I pulled my canvas jacket closed, ducked under the
louis vuitton outlet water spouting from a fire hose just as the generators on the front lawn fired up. Conklin was ahead of me as we mounted the front steps. He badged the cop at the door and we entered the scorched carcass of the house.
“Two victims, Sarge,” said Officer Pat Noonan. “First doorway on your right. DRT.”
Dead right there.
louis vuitton outlet I asked, “Has the ME been called?”
“She’s on her way.”
It was darker inside the house than out. The room Noonan indicated had been a large den or family room. I flicked my flashlight beam over piles of furniture, bookshelves, a large TV. Then my light caught a pair of legs on the floor.
They weren’t attached to
chanel bags sale a body.
I screamed, “Noonan! Noonan! What the hell is this?” I waved my torchlight around, catching a second body a few feet from the torso of the first, just inside the doorway.
Noonan came into the den with a firefighter behind him, a young guy with the name Mackey stenciled on his turnouts.
“Sarge,” Mackey said, “it was
chanel bags me. I was trying to reel in my line, but it caught. That’s how I discovered the DB.”
“So you dragged the body?”
“I, um, didn’t know that if I picked up the body by the legs, it would fall apart,” Mackey said, his voice cracking from smoke inhalation and probably fear.
“Did you move the entire victim, Mackey,
chanel bags or just the legs? Where was the body lying?”
“He, she, or it was in the doorway, Sarge. Sorry.”
Mackey backed out of the room, and he was right to get away from me. What the fire hadn’t destroyed, the water and the firefighters had. I doubted we’d ever know what had happened here. I heard someone call my
chanel handbags name, and I recognized his voice as the glare of a handheld lantern came toward me.
Chuck Hanni was an arson investigator, one of the best. I’d met him for the first time a few years ago when he’d come to a fire directly from a Rotary Club dinner.
