Read Online Just Intuition by Makenzi Fisk - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Makenzi Fisk
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soot and debris. She began by snapping a few general photos with her iPhone. There had been no basement in the old bungalow and she stepped over a short concrete foundation that now served as the perimeter for the charred remains.
She looked at her boots covered in ash. The kitchen had been here, at the rear of the house. A gas stove now sat cockeyed at ground level, having fallen through the floor where it had buckled. She brushed soot off the front end with her bare hand and examined it. A nefarious scenario played out in her mind as she took close-up photos of the ends of the burner tubes. The plastic knobs had melted off but it was patently obvious that all four control valves had been in the full open position.
Metal legs of table and chairs poked up, everything covered in a thick layer of black soot. There wasn 't much else to see and she couldn't differentiate one blackened shape from another. She did remember something about fast fires creating a hump-backed charred phenomenon called alligatoring on burnt timbers. The effect is more severe closer to its origin. That confirmed that this explosive fire started in the kitchen. The gas stove. She wished she'd paid more attention to arson investigation during her classes at the academy.
The rest of the house had been reduced to ash, except the blackened brick chimney, which still stood tall. She scraped debris away from the front and took a peek inside, but didn 't really understand what to look for. Surely she'd know it when she saw it.
She stepped back over the foundation wall and wiped her boots on the grass. Soot had powdered her uniformed pant legs nearly to her knees and they would need to go directly into the washer at end of shift. A few steps away from the house, she considered the framework for the back porch. The angry lump resumed its position in her throat.
Someone had turned all the gas burners on. It was dark. Dolores didn't have a chance. The moment she hit the light switch, an electrical arc was created when the circuit was completed. This spark had ignited the gas and the whole place exploded in flames. Derek had told her earlier that they had found Dolores' charred shoes standing on the top of the step, as if she'd just stepped out of them to put on her slippers. The shoes were in an evidence bag somewhere down at the station but the mental image left behind was eerie. Erin hoped the end had come fast, for Dolores' sake. She took a deep breath and swallowed the jagged lump.
Bordering the drive, a stand of mature poplar trees stabbed blackened tops skyward. Below these ominous sentinels, she searched a tight pattern back and forth across the yard. Every piece of debris, every discarded wrapper flying on the wind was examined. With no outbuildings, it was a straightforward process.
Around back, a small raised garden bed still held vegetables. Unwatered for days, they withered in the summer heat. So sad and untended, Erin was compelled to water them, but there was no garden hose and no water. An old hand operated water pump sat nearby and Erin pumped the handle a few times but was met with a grating screech. The well, dried up years ago, had been kept around for sentimental or decorative reasons.
The back gate on the white picket fence hung open, but it was hard to tell if someone had passed through recently, or if the emergency crews had simply left it that way. Dolores would have kept it latched to keep out animals intent on her vegetable patch. She exited the gate, walked along the well-beaten trail that skirted the bog and doubled back following the fence line. Tufts of grass and brush bordered the fence on the outside, while inside the yard, the grass was trimmed as neatly as a golf green.
Was Derek right? There was nothing out here but mosquitoes and weeds.
She was on her way back, only a few yards from the open gate, when a metallic glint in the brush caught her eye. She used her boot to separate tall grass and dropped to one knee at the
She looked at her boots covered in ash. The kitchen had been here, at the rear of the house. A gas stove now sat cockeyed at ground level, having fallen through the floor where it had buckled. She brushed soot off the front end with her bare hand and examined it. A nefarious scenario played out in her mind as she took close-up photos of the ends of the burner tubes. The plastic knobs had melted off but it was patently obvious that all four control valves had been in the full open position.
Metal legs of table and chairs poked up, everything covered in a thick layer of black soot. There wasn 't much else to see and she couldn't differentiate one blackened shape from another. She did remember something about fast fires creating a hump-backed charred phenomenon called alligatoring on burnt timbers. The effect is more severe closer to its origin. That confirmed that this explosive fire started in the kitchen. The gas stove. She wished she'd paid more attention to arson investigation during her classes at the academy.
The rest of the house had been reduced to ash, except the blackened brick chimney, which still stood tall. She scraped debris away from the front and took a peek inside, but didn 't really understand what to look for. Surely she'd know it when she saw it.
She stepped back over the foundation wall and wiped her boots on the grass. Soot had powdered her uniformed pant legs nearly to her knees and they would need to go directly into the washer at end of shift. A few steps away from the house, she considered the framework for the back porch. The angry lump resumed its position in her throat.
Someone had turned all the gas burners on. It was dark. Dolores didn't have a chance. The moment she hit the light switch, an electrical arc was created when the circuit was completed. This spark had ignited the gas and the whole place exploded in flames. Derek had told her earlier that they had found Dolores' charred shoes standing on the top of the step, as if she'd just stepped out of them to put on her slippers. The shoes were in an evidence bag somewhere down at the station but the mental image left behind was eerie. Erin hoped the end had come fast, for Dolores' sake. She took a deep breath and swallowed the jagged lump.
Bordering the drive, a stand of mature poplar trees stabbed blackened tops skyward. Below these ominous sentinels, she searched a tight pattern back and forth across the yard. Every piece of debris, every discarded wrapper flying on the wind was examined. With no outbuildings, it was a straightforward process.
Around back, a small raised garden bed still held vegetables. Unwatered for days, they withered in the summer heat. So sad and untended, Erin was compelled to water them, but there was no garden hose and no water. An old hand operated water pump sat nearby and Erin pumped the handle a few times but was met with a grating screech. The well, dried up years ago, had been kept around for sentimental or decorative reasons.
The back gate on the white picket fence hung open, but it was hard to tell if someone had passed through recently, or if the emergency crews had simply left it that way. Dolores would have kept it latched to keep out animals intent on her vegetable patch. She exited the gate, walked along the well-beaten trail that skirted the bog and doubled back following the fence line. Tufts of grass and brush bordered the fence on the outside, while inside the yard, the grass was trimmed as neatly as a golf green.
Was Derek right? There was nothing out here but mosquitoes and weeds.
She was on her way back, only a few yards from the open gate, when a metallic glint in the brush caught her eye. She used her boot to separate tall grass and dropped to one knee at the
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