Fighting was the barbaric, illegal way of settling problems. But with the painkillers leaving my body, I was finding barbarism more and more attractive because I just knew it had been Dewayne and the other knuckle draggers who beat Luigi up.
All night long, I rolled back and forth on the hard bed. Off and on when I managed to sleep, my dreams were haunted by images of the ceiling collapsing and the echoes of a woman’s voice crying for help.
No one was ever happier to see Dr. Tetanus when he made rounds at 0600 the next morning. A few papers were signed, then a wheelchair took me to the curb out front.
Minutes later, Abner backed his Range Rover slowly out of the parking space. Mom’s plan was for Abner to take me home, and Cedar would check in on me after her morning classes.
Abner had other ideas.
“You hungry?” he asked when I climbed into the front seat.
I groaned from the sore ribs. “My stomach’s kind of—“
“Because I was thinking of stopping by this diner near Nagswood. It’s a little out of the way, but they make one of the best western omelets in the county. Care to investigate?”
“Now that you mention it.” I shifted in the seat so my ribs were in the least painful position. “Some investigation would hit the spot.”
“That’s my boy,” Abner said and pulled onto the highway.
2
The house in Nagswood was a road kill skeleton that had been picked clean. The charred remnants of the frame stood on the corners of the building. The frame on the west side was slightly more intact, with eight feet of unburned clapboard siding joining two wall studs and a window header. The glass in the window was long gone, but the siding was still white. The rest of the structure had given way, collapsing in on itself, burying a home within it. Only red brick chimney remained standing.
“They should’ve built the whole house out of brick,” I said.
“Think that would’ve save the house?”
“Worked for the three little pigs.”
“Just the third one. Come on, let’s get busy.”
Tendrils of smoke dust rose from the debris. Beneath the smoke was a pile of what was once furniture. Now it was a twisted mass cooked together in a carbon stew. If you were patient and could stand the smell, you might be able to tell that the large slab of wood that now resembled alligator skin was once a Chippendale sideboard. You might also see a colonial style secretary desk and a stained glass lampshade. Over in the far corner of the mess that had once been someone’s life, you might see the bedsprings of a queen-sized bed.
Abner discovered all of these things as he wandered through the foundation, carrying my hooligan tool.
“Stay out,” he warned me when I tried to help. “Poke around in the grass. See if you find anything interesting.”
“What qualifies as interesting?”
“Anything that’s not supposed to be there. You know, interesting. Like why an abandoned house would still be furnished? Why would the furniture be pushed to the middle of the room?”
Good questions, I thought, then caught the glint of sunshine off a windshield.
Two cars rolled up the driveway. The first was a navy blue Crown Vic. The second car was a white Marquis with an Allegheny County emblem on the doors.
“Doc!” A sharp pain in the ribs made me catch my breath. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to shout. “Doc, we have company.”
Abner pushed his glasses up his nose. “Fire marshal’s office. Wondered when he’d show up.””
The men from the Crown Vic wore blue and gray striped coveralls. One of them carried a tool belt, and the other was hauling a bulky evidence case.
The guy in the Marquis was a suit. He carried a clipboard and had a Bluetooth headset in his ear.
“Greetings and salutations,” Abner called out to the new arrivals.
They walked past me without a word.
The suit stopped at the lip of the foundation, where he pulled out the Bluetooth. “May I ask who you are?”
“Yes,” Abner said.
“Yes, what?”
“You can ask who I am.”
“Who are you?”
Abner carefully snaked his way through the piles of rubble to free them. “Abner Zickafoose, Ph.D.”
“Whoever you are, this—“ The suit stopped short. “The Abner Zickafoose?”
“I can’t imagine there are too many of us in the world.” Abner leaned on the hooligan like a farmer talking weather with a neighbor. “Have we met? My memory’s not as good as it used to be.”
“No sir,” the suit said, extending an eager hand. “Not personally, anyway. I attended several of your seminars on the collection of human remains at the AFPX conference. Your slideshows are pretty unforgettable, like the fireworks explosion you investigated. I mean, how many times do you see agents collecting body parts in cardboard flats?”
“I’ve seen it several times myself.”
“Really? What were the situations?”
“Ahem,” one of the men in the coveralls said.
“Sorry,” the suit said, getting back to business. “I’m R. L. Pickett, Loss Prevention, from the Allegheny County Clerk’s office. I’m standing in for the fire marshal while he’s at a conference. These gentlemen are Mr. Early and Mr. Stuart. They’re independent contractors specializing in site clean up and debris removal.”
My ears perked up. Loss prevention was code for arson investigation. “”Mr. Pickett, do you think the fire was set deliberately?”
Pickett twitched, as if he’d just noticed me. “I don’t think anything. Who are you?”
“The boy’s with me,” Abner said. “My research assistant. I’m investigating this fire, too.”
“Can I ask why?” Pickett said.
“Sure.”
“Sure what?”
Stuart checked his watch, and Early shook his head. They had reached consensus—Pickett wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
“You can ask why,” Abner said.
“Why are you investigating the fire, Dr. Zickafoose?”
I rolled my eyes. Pickett would make a perfect Naval officer candidate.
Abner swung the hooligan onto his shoulder. He looked perfectly at home standing in a dusty pile of debris, dressed in baggy jeans and an angler’s vest. His long beard and hair blew in a breeze that had kicked up. “There’s reasonable suspicion that an individual was killed here.”
Pickett shifted uncomfortably. His body language suggested insecurity. Fire investigations were complex and took years of training and hands-on experience.
Pickett had neither.
“That’s impossible,” he said. “There were no reports of casualties. Our records indicate the house was vacant. What are you basing your claims on?”
“Evidence.”
“What evidence?” Stuart said, almost laughing. “You’re wasting time, old fella, and time is money. If you don’t mind, just step aside and let us finish what we came to do.”
Stuart beckoned for Early. They climbed over the foundation.
Abner met them with the hooligan. “Actually, boys. I do mind. I’m trying to locate a body, and if you come tromping in here with those size twelves, you’re going to make my job that much harder.”
“You’re making our job harder, sir,” Early said.
"Too bad." Abner handed me a digital camera. “Take a shot every six seconds until we find something, and then every three. The memory chip’s big enough to hold a thousand pictures, so you won’t fill it up. Got it? Good.”
Pickett, realizing the situation was getting out of hand, stepped in front of Early and Stuart. “Let’s not do anything hasty, gentlemen.” He turned back to Abner. “Dr. Zickafoose, I respect your expertise, but the fire captain went over this site earlier. He found no evidence of human remains.”
“I’m not surprised. Firefighters don’t get much training in human identification.” Abner made his way through the piles again. He stopped in the back corner of the house. “That’s no fault of his own. Most people don’t know what to look for. Mr. Stuart, do you think we should be searching for a skull?”