I knocked on back door five minutes before Abner finally answered. My grandfather was dressed in a white lab coat and rubber apron, and he wore latex gloves and a face shield. In the old days before everyone worried about pathogens so much, Abner would do field examinations without any gear at all, using just a dab of vapor rub under his nose to cut the stink of decomposition.
“Wear these,” Abner thrust a coat and apron at me. “The hyphenated lady runs a clean ship.”
“No gloves?” I pulled on the gear. “What if I have the urge to touch something?”
“Keep your urges to yourself.”
Abner steered me to the lab. The basement made for a half-decent morgue. It had a stainless steel table, refrigeration units, instruments, and a good light. “Why are you so interested in this case, Boone? It’s not like you’ve got a horse in this race.”
“Too nosy for my own good.”
“You get that from your mama.”
“She says I got it from you.”
“All you got from me.” He opened the door and stepped through the decontamination curtains. “Was my charm and good looks. Hey, Meredith, I’d like to introduce you to my grandson, Boone Childress.”
Meredith was in her mid-thirties, with above-average height. Her blonde hair was cut chin length, and her cheeks blushed red from the cold air in the room. I noticed that she had eyes the color of coffee when she flashed a polite smile. Her handshake was firmer than I expected. Warmer, too.
“Pleasure to meet you, Boone. Your grandfather tells me you’re following in his footsteps. He didn’t tell me you were so handsome, though.”
“His footsteps are too big for me,” I said, “but I’m interested in specializing in fire investigation.”
“You should consider our forensic program.” She nodded at Abner. “If you’re half as gifted as Dr. Zickafoose, you’d be a good fit here.”
“I’ll certainly consider it.” I was considering three schools—Carolina Tech, State, and Carolina. Lately, Carolina had seemed more appealing.
“Excellent,” she said. “Now could you sit over there? That way, you won’t be tempted to touch anything, like a certain anthropologist I know.”
Abner laughed, and I slunk over to a stool, feeling very much like a student.
Meredith Windsor-Smith opened the body bag containing the female torso. “Dr. Zickafoose, can you hit the tape?”
Abner thrust a mini-recorder under my nose. “Handle it.”
“Okay, Boone. Hit it.” She began in a clear voice. “This is Dr. Meredith Windsor-Smith, Associate Professor, Carolina Tech University.” She stated the time and date and the names of the people in attendance. “Individual to be examined appears to be a female, between sixty and sixty-three inches in height. Age is still indeterminate. Traces of polyester fabric at the victim’s waist.”
Unable to fight the temptation, I snuck over to the table. I picked up a probe and pushed away the material on the pelvis.
“Skin has a glossy appearance,” Meredith continued. “Arms are drawn up in the typical pugilist position.” She grabbed my wrist. “Put the probe down, please. I’m trying to work. What exactly are you looking for?”
“Any evidence of accelerants on the skin?” I asked. “Or anything to determine the source of the fire that killed her?”
Meredith gave me a funny look, like she was surprised. “Before you arrived, I detected small amounts of shrapnel in the epidermis, along with some residue that I haven’t had time to identify. For example.” She pointed to a chunk of metal in the corpse’s belly. “All burns are post-mortem. Ergo, cause of death is most likely smoke inhalation. There was enough skin, however, to take fingerprints. If she has any record in AFIS, we’ll find her.”
I began examining the corpse’s fingertips, wondering how Meredith could ever see the prints, just as Sheriff Hoyt barged through the curtains and into the room.
"Sheriff!" Meredith said. "What bring you here this time of night?"
“Well, hell, Abner,” Hoyt said, “if this ain’t a pleasant surprise. Except it ain’t pleasant, and I sure ain’t surprised to see you sticking your nose where it don’t belong.”
Abner glanced at the doctor, who stared at Hoyt. Neither of them was happy about the intrusion.
“Sheriff,” Meredith said. “Dr. Zickafoose is here to assist me.”
Hoyt tossed a manila folder on to the table. “The fire investigators filed their final report, and there’s no sign of foul play. Y’all go home. I’m taking possession of the body right now. This autopsy is over.”
“I haven’t finished my work,” Meredith protested. “I can’t file a complete report about the identity of the victim.”
“That ain’t your problem anymore. And you two,” Hoyt said to me and Abner, “will be leaving. Right now.”
I walked toward Hoyt. “This is a public building, sheriff, and you’re out of your jurisdiction, so whether we leave or stay is none of you business.”
“Suit yourself.” Hoyt turned back to Dr. Windsor-Smith. “Tag and bag the body, professor. I’ll be taking it back to Allegheny County with me. Far as I’m concerned, this case is closed.”
“Dr. Zickafoose, Boone, let’s go.” Meredith pulled off her latex gloves and threw them at Hoyt. “You already took possession of the body, sheriff. We’ll leave the bagging and tagging to you.”
SATURDAY
1
It was past 0200 hours when I got home. The weather had turned cold and windy. I drove down the driveway with my lights off and left my boots on the porch. I tried to be quiet. Mom slept like the dead, but Lamar dozed off and on. It was easy to wake him.
My effort was wasted. When I got to my room, I started to close the blinds and saw Lamar. He was standing on the pond’s floating deck, staring into the water.
What was he doing out there? It was still four hours before he normally woke up to feed the animals. It wasn’t like him to go for moonlight strolls.
Then I saw the flicker of a lighter’s flame, the glowing ember of a cigarette. That explained it. He was sneaking a smoke. He had quit years ago, but he’d been known to sneak one or two when something was eating at him.
Guess I wasn’t the only one with a trouble mind.
I closed my blinds and burrowed under the covers.
Sleep didn’t come easily. My mind was racing with its own problems. The fires. The dead woman. The graveyard. There had to be a pattern here, an underlying set of dots I couldn’t see but knew in my gut were there.
Then there was Cedar. Her comment about accelerating kept coming back like acid reflux. What did she want accelerated? Our relationship? How was I supposed know? She had thanked me for not pushing when we snuggled in the barn, but now, she was put off because I was going too slowly?
Long before the alarm clock went off, I climbed out of bed. In the bathroom I pulled on a pair of nylon running shorts and a shirt. I added a Carolina hoodie for warmth.
“Feel like a run?” I asked the cat as I passed through the living room.
The gold and white tabby looked up from her rug. She hissed. Exercise clearly was not on her agenda. Maybe we needed a beagle like Chigger to motivate her.
Outside, I trotted down to the driveway. I limbered up beside the cars. Then I took off. My hands and feet were cold at first, but the air was still humid enough to work up a sweat. I trotted for a few minutes, then lengthened my stride and turned from the dirt road leading to the highway.
Mist rose from the creek like a blanket. In the summer months, the creek would be noisy from the noise of croaking frogs, but now it was quiet. The only sound was thud of my sneakers on the pavement and the rise and fall of my breath.