Fireproof

smiled.
    Tully and Racine did not.
    The ATF investigator didn’t notice and continued, “That sort of blows your theory. Nobody’s gonna hear anything in this alley if they’re all sleeping in shelters.”
    “That’s just it,” Racine said, unfazed. “There are nowhere near enough beds. Drive around here at two in the morning and you’llsee what I’m talking about. There’s construction for a new shelter about a block away, but that’s months from completion.”
    “You just made me glad I live in Virginia,” Ivan said. “I need to start the walkabout inside. I’ll let you two start your work out here.”
    And that was the extent of Ivan’s interest. His focus remained on the fire and how it started. That was his job. Dead bodies were an inconvenience, a nuisance, especially ones that didn’t belong to the building or the fire. Dead bodies were Tully and Racine’s job.
    Without another word Ivan turned and sauntered down the alley, his gait slow and thoughtful.
    Tully glanced at Racine. He knew the eye roll was coming but still caught himself smiling when it did.
    “That guy gives me the creeps. What rock did the ATF find him hiding under?”
    With Ivan gone, Racine moved in closer to get a better look at the victim. Tully pulled on a pair of shoe covers and followed. He kept the latex gloves in his pocket.
    The woman lay in a heap like discarded rubbish that hadn’t quite made it into the Dumpster. Her arms were tucked under her torso and her legs tangled over each other. He wondered about Racine’s theory. Rigor mortis sets in twelve to thirty-six hours after death, but what most people don’t realize is that after thirty-six hours the body becomes pliable again. This woman had been dead for almost two days. Racine was right. No way was this body lying here unnoticed for that long.
    Tully suspected her killer dumped her body just before the first fire. It wasn’t unusual for arsonists to hide their murders amongthe ashes. But if that was the case, this guy had really screwed up. How could he choreograph two fires in two different buildings and fail to burn his murder victim?
    Right now that was the least of Tully’s concerns. Especially when he got a good look at the damage under the tangled hair. It was difficult to guess the woman’s age. Her face had been beaten so badly the left eye socket and nose were practically gone. Her mouth gaped open, a black hole where her jaw and teeth had been successfully shattered. Hair color was impossible to determine, since the hair was caked with blood and tissue. Her clothes were dirty and stained but not torn or ripped.
    Did she have a chance to fight back? Tully wondered.
    “First body,” Racine said. “Last week the buildings were unoccupied. Think he’s accelerating? Or just reckless?”
    “Maybe he didn’t know about this one.”
    Racine raised an eyebrow. “You think someone else did this? Not the arsonist?”
    “Just keeping an open mind.” Gut instinct, but he wouldn’t say that to anyone except maybe Maggie. Whoever did this was much more brutal than a nuisance fire starter.
    “So what? The killer catches a big break that the building he dumps his victim next to goes up in flames? Too much of a coincidence.”
    Tully shrugged. That’s exactly what Maggie would say right about now. He still couldn’t believe she hadn’t argued with him about going to the ER to get checked. He was pleased but concerned. In the years he had known Maggie O’Dell there was only one other time he remembered seeing such uncertainty in her eyes. Uncertainty that bordered on fear. And that one other time Maggiehadn’t admitted her vulnerability to him or anyone else. So how bad was this if she was willing to go to a hospital?
    He wished he could convince himself that she had agreed just to appease him. But he knew better. The fact that she admitted she might not be okay was unsettling.
    They hadn’t worked together for more than a year. Not since their director, Kyle Cunningham, had died. The case that led to his death had been their last one. And actually, Maggie wasn’t supposed to be on that case after both she and Cunningham were exposed to the Ebola virus. Maggie had ended up in the Slammer, an isolation ward at USAMRIID (U. S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases) at Fort Detrick. Ebola Zaire—the virus she and Cunningham had been exposed to—was nicknamed “the slate cleaner.” About 90 percent of those exposed died, with