Page 8 of The Burning

“Hey, Doc.” I cross to him and we shake hands, not bothering to remove our gloves.

“The older I get, the colder these Ohio winters get,” he says with an exaggerated shiver.

“I think that’s why they invented insulated coveralls.”

“I think that’s why they invented Florida.”

His mouth curves briefly, and then his eyes flick toward the victim, and the burned post. He’s a seasoned doctor; he’s seen plenty of unusual scenes in the years he’s been coroner. He’s calm and professional with a mindset that keeps the darker aspects of his job in perspective. I don’t miss the flash of shock or the quick downturn of his mouth.

“I was perplexed initially when the call came in,” he tells me. “I kept trying to make sense of what I was hearing.” He sighs. “Now I understand why none of it made sense.”

“Sometimes, even when you know what happened it doesn’t make sense.”

“That is the truth.”

I relay to him what little I know.

“Skid and Mona heard a scream?” he asks. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “A scream or shout.”

“So unless the scream came from someone else, the perpetrator of the crime or a witness, this victim was alive just minutes before they got to him.”

I watch as his doctor’s mind works through the possibilities. “Because of the nature of the scream, they believe it was likely the victim,” I tell him.

He nods. “How long ago was that?”

I glance at my watch. “About an hour and a half.”

Grimacing, he sets down the case and bends to open it. He retrieves two individually wrapped gowns, two pairs of nitrile gloves, and shoe covers. He hands one set of each to me.

“The fire department extinguished the fire?” he asks.

I nod.

“Even so, we’ll do our best to keep the scene as uncontaminated as possible.”

We don’t speak during the awkward dance of suiting up over the bulk of our coats and boots. When we’re finished, I lift the tape for him and his technician, duck beneath it myself, and we enter the scene. I’d photographed both the victim and scene earlier. Seeing the corpse through the camera lens of my cell phone somehow gave me the distance I needed not to get caught up in what I was seeing. I zoomed for close-ups, but didn’t get too close. As we cross to the body, I feel an unpleasant quiver in my stomach that tells me I’m not quite prepared for what comes next.

“Were you able to ID the victim?” Doc asks.

I shake my head. “Too much heat and smoke. As you can see, he’s pretty badly burned.”

“Accelerant?”

“We smelled diesel fuel,” I tell him, aware that it’s still discernible.

One of the EMTs has replaced the thermal blanket from earlier with a plain white sheet. Atop that she draped a waterproof blue tarp to prevent the lightly falling snow from soaking through and damaging any potential evidence.

Kneeling, the doc grasps the upper corners of both drapes. I brace as he peels them back. For a moment, I can’t catch my breath. I’ve been exposed to several burn-related fatalities over the years. The car accident off the highway last summer. The barn fire a few years back. The house fire that killed an elderly couple shortly after I became chief. All deaths are disturbing, but there’s something particularly gruesome when it comes to death by fire.

This victim is burned beyond recognition. When Skid and I laid the corpse on the ground a short time ago, he was supine. Now, the arms and legs have bent slightly. The knees are apart, likely from the muscles contracting. The flesh is blackened and peeling. The feet appear shrunken. The upper part of the body is rust colored and interspersed with black-looking flakes, either burned clothing or flesh or both. But it’s the face that disturbs me. The forehead is bloodred and moist looking. The hair has burned away, especially around the face. The mouth is open, the tongue protruding like a piece of rotting fruit. The smell is an awful combination of singed hair, burning fabric, and overcooked meat.

I pull my scarf up over my nose and mouth, and try not to breathe.

“I’m not going to be able to tell you much, Kate, until I get the body on the table,” he begins. “But I know you have an investigation to get started on, so I’ll tell you what I can. All of it is preliminary at this point and subject to change, okay?”

“I’ll take anything you can give me.” I force my gaze back to the deceased. “Probably the most important thing at this point is to get him identified.”