No One Heard Her Scream

you apprised of Murphy's progress myself. Deal?'

Becca crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, staring at him. He had played the guilt card like a master, no way for her to trump it. She cocked her head and crooked a corner of her mouth, watching as he basked in his victory.

He returned her smile. 'If you need anything, or just want to talk, let me know.'

'Thanks, L.T. I'll remember that.'

Becca left his office and headed for dispatch, her mind working on what to do next. Lieutenant Santiago had been right about one thing. Closure was important. It would be worth any sacrifice.

The heat from the sun burned off the morning haze, but an early cool front brought a stiff breeze to jostle the trees. Real Texas weather. A taste of winter might come on the heels of sweltering heat or monsoon rains. This time of year, it paid to be a regular Girl Scout, prepared for anything.

Becca turned off Commerce onto St. Mary's Street and found a parking lot across the street from the Imperial Theatre. She found a spot next to one of the fire department trucks. Once outside her vehicle, Becca tugged at the collar of her white oxford shirt and buttoned the jacket to her navy pantsuit, preparing to go inside. Becca removed her sunglasses, slipped them into the pocket of her jacket, and clipped her ID badge on a lapel. She stared across the street to assess the damage from the front.

Yellow crime-scene tape whipped in the breeze, a flag for curious onlookers. Several people lingered on her side of the street and down a block or two. What they expected to see, she had no idea. For all they knew, it had only been a fire. News of the body had not been released. Still, morbid curiosity drew them like flies to roadkill.

But one man stood out from the rest.

Dressed in a sharp suit and tie, the guy looked like he had stepped off the cover of Gentlemen's Quarterly magazine with his swarthy good looks. GQ had mongo bucks written all over him. Wearing dark glasses, he leaned against a deep blue Mercedes S 600 parked along the street, hands in his pants pockets. Even without seeing his eyes, she knew he spotted her, his head turning with interest as she stood on the curb. He didn't look like the typical gawker who hoped to catch a glimpse of some action from the old burned-out building. Not this guy. He was anything but typical. And another facet of him caught her eye. Ever since leaving her Crown Vic, she had become his focus, holding his complete interest.

'The feeling's mutual, gorgeous,' she whispered. 'But I'm not in the mood.'

Becca shifted her gaze to the Imperial. The theater bore a certain dignity, even covered in layers of soot. The fire had consumed much of its striking architecture and intricate detail with no regard for history. Prior to the blaze, she believed the theater had been left derelict. A real shame.

Seeing it now from the outside—nothing more than a blackened carcass—provoked her already sullen mood. She read somewhere that the recently declared historic building had been slated for restoration, but the work hadn't begun yet. Now, it never would.

From what she remembered of the theater, Baroque, Mediterranean, and Spanish Mission influences had inspired the design. Conveying theater patrons to a fanciful villa, arches with ornate columns, tile rooftops, and a bell tower surrounded the stage. Walls were transformed into steeples with colorful glass windows. Rising above the quaint setting, a vaulted 'sky' in deep blue twinkled with endless stars and clouds drifted overhead like mist. On a balcony railing, a rare white peacock perched next to doves caught in midflight, all part of the architect's illusory world.

With a young Danielle in tow, Becca had been in the theater as a teen, the treasured memory of an outing with her late grandmother. The experience had forever left its mark. At the time, she and Dani imagined the Imperial to be a grand palace, home to a legendary king and queen with magical powers. Crystal chandeliers soared high above the plush seats, making the gilded walls glisten in the pale light. She remembered holding her breath when the lights dimmed, eyes wide. With its elaborate brocade borders, the velvet curtain rose over the stage. Elegant ballerinas performed The Nutcracker, looking even more enchanting on the ornate stage. Pure magic.

Now all that was gone, and so was Danielle. Her heart ached with profound loss.

Ignoring GQ, still standing by his pricey car, Becca crossed the street and walked through what remained of the front door. After she flashed her badge to the uniform stationed at the entrance, he handed her a protective helmet with Plexiglas visor, standard-issue. She reached into the pocket of her jacket for a fresh pair of latex gloves and made sure she had her casebook, pen, and flashlight.

Inside, a dank smoldering odor filled her nostrils. Water damage fused with the fire's destruction. Squinting, Becca adjusted to the dark interior and hit the switch to her Kel-light. The beam of light stretched into the void, capturing fine particles of dust in its wake—a reminder why the air felt thick and smelled stale. The scorched shell captured her attention, a macabre landscape in black and gray. Past the lobby, an eerie hum drifted through the cavernous space, leading her like a beacon.

She heard voices ahead, the words garbled by the distance and the steady whir coming from a portable power generator. With the electricity out to the building, the generator would allow them to work by floodlights. Crime-scene techs were hard at work, bagging and tagging evidence and taking digital photographs.

But one section of the theater caught her eye. Bright lights flooded a murky and gaping cavity in a stone wall to the right of the stage. A group of men gathered near the opening, their silhouettes casting elongated shadows with every flash of the camera. As she approached, one of the men turned.

'Hey, Becca. Was wondering who'd get the short straw.' Team leader for the crime-scene technicians, Sam Hastings grinned as Becca snapped on her latex gloves.

Tall and lanky with curly brown hair receding at his temples, the senior CSI stepped aside for her to get a closer look. Details of his face faded from view as he moved deeper into the shadows.

'Short straws are all I get lately.' Skeletal remains were uncommon. Becca crooked her lips into a reasonable facsimile of a smile. 'Before I forget, have one of your guys record the crowd outside, especially the suit by the Mercedes. And get his tag.'

'Good idea. Firebugs like to watch the aftermath of their handiwork. The guy look suspicious?'

'Let's just say he stands out from the crowd, but I want the license tags and faces of everyone out there.' She bent to get a closer look and dropped to a knee.

One of the techs knelt by the masonry and removed another stone, setting it on the floor beside him. A couple of bricks were already bagged. She knew anything could be evidence, including the mortar used. It might give some indication of a time line.

With flashlight in hand, Becca kept her eyes focused on the dark hole. She found herself staring into the hollow eyes of a skull. Its jaw gaped open in a grotesque scream. The smell of old death lingered enough to fill the tomb with a stale earthy stench, nothing more.

'So, tell me something I don't know, Sam.'

'Okay.' He took a moment to think. 'When I was ten, a kid half my size made me cry when he threatened to hit me.'

Becca turned toward him, an eyebrow raised.

'Not exactly what I had in mind, but thanks for sharing.' She fought a smile. 'How did they find the body?'

'Firefighter swingin' a mean ax took out the first bricks, enough to find somethin' staring back.'

Once again, Becca glanced over her shoulder. Before she made a smart remark, Sam beat her to the punch, 'Hey, if I'd gone the fireman route, I would've had to make a trip home to change my shorts. But I'm your basic jaded CSI guy. Nothing much surprises me anymore.'

'I hear ya.' Becca shifted focus deep into the hole and noticed something disturbing. 'What do we have here? He's got no fingers?'

'Phalanges are the first to go. Over time, small bones drop off,' Sam replied. He nudged close to her shoulder and used his flashlight to locate the bone fragments in the bottom of the cramped space. 'It's gonna take us a while to remove the skeleton. We'll extricate the rest in one piece if we can.'

He changed direction of his beam to reveal the skull and spoke aloud as if he were making a mental checklist.

'We don't get many skeletal remains to ID. We may have to bring in a specialist—a forensic anthropologist