‘The fire’s point of origin,’ McGovern said, ‘is right here.’
She pointed to a photograph of the interior of the scorched bathroom.
‘This corner near the tub where there’s an open window with a curtain,’ she said. ‘And in that area, as you can see, are burned remnants of wooden furniture and pillows from a couch.’
She tapped the photograph.
‘So we’ve got an open door and an open window, or a flue and a chimney, so to speak. Just like a fireplace,’ she went on. ‘The fire starts here on the tile floor, and involves the curtains. But the flames didn’t quite have the energy this time to fully engage the ceiling.’
‘Why do you suppose that is?’ I asked.
‘Can only be one good reason,’ she replied. ‘The damn thing wasn’t built right. I mean, it’s clear as day the killer piled furniture, couch cushions, and whatever into the bathroom to build his fire. But it just never got going the way it needed to. The initial fire was unable to involve the piled fuel load because of the open window and the flame bending toward it. He also didn’t stand around and watch, either, or he would have realized he screwed up. This time his fire didn’t do much more than lick over the body like a dragon’s tongue.’
Benton was so silent and still he looked like a statue as his eyes traveled over photographs. I could tell he had much on his mind, but typically, he was guarded in his words. He had never worked with McGovern before, and he did not know Dr Abraham Gerde.
‘We’re going to be a long time,’ I said to him.
‘I’m heading out to the scene,’ he replied.
His face was stony, the way it got when he felt evil like a cold draft. I gave him my eyes, and his met mine.
‘You can follow me,’ McGovern offered him.
‘Thanks.’
‘One other thing,’ McGovern said. ‘The back door was unlocked, and there was an empty cat pan in the grass by the steps.’
‘So you think she went outside to empty the cat pan?’ Gerde asked both of them. ‘And this guy was waiting for her?’
‘It’s just a theory,’ said McGovern.
‘I don’t know,’ Wesley said.
‘Then the killer knew she had a cat?’ I said dubiously. ‘And that she eventually was going to let it out that night or clean out the cat pan?’
‘We don’t know that she didn’t empty the litter box earlier that evening and leave it in the yard to air out,’ Wesley pointed out as he ripped off his gown. ‘She may have turned off her alarm and opened the door late that night or in the early morning hours for some other reason.’
‘And the cat?’ I asked. ‘Has it shown up?’
‘Not yet,’ McGovern said, and she and Benton left.
‘I’m going to start swabbing,’ I said to Gerde.
He reached for a camera and started shooting as I adjusted a light. I studied the cut to her face, and collected several fibers from it, and a wavy brown hair, four and a half inches long, that I suspected was her own. But there were other hairs, red and short, and I could tell they had been recently dyed because one-sixteenth of an inch at the root was dark. Of course, cat fur was everywhere, most likely transferred to bloody surfaces of the body when the victim was on the floor.
‘A Persian, maybe?’ Gerde asked. ‘Long, very fine fur?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ I said.
15
THE TASK OF collecting trace evidence was overwhelming and had to be done before anything else. People generally have no idea what a microscopic pigpen they carry with them until someone like me starts scouring clothing and bodies for barely visible debris. I found splinters of wood, likely from the floor and walls, and cat litter, dirt, bits and pieces of insects and plants, and the expected ash and trash from the fire. But the most telling discovery came from the tremendous injury to her neck. Through a lens, I found two shiny, metallic specks. I collected them with the tip of my little finger, and delicately transferred them to a square of clean white cotton cloth.