Page 11 of A Gathering of Secrets

His expression darkens. “A child?”

“Teenager. Daniel just turned eighteen.”

“Chief Burkholder?”

We turn to see one of the investigators approach, peeling off his gloves, his head covering, and the outer layer of protective clothes as he crosses the remaining distance between us.

“Bob Schoening, Department of Commerce.” He sticks out his hand and we shake. “I’m the investigator for the state fire marshal’s office.”

“Any idea what happened here?” I ask.

“I just completed my initial walk-through. We’ve got one body. Badly burned but intact, so we’ll probably be able to extract DNA, if necessary.”

“Any ID on the body?” I ask.

“I don’t believe any type of plastic ID, like a driver’s license or credit card, could have survived the temps of that fire. That said, if the victim was wearing metal jewelry that can be identified by family members or some type of metal medical ID bracelet, we might be able to get an unofficial ID.”

He shrugs. “I got a pretty good look at those remains and I didn’t see any jewelry. But I need to get in there, thoroughly document the scene, and take my samples before I release the scene to the coroner.”

I nod. “How long?”

He glances at his watch. “A few hours.”

I sense there’s more coming. “Look, this is all preliminary,” he tells me, “but just so you know … I found intense localized burning outside what looks to be a tack room.”

“Tack room?” I ask.

“There was a leather horse saddle, some halters, and other equipment that’s still recognizable. That’s where the body is located.”

“I understand there was an accelerant present.”

“Plenty of it. So much that I could smell it the instant I entered the scene and you know how fallible the human nose is. I’ll know more once I get in there with the hydrocarbon sniffer.” He produces a small electronic device about the size of an old-fashioned telephone handset. “It can sniff out even trace amounts of ILRs.”

“ILRs?”

“Ignitable liquid residues.” He pockets the device and leans close. “Let me tell you—there’s nothing trace about any of this. I got a pour pattern right outside the tack room door. Worse, the door appears to have been locked and barricaded with some kind of debris. Hay maybe. It burned, of course, but the baling wire was left behind.”

“So the victim was in the tack room and had possibly been trying to keep someone out?” I ask. “Some threat maybe?”

His laugh is a humorless sound, like the scrape of dry wood against stone. “Preliminarily speaking? It looks to me like someone locked that poor son of a bitch in the tack room, barricaded it with hay, some cinder blocks, and a wheelbarrow. Then they soaked all of it with gasoline, including the door, and set it on fire.”

It takes a moment for the horror of the scenario to sink into a brain that doesn’t want to believe. “Is there any way it could have been some kind of … freak accident?” I hear myself ask. “Or a prank gone wrong?”

“I suppose it could have been a prank that went south, but who would do something so dangerous and stupid?”

“Could it have been accidental? I mean, the Amish do use lanterns.”

He looks around, raises an arm to blot sweat from his forehead. “Look, all I’m saying at this juncture is that either one of those scenarios is a stretch. I mean, the door was locked. It was barricaded. That’s not to mention the presence of an accelerant. That’s all I got to go on.”

We fall silent, our minds working that over. “I know you’re still in the preliminary stages of your investigation, but was there any physical evidence left behind?” I ask. “Footwear impressions? A gas can? Anything that might have fingerprints on it?”

“Not that I’ve seen, but it’s a mess in there. Hayloft burned and all that hay came down. I got debris everywhere. Still got a few hot spots, too. Once we get everything photographed, I’m going to do some digging around, see if there’s anything left that needs to be preserved and taken back to the lab. We’ll check everything for fingerprints—”

“Can prints survive a fire like that?” I ask.

“Interestingly, latents can survive temps up to a hundred degrees Celsius. For a few hours anyway. It’s premature to know if we’ll get anything at this point, but we’ll do our best.”

He glances at his watch again. “Look, I’m going to get back to it. Once I get my samples, photograph everything, video the scene, and collect any evidence, I’ll turn the body over to the coroner.” He nods at Doc Coblentz. “I’m probably not going to have a final ruling on any of this for several days, maybe a week. That said, I’m telling you now, unofficially, that there’s enough evidence here now for me to tell you this was no accident.”