of prints with Dennis, here.'
Dennis had been doing the fingerprint search. He gave out with a ''Yo'' for all to identify him.
'We should also scrape the message for a sample of the grease he used to smear out this message with, to confirm my suspicion,' Jessica told Fairfax. 'Also, see to it clear laser photos and the usual photos are made from every angle on this mirror, before anything is removed.'
'Not to worry, Dr. Coran,' Fairfax assured her.
The blue light disappeared when someone turned on the portable lights the fire investigation team had brought into the room. The electricity in the room had long since departed.
Karl Repasi now stepped over to where she stood before the mirror. 'Impressive, Doctor, but you can be assured that I have everything here well in hand. So, you and Dr. Thorpe ought really to go back to the convention, enjoy yourselves. This is hardly an FBI matter.'
Jessica did not release Repasi from her glare. 'Karl, I want a copy of every photo shot here,' she replied. 'And if you autopsy her, I want a copy of the protocol.'
'We'll have to get a laser camera from the lab,' complained Fairfax, who sent one of his men out with the chore.
In the meantime, Repasi gave Jessica a hard stare, as if to say, Who's in charge here? but he kept silent counsel while the flash, flash, flash of the 35mm Kodak camera and the repeated whining of its automatic forward gave positive response to Jessica's request. The noise of the camera also came as a welcome relief to Jessica's thoughts. Other noises and voices now filtered in from the hallway, where people were gathering and being held back by uniformed policemen.
'Here's the answer to your earlier question, Dr. Repasi,' declared Charles Fairfax, who also vied for control of the crime scene. Fairfax's hair was light and wispy, making him look like a candidate for baldness within a few years. His stony eyes and grim demeanor were in keeping with both the scene and his job. He presented the picture of confidence and knowledge. 'Whoever doused her with the gasoline and set her aflame, first went to work on the overhead sprinklers and the alarm.' He pointed to the melted alarm box, its wires exposed and singed like dead and hardened worms.
For Jessica the crime scene took on a surreal nature, as if time stood still.
Repasi was still defending his position with Jessica, saying, 'I was only a few doors down. I stumbled into this, just as you have, but now that I'm here, I'm obligated to see it through.'
Jessica nodded in response, knowing Repasi to be an ambitious man by nature, and that M.E. s as a rule were ambitious and tenacious. Good attributes for the profession. He surely saw the media attention such a case meant. Jessica, like Repasi, had known in her bones, the moment she'd stepped into the room, that it had to be murder and no mere fire suicide.
Jessica, ignoring the others, now stared at the body and the bed upon which the woman had died, the bed that had been turned into an inferno, the remnants now black and dripping a mucky residue all about the carpet around the fire hole in the bed, the body on the bed sagging through to the blackened carpet beneath. The body looked like a martyr upon a cross, its hands and feet stuck together as if soldered that way, the remnants of whatever binding that held the victim in place now turned to black snakes coiled about her wrists and ankles.
Jessica's eyes, as if fitful and resisting her stare, blinked again and again over the sight like two small cameras recording the indigestible truth, while the photographer with the fire department continued to snap photos from where he stood on the opposite side of the bed.
Everyone was going about his or her duties, doing what must be done while Jessica felt impaled in thin air, unable to make a decision, unable to think clearly, feeling a helpless fool, just in the way here, as Repasi believed, while her mind replayed the telephone call again and again in its every detail. She must recall every word, every nuance, for every utterance, every sound, could be important. The one sound-that rush of fire-she would never forget; it had been like death's angel whispering in her ear.
She felt J. T. tugging at her to come away from the body and the room; she felt all eyes upon her. But the photographer, Repasi, the firemen, none of them had spoken with the dead woman only moments before. They could afford to be nonchalant about the murder; they didn't have an emotional stake in the circumstances surrounding the killing. Nor could they possibly know what was going through her mind, how she felt, the overwhelming remorse and helplessness she now endured.
'Jesus, the odor… damn, look at it…' said J. T. with a moan at Jessica's side, the sight of the charred corpse getting to him now, too.
Jessica's mind retreated, wanting to shout at Karl or any other easy target: This isn't really happening, is it? Some sort of gag, an elaborate hoax put together for the convention, a fun 'whodunit' for the weekend get-together of forensics champions, to keep everyone occupied? M.E. s liked healthy competition with one another, and Repasi was beating hell out of her. Her instincts had been right on. The fire, Fairfax, and the firemen added a nice touch, along with the body via a Hollywood prop specialist. It all made for a fun-filled mystery weekend game engineered by Karl and his pals, and J. T., the double-crossing, scrawny traitor, was in on the joke as well… If only it were true.
Jessica felt J. T. pushing a handkerchief into her hands. He'd already placed one over his own nose to ward off the sickly sweet and sour odor of charred flesh, which she knew only too well to be real-no moviemaking magic could capture such a stench. Handling burn victims was never easy.
J. T. was saying, 'Gives me the heebie-jeebies just lookin' at her.'
'Yeah, right,' agreed Repasi. 'Makes my skin crawl, too. Thorpe, this is a real body, a real crime scene. If you ever got out of that laboratory of yours in Quantico, you'd know this is the rush we live for, right, Jess?' he suddenly asked her, making her feel even more responsible for this young woman's death than she already did, if that were possible.
When Jessica failed to agree with him or meet his eyes, Repasi shook his head and stared back at the dead woman, muttering, 'Hell of a way to go out, but maybe she was dead when he did her. Only an autopsy'll tell us so.'
'Any ID on the victim?' Jessica asked, drawing Fairfax's attention.
'Nothing found so far. No purse or wallet, no, but a front desk check says the room's registered in the name of a Chris Dunlap. We might assume this is Chris.'
'If the room is registered to the victim here, it should be a Chris Lorentian,' she muttered in response. 'Maybe Dunlap's a maiden name.'
J. T. put an arm about her.
The fire investigator's eyes widened as he asked, 'You knew her?''
Repasi jumped into her face. 'How do you know the victim, Jessica? Cops are going to want to talk to you. Is she with the convention, in the club?''
'Only briefly met by… by phone, and no, she's not with the convention, so far as I know. I only spoke briefly to her. Damn.. damn,' Jessica further muttered as if to herself, the men in the room all staring now at her.
'Whoever killed her, he or she held the room for some time before doing the deed then,' J. T. pointed out unnecessarily, likely needing to hear himself speak in the face of such horror. Jessica realized that he seldom got out of the lab and that he was hardly used to such awful crime scenes as this. She instinctively grasped the protecting hand he'd placed on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
'You okay?' she near-whispered to him.
'Don't worry about me, Jess.'
'You look a little pale.'
He stepped away from her, closer to the body, giving it his full attention, holding himself in, and lying without saying a word.
Jessica began barking orders, saying, ''Contact the desk again. Find out for certain who the room was registered to. See if it's ahhh… ahhh… see who signed for the room.'
'Yeah, like the bastard's going to leave his name at the desk,' mocked Karl Repasi. 'Maybe toss his business card into the jackpot drawing beside the clerk?''
'Karl,' she said, looking at the man's light Polish features, 'did you place a call from this room earlier?'
'What? What in hell are you implying, Dr. Coran?'
'No way,' said the fire investigator. 'Phone line was seared through and the electrical in here is out. I had to
