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“Sitting in his recliner.”
Marc’s eyes narrowed. “So he made no attempt to leave the house.”
“That was their assumption.” And hers. “He did have surgery a month ago for a broken ankle and was wearing a boot, but that wouldn’t stop a person from fleeing a fire if his life was in danger.”
“Agreed. Have you been inside yet?”
“No.”
“You ready to take a look?”
Without responding, she fished a ponytail band from her pocket, gathered up her hair, and tucked it under the hard hat. After pulling her gloves back on, she edged through the back door into a world dominated by shades of black and smoky grays, especially in the upper third of the room. Typical, since heat and smoke accumulated at ceiling level.
“The fire crew said that was closed.” She motioned toward the singed end of an open sliding door that separated the kitchen from the hallway. “So was that one.” She indicated the matching door on the other side of the fridge, also open.
Marc gave the room a sweep, homing in on the soot-covered wallet and keys on the counter, as she had.
If this was an arson fire, it didn’t appear theft had been on the perpetrator’s mind.
“I noticed that too.” Important to mention in case he thought she’d missed the significance. “Let’s do a walk-through.”
She took the lead as they traversed the house, boots crunching on carbonized fragments of drywall and collapsed ceiling.
Nothing jumped out as suspicious, although an untampered-with safe in an upstairs closet put any further speculations about theft to rest. As did a high-end watch and a money clip containing a few bills on the dresser in an upstairs bedroom.
After completing a circuit of the house and basement, she finished in the room where Les had died, Marc on her heels.
“The victim was found there.” She motioned to the upholstered chair beside the shattered window. The seat and back were still intact, protected by Les’s body, but everything else in the room was charred almost beyond recognition and covered with ash and debris.
Marc moved around her, edging past what appeared to be a collapsed wooden desk, and dropped to the balls of his feet beside the chair. Studied that area. Stood and did the same with the wall next to it. “I can detect a V pattern here.”
She could too, though it was barely there given the extent of the damage in the room. And it was the only such pattern in the house.
The firefighters’ conclusion about where the fire had started seemed to be sound.
“I think we have our point of origin.” She folded her arms.
“Yeah.” He swiveled toward her. “You ready to dig in and see what we can find?”
“After I document the scene with photos, video, and sketches.”
“Naturally.” He flashed her a grin. “Would you like me to handle one of those?”
No. She’d prefer to do it herself. But since Sarge wanted the ATF in on this, she’d have to relinquish a bit of control.
“How are you at sketching?” Delegating her weakest skill wouldn’t be a huge sacrifice.
“Passable.”
“Why don’t you tackle that?”
“Done. I’ll get a few supplies from my car and we can regroup after we finish.”
Once they launched into their tasks, they worked in silence for the next couple of hours except for occasional brief exchanges.
Just as Bri snapped a final photo of the collapsed desk, he rejoined her and handed over his sketches. “See if there’s anything else you want.”
She let the camera dangle around her neck and took the notebook. Flipped through.
