Charred (4 page)

“Arson and murder.”

“Match made in heaven.” Some ginger went in, the pungent aroma instantly wafting out.

He had the most perfect profile. Great tousled ebony hair, straight nose, a nice mouth, masculine chin. This evening he wore just a T-shirt and khaki shorts, his feet bare, and he moved with athletic grace, efficient and quick.

The chemistry was definitely there in a physical way.

“What?” She blinked, the glass halfway to her mouth.

“Setting something on fire to obliterate the clues?” He paused, the knife poised over the pan, what looked like chopped garlic on the blade, his gaze inquiring. “I assume a fire, and the resulting effort to put it out, makes quite a mess for an investigator. What doesn’t burn is then sprayed with water, right?”

Actually, he was right. One hundred percent.

He wasn’t a cop. That was one of the best things about him besides that he was intelligent, nice to look at, and a really good cook. Ellie unfortunately remembered the inside of the Tobias house and nodded, taking a swift hit from her wineglass. “Yeah, a mess. You could say that.”

Besides being literate to the nth degree, Bryce was fairly intuitive for someone who wrote computer software for a living. The garlic slid in, but he was still looking at her. “How bad was it? You look … well, you have a certain
look
. I’ve seen it before and it isn’t good.”

“Thanks. I take it I shouldn’t be flattered.”

“I didn’t mean it
that
way.”

She knew exactly what he meant. Midway to intensely focused, and flirting with grimness. “If the stage hadn’t been set up like it was, I might not have even seen it as a homicide. That speaks of someone who doesn’t mind having the police involved. Do you want me to chop the green onions for the garnish?”

He stopped, his dark eyes narrowing. “Stage?”

“As in the body displayed in a theatrical manner, a message that was really unmistakable, never mind how wasted the inside of the house might have been. What about the green onions?”

At that point he stepped back and nodded, passing her the knife. It was something she really,
really
liked about him. He was one of the few people she’d ever met that knew when to let things go.

Except, the problem was, she wasn’t. She didn’t ever let things go until they were entirely resolved. A personal flaw.

“The killer wants us to feel him out there.” Neatly she severed the white part of the root from the onions and the scent was clean and almost sweet. Outside the window over the sink, the street was peaceful and serene as the evening faded in a molten slide into the heavy dusk. There was a barbecue going on somewhere, maybe at the house two doors down, because a man and a woman carrying covered dishes got out of a minivan, both of them laughing.

This was, after all, the day before the Fourth of July. Somehow, after a stint in that house with the dead body, she didn’t feel all that festive.

Bryce picked up his glass of wine and lifted it to his mouth to take a quick drink as he stirred the chicken. “Okay. If you can’t tell me I understand, but I’m naturally curious. Maybe it was the word ‘stage.’ How so?”

She could never do that. Cooking for her required a single-minded concentration, but their personalities were certainly very different.

Maybe too much so. She couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

“I won’t give you the gruesome details because I know you don’t want them, but the victim was definitely placed in a position so we know they didn’t die that way naturally, and then, it appears, set on fire.”

“That’s gruesome enough, thank you. No more details necessary.”

“The medical examiner is hopefully going to tell us more.” She said it in a meditative voice, more thinking out loud than anything. “Dead is dead and I would look for the killer either way, but it really feels like someone went to some trouble to make us investigate this one.”

“Why the hell would anyone want to attract the attention of the homicide department of the Milwaukee Police?” He spoke with the conviction of a person who had once been under scrutiny.

She’d wondered that herself. Quite a lot in the past few hours. Ellie lifted a shoulder and lopped the top off another scallion. “Who knows? I agree, it sounds risky to make sure we know what happened wasn’t an accident. However, my job is pretty straightforward.
Why
doesn’t interest me all that much.
Who
really does. And he’d better watch it, for he really has my attention.”

“Does he? And in a bad way. I can tell you from experience, he doesn’t want that.”

