Page 7 of The Burning

The victim is monstrous. I hold my breath against the stench of singed hair and burning clothes. The underlying horror of cooked meat. Dear God.

Craning my neck, I get my first good look at the bindings. Wire. “Give me the bolt cutter!”

Mona thrusts the tool at me. I grab it, set the blades against the wire, and make the cut. The victim’s arms swing free, lifeless. A second wire binds the torso to the post. I shift the bolt cutter and snip. The body slumps and begins to fall. Rushing forward, I grasp the victim’s biceps with both hands. I feel the flesh slip beneath my duty gloves, and I steel myself against a wave of revulsion. Then Skid is beside me, taking the other arm, and we drag the victim from the embers. Twenty feet. We place him on the ground in a supine position. Arms outstretched at his sides.

“Water!” I say.

Mona knows the protocol and has it at the ready. I pour the entire bottle on the victim’s head and throat and upper torso. It’s not enough, but I know it doesn’t matter. We’re too late to make a difference. This victim is gone. The burns are too extensive.

For the span of several seconds, the only sound comes from our labored breaths. The woods are so quiet I can hear the tinkle of snow. The flutter of dry leaves. The low hum of wind through the branches. The sizzle and pop of the embers.

The distant wail of sirens breaks the spell. I look down at the victim, try not to recoil. I recall from my training that any burned clothing, shoes or belts, should be removed or cut away. This person is burned so severely I can’t discern fabric from flesh.

Without speaking, Mona jogs to the edge of the clearing and throws up. Skid digs into my equipment box and pulls out a thermal blanket.

“What the hell happened here?” he says as he snaps it open and covers the body, leaving the face exposed.

At first sight of this victim, I’d wondered if it might be the result of someone trying to do away with a dead body. But having seen the wire bindings and knowing Mona and Skid heard a scream upon their arrival, I realize that’s not the case.

Mona joins us. She’s no shrinking violet, but her face is the color of paste.

“Did either of you see or hear anyone out here when you arrived?” I ask. “Signs that anyone had been here?”

“I didn’t see anyone,” Mona tells me. “To tell you the truth, Chief, we were so focused on putting out the fire we might’ve missed something.”

“I didn’t see a soul.” Skid shakes his head, incredulous. “But that scream.… Chief, that poor son of a bitch was tied to that damn post and burned alive.”

It’s such a bizarre notion, I can’t get my head around it. But I know what I saw. The wire. The post. The wood piled high and set afire.…

“Smelled like diesel fuel, too,” I say.

He nods. “So, whoever did this used an accelerant.”

I turn my attention to Mona. “Let’s get this scene taped off. Twenty yards in every direction. Keep an eye out for footprints or anything else that doesn’t belong here. If you see anything unusual, mark it and preserve it.”

Nodding, she starts toward where our vehicles are parked.

“Skid, take a look around. See if you can find tracks or tire marks.”

He tips his hat at me. “You got it.”

The sirens are close now. Through the trees, I see the red and blue lights of a fire truck or ambulance. Mona’s Maglite sweeps from side to side as she disappears into the trees.

I look down at the victim and feel a twinge of nausea. “What the hell happened to you?” I whisper.

The only answer is the song of the wind serenading the night.

CHAPTER 3

An hour later, the area is crawling with law enforcement. The paramedics arrived first and pronounced the victim deceased. The scene was taped off and secured. The fire department extinguished the remaining coals. Once they deemed the area safe to enter, control of the scene was passed to the coroner.

Light snow angles down from a lowering night sky. I’m standing just outside the caution tape, waiting for Doc Coblentz. Forty feet away, the blackened post stands in macabre testament to what transpired. Earlier, I was able to locate the wire I had removed from the victim’s wrists and torso and placed all three pieces in evidence bags. It’s the first evidence I’ve retrieved in an expansive outdoor scene that promises to be difficult.

A few yards away, a Holmes County sheriff’s deputy is talking to one of the EMTs. The wind has picked up and I can see the EMT shivering beneath her coat.

“Chief?”

I glance over my shoulder to see Dr. Ludwig Coblentz and a young male technician approach. It’s been a couple of months since I saw the doc; he’s gained a few pounds. He’s wearing a heavy coat with a faux-fur-lined hood. Khaki trousers with the hem tucked into duck boots. Both men are carrying large medical cases at their sides.