Dead Past

She grabbed the throw at the end of the sofa, covered her cold feet, and drifted off to sleep in the middle of her imaginary conversation with him.
    Diane awoke with a start. Not because there was an explosion outside her window this time. It was her cell phone vibrating and ringing in her pocket. She fished it out and looked at the illuminated display before she flipped it open and put it to her ear.
    “Chief Garnett,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound sleepy.
    “I guess you know why I’m calling.”

Chapter 3

    At nine o’clock in the morning the air was just as cold as it had been in the early hours before daylight when Diane fled from her home. The sky was gray-white and sunless. She stood in the ankle-deep snow just outside the yellow crime scene tape surrounding the burned-out husk of a house that was at the center of the night’s events. Unlike the bright, sparkling white mantle in front of her apartment house, the snow here was an ugly blanket of black and gray. The air smelled of chemicals, smoke, and wet ashes.
    Little remained of the house—its stone foundation, a few blackened pieces of wood framing, twisted shapes of water pipes, broken and blackened ceramic plumbing fixtures, the remnants of a brick fireplace, and a section of charred floor hanging over the dark pit of debris that had been the basement. She could pick out the forms of blackened disfigured bodies like a hidden picture puzzle among the rubble. She dreaded the next few days.
    “The fire chief tells me it was a meth lab that exploded in the basement.” Chief Garnett, well dressed as usual in a dark brown topcoat, stood beside Diane, surveying the damage. He shook his head. “There was a party going on upstairs at the time. The house was rented to a bunch of college students.”
    Douglas Garnett, chief of detectives, was Diane’s immediate supervisor for her position as director of the Rosewood Crime Lab.
    “How many people inside? Do you know?” she asked.
    White steam rose in front of their faces with each breath. Diane’s nose was growing numb.
    “That’s what you’re going to have to tell us.” He paused a long moment. “The neighbors say there was loud music going all evening. They saw kids on the front and back porches. I’m afraid to guess how many.”
    “Dear God,” Diane whispered.
    “We have a few survivors. Kids who were out in the yard when the house exploded. They’re all badly injured, but alive. So far, our best lead for information is the kid who tried to jack your car. He’s in the best condition of all of them. I understand he’s out of surgery. I’m going to talk with him after I leave here.
    The cold was beginning to seep into Diane’s fleece-lined jacket. She bent her knees and rubbed her gloved hands together. The cold didn’t seem to bother Garnett. He stood scanning the burned-out building, his hands in his pockets.
    “I’ve called in all the area medical examiners—Rankin, Pilgrim, Webber—we need to do this fast. Anxious parents are calling wanting to know if their child is among the victims.”
    At the sound of a generator motor starting, Diane looked a couple of doors down the street at the morgue tent being raised where she and the MEs would work. The white canvas structure covered the entire front yard of an empty house with a FOR SALE sign out front, which made it a good choice to occupy.
    City workers were quickly erecting a forensic city in the neighborhood. They had installed blue and white Porta-Johns near the morgue tent. A command post in a small travel camper sat in the driveway. In the street they’d parked a refrigerated trailer from a semi to keep bodies, evidence, and equipment. The forensic complex looked expensive and Diane said so.
    “We’ll have to bring in a portable x-ray machine and other equipment to do our job. All this could be done at one of the hospitals for a lot less money and aggravation.”
    “Good publicity is priceless,” Garnett said, nodding his head toward the local and Atlanta news media setting up their own tent city on a lawn across the street. “Nothing like seeing your leaders taking immediate action.”
    “I guess.” Diane’s attention was caught by a circular saw blade lying half-buried in the snow at the base of a thick oak tree. She squatted beside it. Garnett peered over her shoulder. Diane took a plastic bag full of orange marker flags from her jacket pocket.
    “What do you have there?” asked Garnett.
    Diane stuck a flag