A Flame in the Wind of Death

by Ann Vanderlaan

  “I’m sure you can. But I’m not working with him. And that’s my call to make.”

  “Look, you don’t have to—”

  Her phone rang.

  Matt crossed his arms over his chest, his eyebrows raised in challenge. “Better get that.”

  Leigh pointed an accusing finger at him. “You stay quiet. Kepler doesn’t know we’re seeing each other. He wouldn’t approve of me—”

  “Fraternizing with your consultant? Too damned bad.” When her glare threatened frostbite to delicate parts of his anatomy, he mimed locking his lips and tossing the imaginary key over his shoulder.

  She rolled her eyes and answered the call. “Abbott. Yes, sir.” She slipped a hand into the breast pocket of her jacket, pulled out a notepad and pen, and scribbled quickly. “Yes, I know where that is. I’ll let him know and meet him there.” She clicked off and gestured to the waitress for the check. “Kepler’s pissed.”

  “He’s used to giving orders, but he’s not used to someone refusing them.” Matt pulled his jacket off the chair and shrugged into it. “Look, I understand they need help, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to work shoulder-to-shoulder with Morrison. You and I, we’ve developed a rhythm. On top of that, you value my students. If I’m going to bring them into another case, I need to know they’ll be treated well. And I know you’ll work as hard as me to keep them safe.”

  “You’re still thinking about the salt marsh.”

  He bristled, his shoulders pulling tight and his mouth flattening into a thin line. “I took them into the field and they were shot at. They could have been killed.”

  She lightly brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand. “We’ll keep them safe. Are you bringing them in now? Or do you want to see the site on your own first?”

  “I’ll bring them in now. My students are familiar with the concepts of burned remains from class, but this will take them from theory to practice. To do that properly, they need to see the remains in situ. And the extra eyes will help.” He met her gaze. “Have you ever dealt with remains like this before?”

  “No.”

  “Then you need to be prepared. They can be horrific, both by sight and smell.”

  She grimaced. “Thanks for the warning. Are your students going to be able to handle it?”

  “They’ll be fine. They held up before, didn’t they?”

  “They were great.” Leigh looked out over the harbor. Suddenly the day seemed so much darker than ten minutes ago. “I was really looking forward to getting out on the Charles this afternoon,” she said. “It’s the perfect fall day for it—not too cool and not so breezy that the water would be rough and I’d tip us.”

  “If I can’t keep the boat upright, then I need to put in a lot more time at the oars. I promise I’ll take you out in the scull first chance we get.” The waitress approached but before Leigh could reach for the bill, Matt slid the young woman his credit card. When Leigh objected, he simply held up a silencing finger. “My treat. You’re not going to insist on splitting everything down the middle, are you?”

  “No. But you shouldn’t have to pick up the check every time we go out. You paid the last time.”

  “We’ve only been out a few times, so your representative sample is too small to be statistically significant. I chose this place and it’s not cheap, so I should pick up the tab. Also, I suspect a professor’s salary beats a cop’s, so it’s not fair to stick you with the check when I picked the expensive restaurant.”

  She glared at him, but remained silent.

  “As I thought. You get the next one, okay?” He tucked his card back into his wallet and stood. “Rowe must be using this as another demonstration. Will he still be there when we arrive?”

  Leigh rose from her chair. “I’m not sure, but I’ll find out. He may not be able to stick around that long.”

  “It’s a good thing we came in two cars. You head back now; I’ll go pick up my students. We’ll be there by two-fifteen or two-thirty at the latest. They’ll hold the scene until then?”

  “Yes. When remains are found in a fire, it’s officially designated a crime scene and nothing gets moved until the crime scene techs and the ME get there. The techs are probably on their way right now.”

  “Then let’s go.” He circled the table to lay his hand at the small of her back as they headed for the exit. “We’ve got a scene to process.”

  CHAPTER TWO: OVERHAUL

  * * *

  Overhaul: the process of putting a structure in the safest possible condition after a fire. During the cleaning-up phase, firefighters verify that the fire has not extended into unknown areas and that hidden hot spots are extinguished.

  Sunday, 2:21 p.m.

