Charred Read Free

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by the mildewed boxes of pictures no one would ever look at again, the faces blurred and forgotten, the clothing out of date, their imprint on this world gone except for a musty container shoved into a dark corner, of no use, no value.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