Harvey, Maggie’s white Lab, stood whining and watching even though Patrick had filled both dog bowls. That’s when Patrick realized that Jake hadn’t come in from the backyard. Then he remembered Maggie’s concern earlier. Jake had been escaping and a neighbor had already been complaining. Actually, now that Patrick thought about it, Maggie had said the neighbor had been threatening, not complaining.
It wasn’t hard to understand. The black German shepherd looked menacing, and from Maggie’s brief explanation as to why the dog made the trip back with her from Nebraska, it sounded like Jake had proved to be not only menacing but also dangerous. It was obvious the dog had a fierce loyalty to Maggie. It cut both ways. Maggie had panicked this morning when she thought Jake had dug his way out of the backyard.
Patrick felt his stomach drop. After all that Maggie had done for him. Damn if he’d let this dog get out on his watch. He left the cabinets open, grabbed a leash and a jacket, and ran out the back door.
CHAPTER 17
Maggie arrived back at the scene just as Tully and Racine were walking out of the blasted wall of the second site. She almost wished they had left for the day. Anything to avoid those looks of concern. Tully had already called to check on her, offered to pick her up and take her home. She had declined. Told him she was on her way back, and yet the two of them looked surprised to see her.
“Just a few stitches,” she told them before either had a chance to ask. She said it in midstride and in a tone that closed the subject. “You mind catching me up?”
Racine gave her details about “the stiff” behind the Dumpster, including her theory that the kill had been made somewhere else.
“Stan’s office bagged and carted her,” Racine added. “He promised to do the autopsy himself first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Any chance she was homeless?” Maggie asked.
Racine shook her head. “Feet were exposed. Looked like a professional pedicure.”
“We did find the remains of a cardboard box,” Tully said. “Ganza’s back there seeing what trace he can find.”
Keith Ganza was the director of the FBI crime lab. Maggie wondered why this case suddenly warranted the director’s presence instead of a crime scene tech. Their boss, Assistant Director Kunze, lived by a political code Maggie abhorred. Twice in the past year that code had almost gotten her killed. She hoped Ganza was on the site simply because he wanted to be here instead of sending one of his techs. He was good. She liked working with him. If there were any answers in the rubble, Ganza would find them.
“I’ve got uniforms talking to the locals,” Racine continued. “They’re checking deliveries to the area and cab drivers. Maybe we get lucky and one of them saw something.”
Maggie stopped outside the opening Tully and Racine had just exited. The scent accosted her and she pretended it didn’t bother her. Why had she thought the scorched stench would have dissipated? She knew better. What she didn’t know, what still surprised her, was her body’s involuntary reaction to it. She caught herself wanting to hold her breath as the smell seeped into her throat, her lungs. Even her mouth tasted the charred remains like the black carbon on an overdone charcoal-grilled steak.
Don’t think about it, she told herself.
Tully kept his fingers at the top of his Tyvek overalls’ zipper, almost as if waiting for Maggie’s signal whether they were going back inside.
That’s when it occurred to her that she didn’t need to go in. What could she possibly learn that Tully and Racine hadn’t found? Her jaw relaxed. To insist on going for a look-see would be overkill. She didn’t need to drive home any point here.
She saw the fire department’s crew still sifting and raking the ashes and rubble.
“Any signs of the timing device?” she asked, not making a move.
Tully shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Fire chief believes they found the start point on the outside of the first building,” Racine said. “Preliminary guess is some kind of chemical reaction, because of the intensity of the fire. Said it looked similar to last week’s.”
“There was gasoline poured along the alley from the front of the building to the Dumpster,” Tully told her. “It was against the brick wall. Burned up the line of accelerant without going anywhere else.”
“The alley wasn’t the start point?”
“Not even close. It might have been an afterthought. And a poorly executed one.”
“The killer didn’t even try to burn the body?”
Tully shrugged. “If that was his intention he didn’t do a very good job. The guy torches two buildings but his murder victim doesn’t quite catch fire. Doesn’t make sense.”
“Oh, and there was another body inside the first building,” Racine said casually, almost absentmindedly. “Or at least someone’s head. They haven’t found the body yet.”
“Stan said something about pressure in the skull building up enough to blow it off the body.”
“Yeah,” Racine added with a roll of her eyes. “Gives new meaning to snap, crackle, and pop.”
“Only the skull looks bashed in. Has a hole about the size of a fist.” Tully held up his own to emphasize how big.