  Wharf Street

  Salem, Massachusetts

  Matt nodded to the Salem officer who waved them through the barricade. He led his group around the silver and blue police car blocking the street, bar lights flashing in bright bursts of color. Resettling the equipment bag on his shoulder, he glanced back at his three graduate students—two young men and a woman, their faces set in determined lines as they headed toward another horrific scene. Matt slowed his steps until they caught up to him.

  Around them, smiling ghosts peeped playfully around the corner of a toy shop while gaudily decorated Witch hats filled the window of a ladies clothing store. Despite the Halloween window dressing, the shops lining both sides of the street were eerily silent and deserted, their doors locked tight even though it was mid-afternoon.

  “What’s that stench?” Paul, tall and gangly in baggy jeans and a faded sweatshirt, grimaced, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “That’s not just burned wood. Something really reeks.”

  “From what I understand, it’s the plastics and synthetics that really stink in a fire like this.” Kiko glanced sideways at Paul, her pretty Japanese face serious. “This is a commercial area, so who knows what was in the stores that burned. And then there’s the victim.”

  Paul’s face flushed with color. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he stuttered. “I—”

  Kiko put him out of his misery with a fluid shrug. “I know,” she said easily.

  Paul hunched his shoulders, but gave her a grateful half smile.

  Juka trailed a step behind them, his dark eyes fixed on the surrounding stores. “These buildings are over a century old. A fire could easily spread due to the old-fashioned construction.”

  “That’s what it sounded like to me from what I’ve heard so far,” Matt said. “But we’ll find out more when we get there.” He glanced over, seeing feet start to drag and recognizing the hesitation in the young faces—they were dreading what was to come, but delaying wouldn’t make it any easier. “Come on, guys. Leigh’s probably waiting for us by now. It looks like all the action is around that corner.” He indicated the bottom curve of the U-shaped street. “Over there.”

  The group picked up their pace, falling silent as they approached their destination.

  The street curved out of sight, but over the roofs of the untouched shops, steady streams of thick, dark smoke drifted sluggishly skyward. A red fire truck was parked just before the curve in the middle of the street, its massive white ladder extended high over a building around the bend. Perched atop the ladder was a firefighter wearing a black helmet and a heavy beige coat with SALEM on the back in white block letters.

  “What’s he doing up there?” Kiko asked.

  “Looks like he’s got a camera,” Juka said, shading his eyes with his hand as he squinted up into the cloudless sky. “He’s probably documenting the scene.”

  The cool fall wind suddenly gusted, skittering in chill wisps under Matt’s jacket. He pulled the collar a little tighter against his skin. But even the wind couldn’t drive away the reek of smoke and devastation.

  They rounded the curve into organized chaos: Firefighters shouted to each other as they jogged in and out of the burned building. Smoke rolled out of broken windows, and the sound of falling debris came from deep within
the structure. Two engines were pulled up to the curb across the street from the fire, their running motors adding to the din. A thick hose connected the engines, and smaller hoses ran from the closest one toward the building, crisscrossing the sidewalk in fat lines. A firefighter stood beside the second engine, draining water from hose lines and meticulously folding them into compact piles to be stored in the back of the vehicle. Other firefighters carrying axes and long, hooked pike poles disappeared through a door near the end of the line of shops.

  A burned-out shell was all that remained of the building. Daylight spilled through gaping doorways over charred contents and fallen rafters. Glass from storefront windows sparkled like diamonds strewn across the sidewalk, the tiny shards catching and reflecting sunlight where they lay in pools of water. The roof was burned away and only a few feet of charred rafters and shingles outlined the perimeter, allowing sunlight to flood the carnage within.

  “Whoa . . . ,” Paul breathed. “Not much left.”

  Matt’s gaze roamed over the scene, cataloging every detail. “Yeah, it looks bad. But you knew it would be.”

  “Because they need us?” Kiko asked.

  “Exactly. If the fire wasn’t that bad, Rowe would have handled the remains on his own.”

  A yell punctuated by a loud crash came from the nearest doorway. Two firefighters tossed sodden debris from the store onto a growing pile atop a large canvas tarp spread across the sidewalk.