He was probably right, Ellie thought. The dark spot in his life might have shifted, but Bryce spoke with the resigned cynicism of someone in the aftermath of a bitter divorce and who had been suspected of being a serial killer.

Add:
You might just date a homicide detective
.

She needed to refocus. Oh sure, he stood there in the kitchen just a few feet away, but he’d faded and gone blank as she looked at the diamond-patterned backsplash and remembered things she wished would never be imbedded in her psyche, like blackened corpses.

She mused out loud, “You’re on the right track, of course. That part I don’t get. Who would seek to deliberately draw our notice? Maybe, when we find out the identity of the victim, we’ll be able to at least speculate.”

But she was speculating now, wine in hand, mind busy, the shiny knife turning the onions into tiny white and green rounds …

“How did they get the body there?”

She appreciated the effort. He knew that engaging her this way would make her run through it out loud instead of doing it abstractly as they ate, trying to keep from him that she wasn’t really part of the conversation.

“He.” She finished chopping and settled on a bar stool. “I doubt this could be a conspiracy.”

“Why?” Bryce had told her once he found this part of her fascinating. It was different from how his mind worked but a little like brainstorming a book … he rejected out of hand violence and the motivation for it, but then again, it was her job, and the what if scenario intrigued him? Human motivation usually did.

“It doesn’t feel like it but it is too early to know.”

“I, for the record, never want to feel a crime scene,” he said in a subdued tone.

“There could have been forced entry, but I don’t think so, and the crime scene team couldn’t find anything to indicate it, but I think he knew the house.” She eyed him over the rim of her glass, her gaze still no doubt speculative. She’d been mulling it over all afternoon.

“A friend then? Neighbor?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t really fit. Not this one.”

“Okay, you know better than I do.”

“This is what I know. I know that this person killed someone and took their body into that nice, middle-class home, and burned the structure practically to the ground in broad daylight. What does that say to you?”

“The guy is off the grid,” he supplied easily, checking the rice, fluffing it with a fork. “I’m no expert, but that isn’t sane in terms of what he did and how he did it.”

She laughed. “You’ve been very helpful, Dr. Grantham.”

“Hey, my job isn’t analyzing the psyches of those you deal with every day. But okay, if you want, I’ll give it a shot.”

Her glass of wine hovered near her mouth. “Go for it.”

It was difficult to remember, but on the other hand, all too real. Charred body, dripping ceiling, the reek of it all … She’d not been too specific, but specific enough that maybe he could imagine it. She hoped that as a would be-novelist he had a good imagination.

A part of her wanted this to be the single romance of her life, the others fading into a background of memory with no regrets. He’d failed at marriage once before, but she was starting to think it was worth it to try. Whether or not she was willing to admit it, she’d come down to Milwaukee for him. Sure, the job opportunity was better than a small northern county could offer, but she’d been happy enough up there.

They really needed to talk about it, but instead she wanted to discuss a corpse found in a burned house.

That said something. Bryce would meet her halfway, she knew that about him, but she was only about a third of the way there. And it wasn’t just his previous marriage; she had some trust issues that involved, if she had to put a finger on it, the loss of her father, whom she had adored.

Why was life so complicated? She didn’t know, but the case was an easy way out.

Once again, homicide detective. But she was also a woman, and luckily Bryce got the message that she just wasn’t ready for the commitment conversation yet because he didn’t push it.

“He’s playing a game.” He moved the pan off the flame.

“So far it isn’t a fun one.” She regarded him in a way she knew would spark a more meaningful discussion, inquiring but slightly mocking. “Tell me more.”

“You give me too much credit.” He carefully laid down the fork. “But I’ll try. You’ve got someone who feels this sense of display resonates with him in some way. You are the one who told me all killers have signatures. We just don’t get what they are right away.”

“So…”—her eyebrows lifted in question—“the signature is?”

“You’re a lot better at this than me, but the table maybe?”

