Fireproof

a light box. Secured them in place and turned on the light.
    Maggie immediately noticed the white oval in the chest X-ray.
    Stan tapped it with his pen. “The killer evidently didn’t know the victim very well.”
    “Is that what I think it is?” Racine asked.
    “But there’s only one,” Maggie said.
    “A single breast implant usually indicates cancer rather than just cosmetic surgery. Good news is, we should be able to figure out who she is. It’s considered a surgical device, so it’ll have the manufacturer and a serial number.”
    “So they can match it in a database?” Maggie asked.
    “The bastard didn’t count on that when he was bashing in her face and teeth.”
    “Should be able to give us the name and address of the surgeon,” Stan said. “You’ll need to convince him to give you the patient’s name.”
    “Simple as that,” Racine said.
    “Not quite so simple. I’ll need to cut it out completely. The serial number’s on the other side.”

CHAPTER 37

    Tully settled into the editing studio, surprised at how small it was. His long legs folded uncomfortably, his knees against a panel of knobs, switches, and keyboards. The space reminded him more of a cockpit than a television news studio.
    The engineer Samantha Ramirez introduced as Abe Nadira was not pleased to have Tully beside him. He glanced at Tully, eyes only, head straight forward. His lips pressed together, a thin line that barely moved when he talked. He gave one-word replies most of the time. Tully was relieved that Sam stayed. He didn’t get the whole story of what had happened last night at Maggie’s, but it had changed the young camerawoman’s attitude. Suddenly she was willing to do whatever she could to help them.
    She stood behind them, directing Nadira like a backseat driver, only with a quiet and gentle patience.
    “I think you might need to go back all the way to a minute, forty seconds. I did a brief test,” Sam said, “then a full sweep of the area.”
    She was referring to her film footage from the fire, the minutes before the rescue teams arrived. Tully still didn’t buy her reason for getting to the fire so quickly. She claimed she and Jeffery Colewere supposed to meet for a late dinner after finishing up what she called a “puff piece” on the District’s homeless. They had spent several hours shooting in front of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library, where the evening buses unloaded the homeless who had commuted downtown for the day and were returning.
    That he believed.
    Racine had mentioned the program. He had checked and found that the last bus dropped off passengers at about six thirty. Even if Sam and Jeffery had hung around to do more filming, the time stamp on her footage displayed 11:10. That was a pretty late dinner for a thirty-two-year-old woman who had a six-year-old son at home.
    He’d checked out Samantha Ramirez last night, too. As remorseful as she seemed about switching cartridges on him, there was something this woman wasn’t telling him. Something she didn’t want him to know.
    Nadira had started playing the film and Tully sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, since they were up to his chest anyway. He pushed his glasses up and settled his chin on his fists. The position pulled at his shoulder, reminding him that it was still tender from his fall in the alley.
    There were very few people in Sam’s initial sweep with the camera. She caught them wide-eyed, crawling up off the sidewalk or wandering into the street from the alleys and door wells. The first flames were encased behind the windows, which were still intact. It was almost as if the fire had just started. Was it possible that they had been there that soon?
    “Do you know who called in the fire?”
    “No idea.”
    “How did Jeffery find out?”
    “He has a police scanner. He always knows stuff before anyone else. Sometimes I think he must be psychic.”
    “Jeffery psychic. That’s a scary thought,” Nadira said, and he and Sam laughed.
    “What exactly are you looking for?” Sam asked Tully. “Some guy jerking off? Isn’t that what Berkowitz did?” But she didn’t wait for Tully to answer and continued, “Or that arson investigator in California during the 1980s where the fires were always close to conventions he just happened to be attending.”
    “Seriously?” Nadira asked. “Criminals can be such stupid bastards.”
    “Who was the guy in Seattle that started like seventy-some fires before