  A flash of yellow caught Matt’s eye. Across the street, a soot-smudged golden retriever jumped into the back of an SUV with the Massachusetts state crest emblazoned on the door. A man wearing navy pants and a white uniform shirt with an emblem on the sleeve slammed the hatch shut behind the dog.

  Matt smiled in greeting as Leigh came around the opposite bend of the street, striding past an antique lamppost, the base obscured by a shock of scorched corn stalks. “Looks like our timing’s just right. Here comes Leigh.” He waved and she smiled in return as she started toward them.

  Leigh’s smile vanished as a stocky man stepped into her path, his tan sport coat pulled tightly across his stiffly set shoulders.

  “What the hell are you doing, Abbott?” His raised voice sliced through the haze like a jagged knife, making Leigh jerk to a stop. “This is my case. Now Kepler’s telling me to stand down.”

  “Kepler assigned the case to me,” Leigh said as Matt strained to hear her words over the continual noise. “Now, if you don’t mind getting out of the way, I need to meet with my team.”

  “What’s going on over there?” Paul asked. “Who’s the guy hassling Leigh?”

  “I bet that’s Morrison.” Matt swung the bag off his shoulder and shoved it unceremoniously into Paul’s arms. “Be right back.” He strode across the asphalt toward the two officers.

  “Your team,” Morrison practically spat at Leigh. “Is that how you weaseled onto this case? Telling Kepler no one could work with these people but you, the golden girl?”

  “She didn’t kick you off the case. I did.” Matt purposely stepped between them, going chest-to-chest with Morrison and physically forcing him back a step. “I wanted Trooper Abbott.”

  Leigh’s hand wrapped around Matt’s upper arm, giving him a rough jerk, but he didn’t budge. “I’ve got this,” she hissed from behind his shoulder.

  Matt threw her a sidelong glance. “The decision to bring you onboard was mine.” He turned back to Morrison, drawing himself up to his full height. At over six feet, he topped Morrison by a full three inches, while Morrison easily had him by fifty pounds. But Matt knew all the hours spent rowing gave him a physical advantage. Morrison’s bulk wasn’t all muscle and his face was an unhealthy shade of crimson that hinted at high blood pressure. “If you want to blame someone, she’s not your mark. I am.”

  Over Morrison’s shoulder, Matt saw Paul and Juka drop their gear and jog across the street toward them.

  “Fine, then I’ll hassle you. This is my case. You don’t get the department pet to sit up and bark at your command. You get the officer on call.” He stabbed at his own chest with a meaty index finger. “That’s me.”

  “I get who I want,” Matt shot back. “And since Dr. Rowe asked for me specifically, the department is willing to oblige me.”

  Morrison’s face pinched into a mask of pure spite as he took a menacing step forward, using his bulk to crowd Matt backward into Leigh. “Look, I don’t care who you are. You don’t just waltz in here and—”

  “Hey! Not at my scene!” A sharp voice rang out, and all heads turned to see a tall, lean woman headed their way, her cold gaze fixed on them. She was dressed in full firefighting gear and a white helmet. “Which one of you is the responding officer?”

  “I am,” Leigh said. “Trooper Morrison has been relieved.”

  “Then Trooper Morrison can go.” The woman jerked her thumb over her shoulder in dismissal. “Only people working the case are allowed back here. No gawkers.”

  Morrison glared at Leigh and mumbled something that sounded like “I’ll be talking to my rep,” as he stalked away.

  Kiko hurried over, weighed down with all four backpacks. “What happened?” she asked breathlessly as Paul and Juka helped her lower everything to the ground.

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” The woman pulled off her helmet, revealing short-cut blond hair. Tucking the helmet under her left arm, she held out her right hand to Leigh. “Trooper Brianna Gilson from the State Fire Marshal’s Office, Fire Investigation Unit. This is my investigation.”

  “Trooper? You’re not a firefighter?” Paul blurted.

  Trooper Gilson froze, her hand still extended, but her gaze drilled into the young man. Paul stared at his hightops and shuffled awkwardly, clearly wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

  “Members of the state fire investigation unit are all members of the state police,” Gilson said crisply. “City fire departments can investigate property fires, but when a death occurs or arson is suspected, the case comes to us. But don’t worry; you’ve lucked into both cop and firefighter with me.”

