The Last Surgeon

inside.

The stack of Nick Fury comic books had been incinerated. It had been stupid not to leave them someplace safer. Jillian glanced about and laughed ruefully at the irony of that thought. There was nowhere safer-at least not in her world. The comics had seemed unusual for Belle to have, but not that significant. What else had been lost that might have shed light on Belle’s killer, she wondered. She felt no compulsion to sift through the charred remnants to prove what she knew in her heart-there was nothing left.

At the doorway to the combination sunroom and study-the only significant addition she had made to the place-Jillian spotted the V-shaped burn pattern just above the gnarled metal baseboard heater. According to Emberg, the fire inspector had pegged that spot as the source of the blaze. A subsequent call by her to the Arlington fire department supported that conclusion. According to the chief, it had taken investigators only a few hours to rule the conflagration accidental. The clothes inside a plastic bag left up against the electric baseboard heater had ignited, setting a nearby stack of similar bags ablaze, as well as a wastebasket and its contents. The telling signs, the chief explained, were the uniform V-shaped burn pattern and lack of any trace evidence of an accelerant.

Despite there having been a lot of green plastic storage bags around from the move, Jillian was almost certain she had not left any of them near the baseboard, and had turned off the heat before leaving for the airport. Or had she? She hadn’t been thinking clearly since Belle’s death, and in the rush to make the flight to Charlotte, who knew what details she might have overlooked? The weather had been unseasonably cool lately, and the study, beautiful as it had been, seemed to accentuate extremes in temperature. If only it had been warmer, perhaps this would not have happened.

Wondering if the damage to the upstairs had been as total as that around her, Jillian checked the ceiling. The panels had melted away, exposing blackened wiring and support beams. Miraculously, however, the exposed floorboards, though scorched and streaked black with soot, seemed intact in most spots. Perhaps the upstairs wasn’t as badly damaged as Emberg had indicated.

Jillian was musing about the safety of what remained of the stairs when she heard footsteps descending from the second floor.

“Hello?” she called out.

“Hi there,” a cheerful male voice replied from above. “I thought I heard someone come in.”

The stairwell leading to the top floor curved to the right, making it impossible for Jillian to get a clear look at the man until he was almost to the bottom step. He wore soot-smeared tan coveralls with yellow and silver reflective tape wrapped around the arms and ankles, a bright yellow hard hat, and heavy, well-worn construction boots. He removed his helmet as he neared, revealing a mane of thick silver hair.

“I didn’t realize anybody was going to be here,” she said.

“Neither did I,” the man responded. “Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t startle you too much.”

He navigated his way over a debris pile and pulled off his work gloves to extend his hand to her. “Name’s Regis, Paul Regis. I’m a fire investigator with Atrium Insurance.”

She took his hand, which felt smooth and cared for. His grip was firm.

“Jillian Coates,” she said. “I live… lived here.”

Regis quickly glanced about.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Coates. I really am. This is a terrible thing to have happen.”

Jillian liked Regis for saying that.

“Worse than you could ever imagine,” she replied. “But Scott Emberg, the president of the condo association, made it sound like the damage here had already been inspected.”

“Oh, gosh, I apologize,” Regis said, his hazel eyes earnest. “I’m a very trusting person, so that’s probably the reason I’m always forgetting to show this. I should have it hanging in plain sight, but I never liked things around my neck.”

He reached into the breast pocket of his coveralls. Pulling out an ID badge hanging from a metal beaded lanyard, he presented it to Jillian, who glanced at it. The photo didn’t nearly do Paul Regis justice.

“Atrium isn’t my insurance company,” she said.

“I’ve been hired to perform an independent investigation of the premises,” Regis explained. “You might not be an Atrium customer, but your condominium association is.”

“Why did the condo association contract you to investigate? I’ve been told the cause was already established.”

“Oh, yes, the burn pattern above the heater in your office. It appears that they are right on the money. Arson investigators usually are. We’re quick but careful. Atrium has several of us experienced inspectors on the payroll, mostly guarding against home or business owners who hire a pro to defraud their friendly neighborhood insurance company. Every once in a while, we find something the local department’s inspectors have missed that points to arson. In that case, even if it’s someplace modest-no offense-we’ve earned our keep.”

“I see,” Jillian said, feeling a great emptiness, and suddenly not anxious for Paul Regis to leave. “I didn’t realize insurance companies had their own fire investigators.”

“They all do. They’ll double-check anything that’s threatening to cost them money. That’s why so many of the biggest buildings in so many cities have insurance companies’ names on them.”

Regis smiled, but Jillian abandoned a brief attempt to respond in kind. She had no relatives in the city, but half a dozen of her friends would be happy to take her in. Probably more. Most of them had already extended kindness to her by planning the funeral, bringing food, and staying over with her. It made her sad to think of having to impose on them again. It was hard to believe that before the horrible call from the Charlotte police, she was happy and fulfilled almost every minute of every day.

Regis seemed to have maturity and a genuine air of compassion. Maybe they could go and sit for a cup of coffee before she decided whom to call.

“You look a little pale,” he said. “Do you need to sit down?”

“No, I’m okay. Actually, there’s a bench on the lawn out front. If you have time, maybe we could sit down there for a bit.”

Regis took her by the elbow and guided her out through what had once been the portal to her home. Twilight had nearly given way to a cool, breezy night. Jillian decided she would find a hotel and deal with everything else in the morning.

“I’m really sorry about your place,” Regis said again.

“Thanks. It’s just stuff, I know, but it was my stuff-mine and my sister’s.”

“I wasn’t told that someone else lived here.”

“It’s just me. My sister died three weeks ago.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.”

“She lived in North Carolina. I was storing all of her things before I decided what to do with them. Now they’re gone.”

“In my line of work,” Regis said, “the first lesson you learn, and learn quick, at that, is things are replaceable, but people aren’t.”

“I’m grateful that nobody was hurt, or worse. It’s just that-” Jillian’s eyes began to well. She took a minute to compose herself. “These things were all I had to remember her by. Our parents passed away a few years ago in a car accident.”

“It’s a strange coincidence,” Regis said, “but I lost my sister too.”

“I’m so sorry, Paul.”

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad for me or anything,” Regis continued. “Just wanted to let you know that I understand how hard this must be for you. My sister’s death has haunted me my whole life. In fact, she’s the reason I’m a fire investigator.”

“Was she killed in a fire?”

“Exactly,” Regis said, staring off at the condos across the walkway. “I was away at college when it happened. She was only sixteen, living at home. It was arson. Jealous boyfriend threw a gasoline bomb into her bedroom window while she slept. She didn’t have a chance. Ever since that I’ve been fighting fires or investigating them-first for various fire departments, and for ten years now as an independent contractor.”

“That’s a horrible story. Just horrible.”

“At least I can say Susannah didn’t die in vain. I’ve helped police catch a bunch of arsonists. I’m very good at