Ashes to Ashes

thin layer of flesh had been seared away. The uniform had been right: At a glance there was no determining gender, except that the scraps of fabric that clung to the back of the body might have once been women's clothing—a piece of pink sweater, a swatch of skirt.

A burly paramedic with soot on his face looked up and shook his head. “This one's for the bonepicker. She was long gone before we got here.”

Kate's head swam. She kept trying to think of what to do, how to know if it was Angie. The ideas seemed to bend and elongate and swoop through her brain.

Dental records were out of the question. They didn't know who the hell Angie DiMarco was or where she had come from. There were no parents who could give them dental records or medical records that might have pointed out old bone fractures to look for when the body was X-rayed. There were no personal effects to pick through.

Earrings. Angie wore earrings.

The ears of the corpse had been burned down to charred nubs.

Rings. She had half a dozen, at least.

The hands of the corpse were black and curled like monkey's paws. It looked as if there were fingers missing.

A shudder went through Kate that had nothing to do with the cold. Quinn drew her away a step at a time.

“I don't know,” she mumbled, still staring at the body. The toes were pointed like a gymnast's, a result of tendons constricting. “I don't know.”

She was shaking so badly, Quinn could feel it through her heavy wool coat. He pulled her out of the traffic flow and pushed her hair from her face, tipping her head back so that she had to look up. Her face was ashen beneath the sodium vapor lights of the parking lot. She stared up at him, her eyes glassy with shock and dread. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to pull her close and hold her tight.

“Are you all right, honey?” he asked gently. “Do you need to sit down?”

She shook her head, looking away from him to the ambulance crew, to the fire engines, to the glare of lights around the television people. “I—no—um—oh, God,” she stammered, her breath coming too hard and too fast. Her eyes found his again and her mouth trembled. “Oh, God, John, what if it's her?”

“If it's her, you didn't put her there, Kate,” he said firmly.

“Rotten kid,” she muttered, fighting tears. “This is why I don't do kids. Nothing but trouble.”

He watched her fight, knowing she wasn't half as tough as she pretended to be, knowing she had no one in her life to turn to and lean against. Knowing she probably wouldn't have chosen him for the job now. Knowing all those things, he whispered, “Hey, come here,” and drew her close.

She offered no resistance—strong, independent Kate. Her head found his shoulder and she fitted against him like his missing half. Familiar, comfortable, perfect. The noise and commotion of the crime scene seemed to recede into the distant background. He stroked a hand over her hair and kissed her temple, and felt complete for the first time in five years.

“I'm here for you, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I've got you.”

“Is it her?” Rob Marshall scuttled toward them on his too-short legs. He was bundled into a fat down parka that appeared to be creeping up around his ears; a stocking cap sat tight on his round head.

At the sound of his voice, Kate stiffened, straightened, moved a step away from Quinn. He could almost see her reining in the emotions and hastily reconstructing the wall around them.

“We don't know,” she said, her voice husky. She cleared her throat and swiped a gloved finger beneath one eye. “The body is unrecognizable. No one's found an ID yet that we know of.”

Rob looked past her to the paramedics. “I can't believe this is happening. You think this is her, don't you? You think this is your witness.”

Your witness, Kate noted. He was already distancing himself from the disaster, the same way he'd distanced himself from the decision to take Angie to the Phoenix in the first place. The miserable toad.

“How did this happen?” he demanded. “I thought you were watching out for her, Kate.”

“I'm sorry. I told you on the phone I was sorry. I should have stayed with her.” The admission grated now because it was a concession to her boss, and she automatically wanted to disagree with him.

“We chose you for this case for a reason.”

“I'm well aware of that.”

“Your background, the strength of your personality. For once I thought your stubbornness would actually work to my benefit—”

“You know, I'm blaming myself enough for both of us, Rob,” she said. “So you can just get off my back, thank you very much.”

“Sabin is furious. I don't know how I'll placate him.”

The witness was hers to lose, the peace was his to make. Kate could already hear him whining and wheedling to Sabin, taking her name in vain every chance he got.

“I'm sure you'll be fine,” she snapped, too angry for prudence. “Just get down on your knees and pucker up like you always do.”

Rob's whole being quaked in a spasm from his feet up, the fury erupting from his mouth. “How dare you speak that way to me! How dare you! You've lost the witness. Maybe gotten her killed—”

“We don't know that,” Quinn intervened.

“—and still you have the gall to talk to me that way! You've never shown me an ounce of respect. Even now. Even after this. I can't believe you! You fucking bitch!”

“Back off,” Quinn ordered. He stepped between them and knocked Rob in the sternum hard with the heel of his hand. Rob stumbled backward, lost his footing in the snow, and landed on his butt.

“Why don't you go take a look at what Kate's just seen,” Quinn said, not bothering to offer a hand up. “Get a fresh perspective as to what's important here right now.”

Rob scrambled to his feet, muttering, jerked around and stomped toward the ambulance, dusting the snow off his jacket with quick, angry movements.

“Dammit, John, I wanted to knock him on his ass,” Kate said.

“Then I probably just saved your job for you.”

The sudden possibility that her career might indeed be in danger struck Kate belatedly. God, why wouldn't Rob fire her? He was right: She'd never given him more than the barest requirement of respect. Never mind that he hadn't earned it. He was her boss.

She watched him as he stood near the ambulance with a mittened hand over his mouth. The crew was preparing to put the body in a bag. When he came back, his face looked both waxy and flushed.

“That's—that's—horrific,” he said, breathing heavily through his mouth. He pulled off his glasses and wiped his face with a mitten. “Incredible.” He swallowed a couple of times and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That smell . . .”

“Maybe you should sit down,” Kate suggested.

Rob partially unzipped his coat and tugged down on the bottom. His gaze was still on the ambulance. “Incredible . . . horrible . . .”

The search helicopter swept near, blades pounding the air like the wings of a giant hummingbird.

“He's challenging us, isn't he? The Cremator,” he said, looking to Quinn. “Taking the girl. Doing this here, where the meeting was held.”

“Yes. He wants to make us look like fools while he makes himself look invincible.”

“I'd say he's doing a damn good job of it,” Rob said, staring across the way as the paramedics loaded the corpse into the ambulance.

“Anybody can look like a genius if they have all the answers ahead of time,” Quinn said. “He'll screw up eventually. They all do. The trick is to get it to happen sooner rather than later. And to get him by the balls the instant he stumbles.”

“I'd like to be around to see that happen.” Rob wiped his face again and adjusted the parka. “I'll go call Sabin,” he said to Kate. “While we still work for him.”

Kate said nothing. Her silence had nothing to do with the county attorney or the suddenly precarious disposition of her job.