  Leigh clasped Trooper Gilson’s hand, pulling attention away from Paul. “Trooper Leigh Abbott. My apologies for the earlier commotion. Trooper Morrison was originally called to this scene, but there’s been a change of officers.”

  Matt stepped forward. “Trooper Gilson, I’m Dr. Matt Lowell. Dr. Rowe asked that I consult on this case as the forensic anthropologist. Since Trooper Abbott and I have worked together before, I specifically requested her.” When he held out his hand, Gilson shook it firmly. “That should be it for the dramatics.”

  “Good. And just ‘Bree’ will be fine. I hate formality when it’s not needed.” At Matt’s raised eyebrow, she elaborated. “I like things straight up and have a low tolerance for BS.” She fixed him with a steely stare. “And dramatics.”

  “Just like scientists. I think we’ll get along fine.” Turning, Leigh held out an arm toward the group. “Meet the rest of my scientific team. These are Matt’s students—Kiko Niigata, Paul Layne and Juka Petrović.”

  Bree’s gaze swept over the young people, lingering for several extra beats on Paul. “Do they all need access? We try to keep the number of people entering the scene to a minimum.”

  Matt opened his mouth to respond, but Leigh spoke first. “They’re all contributing team members, so they all need to be here.” When Bree looked skeptical, Leigh said, “I had the same concerns when I first worked with them. Trust me—you won’t regret having them around.”

  Bree stared at the young people for a moment, then nodded. “Then let’s suit up and get in there.” She scanned the group quickly. “I’m going to find you some alternate gear. If you go in like that, you’ll never wear those clothes again.”

  Matt nudged the bags at his feet. “We brought disposable Tyvek coveralls. We always suit up at forensic scenes so we don’t contaminate any potential evidence.”

  “Great. But you’ll still need boots. Everything’s down in there, so you n
eed better protection than what you’re wearing.” Bree turned to Leigh. “What about you?”

  Leigh shrugged. “This is all I have.” She looked down at the old jeans and T-shirt she wore under her jacket. “It’s old. It’s not a big deal if it gets dirty.”

  “Dirty is an understatement,” Bree said. “You don’t need full turnout gear like this—” She tugged on the edge of her heavy white coat, pulling it back far enough to reveal red suspenders over a smudged white uniform shirt. “—but you’ll at least need a pair of bunkers.”

  “Bunkers?”

  “The pants.” She patted the thick beige pants she wore, rimmed at the cuffs with reflective tape. “I’ll scam some boots and a pair of bunkers from the truck or one of the guys. And helmets.” Putting on her own helmet, she jogged toward the engine at the far end of the scene.

  Leigh turned back to the students. “Good to see you guys again. Well . . . not given the circumstances, but you know what I mean.”

  “Sure,” Paul said, his gaze shifting back to the wreckage. “Where’s the body?”

  Leigh scanned the burned-out husk before pointing to a doorway. “In the middle store—the antique shop.”

  “Let’s suit up over there, out of the way.” Matt pointed at the far side of the street, away from the chaos and cacophony of the fire scene. An open green space hugged the shore, a forest of tall sailboat masts clustered behind it. In the distance, sunlight glinted off the open water of Salem Harbor.

  The students grabbed their bags and started carefully picking their way over fire hoses and around equipment. Matt moved to follow them but Leigh grabbed his arm. He turned to meet green eyes glinting with anger.

  “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” Thankfully, she pitched her voice low enough that his retreating students couldn’t hear. “I have to deal with Morrison on a daily basis. You standing in front of me doesn’t help one bit. All it does is destroy my credibility.”

  Matt’s temper flared, but he tamped it down in favor of reason. “I know you, Leigh. You’re more than capable of handling that bastard. But, in this case, it wasn’t your fault; it was mine. And I’m not going to stand by and watch you get harassed by someone who likes to throw his weight around when I caused the problem. If Morrison’s got issues about who’s assigned to this case, he can take it up with me. Or Kepler. But not you, because you’re just following orders.” He forced himself to stop and really look at her: she held herself stiffly, her jaw locked and her hands balled at her sides as if expecting an attack from him as well. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped. But at the time, I didn’t think I did. What the hell has he got against you anyway?”