folding chairs, an old kerosene tank, a bag of soccer balls and baseballs, all of them too torn to use, the broken washer that was supposed to go to the dump …

I was also fascinated by the mildewed boxes of pictures no one would ever look at again, the faces blurred and forgotten, the clothing out of date, their imprint on this world gone except for a musty container shoved into a dark corner, of no use, no value.

I took the box and hid it in my room. It was like having a secret cache of friends, an inner circle, my ownership of their images giving me power over their eventual fate, for those photographs were their only link back to a world that had allowed them to pass unnoticed every day. All except for me, who studied their faces and gave them stories.

But friendships can be good or bad.

In the end I made them pay for our time together. I burned the box and the faces curled and went black and then they were all gone.

It was a very beautiful moment.

*   *   *

The room was
quintessential fifties décor: a faded once pale green couch with square legs, a hutch with wheat-patterned dishes, a worn rug, lace doilies on the end tables. But it was surprisingly comfortable, Ellie thought as she sat down, probably because it smelled a whole lot better than the house right next door.

She might never forget that smell. Of all the experiences in this life she would prefer to skip, the smell of roasted human flesh was in the top ten for sure.
Jesus
.

“Can I get you some lemonade, Detective?”

She glanced up at the elderly woman who hovered in the doorway, and then at the young couple that sat together on the couch by the unused fireplace with a hearth showcasing a vase full of plastic flowers. She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, ma’am, but no thank you. I only have a few questions for Mr. and Mrs. Tobias and I’ll be on my way. I know they already spoke with Detective Santiago, but sometimes details surface when you think it over a second time.”

The young woman had obviously been crying, her puffy eyes and streaked face the epitome of misery, and having seen the inside of their home, Ellie could only predict her current state of unhappiness was not going to improve. She had no idea how diplomatic Santiago had been, and if she had to guess from their brief acquaintance, not very.

“I’m really sorry this all has happened.” Ellie usually didn’t take notes except mentally and this was no exception. That pad and pen made people nervous, and she’d never found if someone told her something important she didn’t remember it. Later she’d type up her impressions in a file on the computer. “Can you explain to me the events of today? In your own words. For instance, did anything out of the ordinary happen before you left the house this morning?”

Mr. Tobias, thin, lanky, and faintly scarred from acne, shook his head. “I didn’t notice anything. And I know I locked the door. I let the dog out right before I left.”

Dog? Shit, she hadn’t seen a dog …

“He isn’t in the backyard. The firemen think he might have run off,” the helpful elderly lady said, still hovering in the door. “My husband is out looking for him. He knows Bill.”

These poor people couldn’t catch a break. Ellie couldn’t do much about the torched house or the strange corpse except to hopefully find out who did it, but she sure hoped Bill would find their dog.

The wife had started quietly crying again. Gently, Ellie asked, “Do you remember anything, Mrs. Tobias?”

The woman shook her head and sniffled. She might be pretty under other circumstances, almost fragile looking, with short brunette hair. She wore a beige skirt and light blue short-sleeved blouse, and a thin gold bracelet dangled from her limp wrist. “I work at the library about two blocks from here … I heard the fire engines go by and told my supervisor someone was having a bad day. I had no idea…” A choked sob ended the brief recital.

That was an ironic and unfortunate comment, Ellie had to agree.

“Who has keys to your house? Just the two of you?”

“And her father,” Matthew Tobias interjected. His tan shirt was partially pulled out of the waistband of his pants and one bit of wispy blond hair stuck up at the back of his head. His wife stiffened. Almost immediately, he stammered, “Not … not that I think he would ever be involved in this.”

“No, of course not. The keys could have been stolen and he doesn’t even know it. We’d appreciate it if you’d check with him and see if they are still where he usually keeps them. With all the damage, we can’t tell right away if there was forced entry, but the fire department said the front door was locked.”

Mr. Tobias clasped his wife’s hand. “We don’t understand any of this. The other detective asked us if we keep our coffee table on top of the fireplace hearth. Of course we don’t. It’s in front of the couch.”

Not at the moment. No one was ever going to prop his feet up on it or set down a diet soda while he watched television on that particular piece of furniture again. If it hadn’t had a tile top and metal frame, it might have been gone altogether.

A cuckoo clock in the corner thrust out a fake bird and made the requisite sound. Ellie decided to try one more time. “What I’m looking for is any event out of the ordinary, not just this morning but recently. Anyone take your morning paper? You find a window unlatched? What about trouble at work? Either one of you?”

“Enough to kill someone in my house and burn it down?” Tobias laughed incredulously, but mirth was not associated with the hoarse sound. “No.
That
kind of a problem I’d remember. Besides, at the moment I’m … between jobs. Michelle has no idea why this happened either. We’ve been sitting here talking about it.” He rubbed his face. “It’s … surreal.”

He wasn’t going to feel the same way once the police left, the fire department pulled out, and what they were left with was one hell of a mess and their insurance company. It was also a crime scene until the Milwaukee PD was through with the house, and sometimes that took a little while. It was going to be all too real very soon.

His wife asked in a pitiful voice, “Why would anyone do this to us?”

What about the poor person who wasn’t alive and well and drinking lemonade, but Ellie refrained from pointing that out. They were in shock; she would be too. “I don’t know, but I am going to do my best to try and find out.”