“Arson?”
Chief Grenier shrugged both shoulders and raised his eyebrows. “Not my call.” He snapped his chin strap and gripped the sides of the ladder. “All we’re doing is moving debris to be sure the fire’s completely cold. This kitchen was full of junk. That’s what provided the fuel to burn right through the floor. We’ll take extra care around the bones. I’ll give a whistle when it’s safe.”
“Don’t spray any water on the remains,” I said.
He gave a hand salute and disappeared down the ladder.
It took thirty minutes before I was allowed into the basement. During that time I went to the crime scene truck to collect my equipment and arrange for a photographer. I located Pierre Gilbert and asked to have a screen and spotlight set up below.
The basement was one large open space, dark and damp and colder than Yellowknife in January. At the far end loomed a furnace, its pipes rising, black and gnarled, like the limbs of a giant dead oak. It reminded me of another cellar I’d visited not long ago. That one had hidden a serial killer.
The walls were cinder block. Most of the large debris had been cleared and heaped against them, exposing a dirt floor. In places the fire had turned it reddish brown. In others it was black and rock-hard, like ceramic tile fired in an oven. Everything was covered by a thin membrane of frost.
Chief Grenier took me to a spot on the right edge of the floor collapse. He said that no victims had been found elsewhere. I hoped he was right. The thought of sifting the entire basement almost made me weep. Wishing me good luck, he left to rejoin his men.
Little of the kitchen sun made it this far back, so I took a high-powered flashlight from my kit and shone it around me. One look caused adrenaline to report for duty. This was not what I’d expected.
The remains were strewn over an area at least ten feet in length. They were largely skeletonized, and showed varying degrees of heat exposure.
In one cluster I could see a head surrounded by fragments of differing shapes and sizes. Some were black and shiny, like the skull. Others were chalky white and looked ready to crumble. Which is exactly what they would do if not handled properly. Calcined bone is featherlight and extremely fragile. Yes. This would be a difficult recovery.
Five feet south of the skull an assortment of vertebrae, ribs, and long bones lay in rough anatomical position. Also white and fully calcined. I noted the orientation of the vertebrae and the position of the arm bones. The remains were lying faceup, one arm crossing the chest, the other flung above the head.
Below the upper arms and chest lay a heart-shaped black mass with two fractured long bones projecting distally. The pelvis. Beyond this, I could see the charred and fragmented bones of the legs and feet.
I felt relief, but some confusion. This was a single, fully grown victim. Or was it? Infant bones are tiny and extremely fragile. They could easily be hidden below. I prayed I’d find none when I sifted through the ash and sediment.
I made notes, took Polaroids, then began to sweep away soil and ash using a soft-bristle paintbrush. Slowly, I exposed more and more bone, carefully inspecting the displaced debris, collecting it for later screening.
LaManche returned as I was clearing the last of the muck that lay in direct contact with the bones. He watched silently as I took four stakes, a ball of string, and three retractable measuring tapes from my kit.
I hammered a stake into the ground just above the cranial cluster, and hooked the ends of two tapes onto a nail I’d driven into the top. I ran one tape ten feet south and pounded in a second stake.
LaManche held that tape at the second stake while I went back to the first and ran the other tape perpendicular, ten feet toward the east. Using the third tape, I measured off a hypotenuse of fourteen feet one and three-quarter inches from LaManche’s stake to the northeast corner. Where the second and third tapes met, I hammered in a third stake. Thanks to Pythagoras, I now had a perfect right triangle with two ten-foot sides.
I unhooked the second tape from the first stake, hooked it to the northeast stake, and ran it ten feet south. LaManche brought his tape ten feet east. Where these tapes met I hammered in the fourth stake.
I ran a string around the four stakes, enclosing the remains in a ten-by-ten-foot square with ninety-degree corners. I would triangulate from the stakes when taking measurements. If needed, I could divide the square into quadrants, or break it into grid units for more precise observations.
Two evidence recovery techs arrived as I was placing a north arrow near the cranial cluster. They wore dark blue arctic suits, SECTION D’IDENTITE JUDICIAIRE stamped on their backs. I envied them. The damp cold in the basement was like a knife, cutting right through my clothes and into my flesh.
I’d worked with Claude Martineau before. The other tech was new to me. We introduced ourselves as they set up the screen and portable light.
“It’s going to take some time to process this,” I said, indicating the staked-out square. “I want to locate any teeth that might have survived, and stabilize them if necessary. I may also have to treat the pubes and rib ends if I find any. Who’s going to shoot pics?”
“Halloran is coming,” said Sincennes, the second tech.
“O.K. Chief Grenier says there’s nobody else down here, but it wouldn’t hurt to walk off the basement.”
“There were supposed to be kids living in this house,” said Martineau, his face grim. He had two of his own.
“I’d suggest a grid search.”
I looked to LaManche. He nodded agreement.
“You’ve got it,” said Martineau. He and his partner flicked on the lights on their hard hats, then moved to the far end of the basement. They would walk back and forth in parallel lines, first proceeding north to south, then crisscrossing east to west. When they’d finished, every inch of floor would have been searched twice.
I took several more Polaroids, then began to clear the square. Using a trowel, a dental pick, and a plastic dustpan, I loosened and dislodged the filth that encased the skeleton, leaving each bone in place. Every pan of dirt
