Douglas Preston - White Fire

The chief found it hard to concentrate on what Pendergast was saying. The wind had shifted again, and he was breathing assiduously through his mouth.

“This tells us not only the killer’s state of mind, but also some of his physical characteristics. He or she is certainly an athletic individual, perhaps with some rock climbing or other strenuous field experience.”

“Rock climbing experience?”

“My dear Chief, it follows directly from the fact there is no evidence of a ladder or rope.”

Chief Morris swallowed. “And the, ah, ‘explosive’ sadism?”

“The woman, Dutoit, was duct-taped to the downstairs sofa. The tape was wrapped all the way around the sofa — quite a job — rendering her immobile. She appears to have been doused with gasoline and burned alive. Most significantly, this occurred without the victim being gagged.”

“Which means?”

“The perpetrator wanted to talk to her, to hear her plead for her life, and then, after the fire began…to hear her scream.”

“Oh, dear Lord.” Morris remembered Dutoit’s strident voice at the press conference. He felt another dry heave.

“But the sadism evident here—” Pendergast made a gentle gesture in the direction of the remains of the dead girl— “is even more extreme.”

Morris didn’t want to know more, but Pendergast went on. “This girl was not doused with gasoline. That would have been too quick for our perpetrator. Instead, he started a fire to the right of her, there, and let it burn toward her. Now, if you will examine the pipes that the victim was handcuffed to, you will notice that they are bent. She was pulling on them with all her might in an effort to escape.”

“I see.” But the chief didn’t even make a pretense of looking.

“But note the direction in which they are bent.”

“Tell me,” said Chief Morris, covering his face, no longer able to take it.

“They are bent in the direction of the fire.”

A silence fell. “I’m sorry,” the chief said. “I don’t understand.”

“Whatever she was trying to get away from — it was even worse than the fire.”

The last time Corrie was in the old Victorian police station, she’d been in handcuffs. The memory was fresh enough that she felt a twinge upon entering. But Iris, the lady at the reception desk, was almost too nice and happily directed her to Pendergast’s temporary office in the basement.

She descended the stuffy staircase, walked past a dim, rumbling furnace, and came to a narrow corridor. The office at the end had no name on it, just a number; she knocked and Pendergast’s voice invited her in.

The special agent stood behind an ancient metal desk covered by racks of test tubes, along with a chemistry setup of unknown function that was bubbling away. The office had no windows, and the air was stifling.

“Is this what they gave you?” Corrie asked. “It’s a dungeon!”

“It is what I requested. I did not wish to be disturbed, and this office is in a location where that is assured. No one comes to bother me here — no one.”

“It’s hot as Hades in here.”

“It’s no worse than a New Orleans spring. As you know, I am averse to cold.”

“Shall we go to dinner?”

“So as not to blight our meal with talk of corpses and cannibalism, perhaps we could spend a few moments catching up with your research first. Please sit down.”

“Sure thing, but can we please keep it short? I’m averse to heatstroke.” She took a seat and Pendergast did likewise.

“How are you progressing?”

“Great. I’ve finished examining four sets of remains, and they tell the same story: all victims of a gang of cannibalistic serial killers.”

Pendergast inclined his head.

“It’s unbelievable, really. But there’s no question. I did find something interesting in the last skeleton I looked at. The guy with the weird name, Isham Tyng. He was one of the first to be killed, and his bones do show extensive signs of perimortem damage from a large, powerful animal, no doubt a grizzly bear — along with the usual signs of beating, dismemberment, and cannibalism performed by human beings. I looked up the newspaper accounts of the killing, and in this case a bear was scared off the remains by the arrival of Tyng’s partners. No doubt the bear was scavenging the victim after he’d been killed by the cannibal gang. But this sighting is clearly what cemented the idea in everyone’s mind that the killer was a grizzly. A reasonable assumption — but also, sheer coincidence.”

“Excellent. The story is now complete. I assume you don’t need to examine any more remains?”

“No, four is plenty. I’ve got all the data I need.”

“Very good,” murmured Pendergast. “And when will you be returning to New York?”

Corrie took a deep breath. “I’m not going back yet.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve…decided to expand the scope of my thesis.”

She waited, but Pendergast did not react.

“Because, I’m sorry, but the fact is the story isn’t complete. Now that we know these miners were murdered…” She hesitated. “Well, I’m going to do my damnedest to solve the murders.”

Another dead silence. Pendergast’s silver eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Look, it’s a fascinating case. Why not pursue it to its end? Why were these miners killed? Who did it? And why did the killings stop so abruptly? There are tons of questions, and I want to find the answers. This is my chance to turn a good thesis into a really great one.”

“If you survive,” said Pendergast.

“I don’t think I’m in any danger. In fact, since the fires I’ve been ignored. And nobody knows about my most important discovery — everyone still believes a grizzly did it.”

“Nevertheless, I am uneasy.”

“Why? I mean, if you’re worried about where I’m house-sitting, it’s miles away from the houses that were burned. And I’ve got a new roommate — Captain Bowdree, as it happens. You couldn’t ask for better protection than that. Let me tell you something: she’s got a .45 and, believe me, she knows how to use it.” She didn’t mention the footsteps she’d found circling the mansion.

“I have no doubt. But the fact is, I must leave Roaring Fork for several days, perhaps longer, and as a result I’ll be unable to give you the benefit of my protection. I fear that your looking into this case may awaken the proverbial sleeping dog. And there is an ugly dog sleeping in this rich little town, of that I am sure.”

“Surely you don’t believe the arson attacks are somehow linked to the miner killings? They were a hundred and fifty years ago.”

“I don’t believe anything — yet. But I sense deep, strong water. I’m not in favor of your remaining in Roaring Fork any longer than necessary. I advise you to leave on the first plane out.”

Corrie stared at him “I’m twenty, and this is my life. Not yours. I’m really thankful for all your help, but…you’re not my father. I’m staying.”

“I will discourage it by withdrawing my financial support.”

“Fine!” Corrie’s pent-up anger came bursting out. “You’ve been interfering with my thesis from the beginning. You can’t help interfering — it’s the way you are — but I don’t appreciate it. Can’t you see how important this is to me? I’m getting tired of you telling me what to do.”

Something flashed across Pendergast’s face — something that, had she not been so angry, she would have recognized as dangerous. “My only concern in the matter is your safety. And I must add that the risks you face are greatly augmented by your unfortunate tendency toward impetuousness and imprudence.”