Fireproof

The large intestine retained its dark red color, the small a grayish purple.
    “The average small intestine is twenty feet long,” Maggie said, and he knew she wasn’t spouting off trivia. Then she added exactly what Tully was thinking. “He’s done this before.”
    Tully took three steps for a closer look. He agreed. The streamers were intertwined on the low branches of the maple tree like someone would hang a strand of lights on a Christmas tree. It took some time and effort and expertise. This wasn’t the chaotic frenzy of a madman, ripping and tossing.
    Maggie’s phone started ringing. She glanced at the caller ID and answered, saying, “You’re not going to believe what we found.”
    But the person interrupted her and Maggie went quiet, listening, her eyes darting around before settling on Tully.
    After a few seconds she whispered, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

CHAPTER 68

    Cornell had talked them into holding him another night in jail. He insisted he had some valuable information for Agent Tully. Only problem was that Agent Tully, he was told, was out of town and couldn’t talk to him until Monday morning.
    What a shame. What a lucky shame .
    The wafer-thin cot was softer than the pavement and a blanket—hell, he didn’t even need a blanket it was so much warmer in the holding cell. He tried his best to not let them know that this inconvenience was like a vacation. Although not quite a vacation. He missed not having a shot or two of whiskey. And the headache was not a picnic, but the food was lukewarm and he even got a couple rec hours in the TV room.
    It had been so long since he’d watched TV he didn’t recognize any of the celebrities or pundits. Though Cornell had never been much interested. Reality shows—what a bore.
    Tonight a thin, washed-out druggie had control of the remote and Cornell knew not to challenge the man. Glassy-eyed and leather-skinned, this guy looked like he had climbed out of a Zombies-R-Us ad. And for some reason the guy appeared fascinatedby cable news. No channel surfing, no checking sports scores or weather.
    The next show was supposed to have a feature on the fires and that caught Cornell’s attention. So he sat patiently. What else did he have to do? Oh, that was another thing—the drug zombie kept the volume to a whisper, so Cornell spent most of his time reading the crap at the bottom of the screen.
    He pulled up the chair closer to the TV just as an interview started. Two men were identified at the bottom of the screen as Jeffery Cole, journalist, and Wes Harper, private firefighter for Braxton Protection Agency. Cornell was so busy reading, it took him a minute to look at the two guys and when he did he couldn’t believe it. Without a doubt he recognized the guy from the alley. The guy who had poured the gasoline.

CHAPTER 69

    Maggie had turned down Tully’s offer to drive her to the hospital. Someone needed to wait and secure the crime scene until Ganza’s crew got there. Besides, it wasn’t the first time her mother had attempted suicide. In fact, Maggie had lost track of how many times Kathleen O’Dell had tried to kill herself.
    The first time it was sleeping pills. Then pills and alcohol. Five years ago when Maggie was in Nebraska, working a case, Kathleen decided to use a razor blade for a change of pace. Her therapist at the time called the cuts hesitation marks. After all, if she was really serious she would have cut vertically, slicing the veins open instead of across.
    It had been three years since her last attempt. Julia Racine had been there that time, too. At a restroom sink in a Cleveland park, just before a rally for a religious organization.
    Later Maggie asked Racine what it was that she said to convince her mother to stop. Racine told her, “I said I was already in a shitload of trouble with her daughter and maybe she could give me a break.” Of course Kathleen had laughed at that. She could relate. For the last twenty years she had felt like she was in a shitload of trouble with Maggie, too, because she had constantly let her down.
    Maggie realized that ever since her father’s death, her mother had exchanged and swapped out her addictions like they were fashion trends, from Johnnie Walker to Valium to sex, then religion and health food and back to Johnnie Walker. The other day when Maggie walked in on her mother trying to get rid of Patrick, she recognized the signs that her mother was drinking again without needing to