“I don’t know.” Ellie thought about it. “Yes, the table, I agree with that, but that’s not all of it. There’s a chance it was just convenient.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m better than you at this or not. At least tonight. Maybe I’m just tired.”

“You are.” He sounded far too sure. “You’re damn good at it.”

She sighed, ruffling her hair with her fingers. “What about the scene stood out to me? I keep asking myself that question. What was
different
?”

“I’m happy to not be able to answer because I didn’t see it, and am happy about
that
because it sounds more than awful.” Bryce, as usual, was prosaic and sensitive.

Sensitive
. Since when did she go for sensitive?

Since him, she supposed.

It took her a moment where she blinked and then frowned. “Nothing … I mean the place was trashed as you said, by the fire department and the first cops on the scene, who had to make sure no one was still alive in there. Sloppy but effective, that’s us.”

“Were they really sloppy?” Bryce eyed her, a box of chicken stock in hand. “Usually you’re calm, but tonight you’re wound up.”

“No. Yes. I’m not sure.” She hunched up one shoulder in a characteristic mannerism that meant she was thinking. “What choice did they have? The answer is none. If they were sloppy, we all were. How could they possibly preserve evidence under those circumstances? They did their job, but it is frustrating.”

“Who are we talking about? You need to keep me in the loop if this is the topic of evening. Doubts about the way the investigation is being handled?”

That was a valid point.

“I don’t think so, and I was at least half an hour late to respond so I didn’t hear Santiago interview the Tobias couple the first time. The scene was impossible to process. Enough said.”

He said mildly, “Your sister knows what you do for a living. She’ll get over it that you canceled.”

“I know.” She reached across the counter, took a green onion, dabbed it in salt on the cutting board, ate it, and elaborated. “I just think something was
there
. I can’t put my finger on it right now and it has me upside down.”

He scooped the garlic chicken from the pan, poured it over the steaming rice in a wide-sided deep blue bowl, and sprinkled the green onions on top. “Like what?”

“Something was different.”

Bryce opened the cabinet, with efficient economy took out two plates, and set them on the counter. “Different how?”

“I want to say he’s done this before. I think this was not a call for attention, but a private ritual he needed. And so he did it, and did it in broad daylight and walked away, so that says something for his sense of empowerment. He could have been seen. He
should
have been seen. But he wasn’t, or if he was, no one we’ve talked to yet noticed him. By the way, this smells fantastic.”

The house had a formal dining room—she still wasn’t sure why he’d seen the need to buy such a large house except he’d told her he liked the quiet street and she knew he could afford it, but most of the time they just ate in the kitchen. Ellie didn’t mind the informality, and when he took the bowl to the table in the corner near a big window overlooking the backyard, she got out two place mats and napkins with the ease of someone who knew the house well.

They ate, quiet together, letting the case subside into the background.

After dinner she debated whether or not to stay as they cleaned up the dishes together. If she left it wouldn’t surprise him all that much. Bryce wasn’t blind to her doubts, he was far too intuitive for that; besides, the day she had would hardly put anyone in a romantic mood.

On the other hand, she wasn’t positive she wanted to be alone either.

“Stay.”

She realized she was standing there, and the inner debate must have shown on her face, for he took the dish towel from her hand. “Just stay. Not only have you had two glasses of wine, but you really do look tired. We can sleep together without sex, Ellie. When you aren’t interested, why not just tell me?”

But usually they did make love. Part of it was that she was very attracted to him physically, but she was afraid part of it was something else. It had occurred to her more than once that she used physical intimacy as a substitute for emotional intimacy.

That was her problem, not his.

Maybe she
was
tired, because she looked him in the eye. “I’m afraid of you.”

It took him aback, his expression incredulous. “What?”

“Not physically, of course, don’t look at me like that, Bryce.” She took in a deep breath. “I’m not positive I really know you yet and it throws me off. Let’s face it, neither one of us is good about talking about our feelings. It scares me a little. No, make that more than a little. The deeper we get into this, the more of a problem it could be.”