Don Winslow - California Fire And Life

Ng nods. "I tested her blood for a level of carboxyhemoglobin."

Carbon monoxide loves red blood cells. CO enters the body, seeks out those red blood cells and goes there. In the body of a person who dies from CO asphyxiation, you'd expect to find, for instance, two hundred times more CO than oxygen in the red blood cells. You'd find a high level of carbon monoxide in the blood.

"What was the saturation level?" Jack asks.

"Under 9 percent," Ng answers.

Which is negligible, Jack knows. A charred body will absorb small amounts of CO through the skin.

"Postmortem lividity?" Jack asks.

"Blue-black."

"Should have been bright red," Jack says. Carbon monoxide turns the blood bright red. "Blisters?"

"A few," Ng answers. "Small, filled with air."

Jack nods. It's what he'd expect on a body that was dead before the fire. Otherwise the blisters would be larger and filled with fluid. He asks, "Rings?"

"No rings."

Same thing. A live body in a fire develops inflamed rings around the blisters. Not so with a dead body.

"She was dead before the fire," Jack says.

Ng pours a second cup of coffee, for Jack. Hands him the styrofoam cup and says, "You know she was or you wouldn't be here busting my balls."

"I'm not busting your balls."

"Yeah you are." Ng plops down on his old wooden desk chair. Slides open a drawer in the gray metal desk and takes out a file. Tosses it on the desk and says, "You didn't see this."

Jack opens the manila file and about pukes.

Photos of Pamela Vale.

Half of her anyway.

Her legs are pretty much burned off. Shinbones exposed. Her arms are bent and pulled up, her fingers clawed as if she's trying to protect herself. Her face is intact, violet eyes open and staring.

Jack gags.

"Hey," Ng says, "you come here busting my balls, you get what you ask for."

"Shit," Jack says.

"Indeed," Ng says. "Any thoughts for me on why we have half of her intact?"

"The leg bones are exposed," Jack says. It would take twenty-five to thirty minutes at 1,200°F for an average structural fire to burn through to the shinbones. Except this fire didn't burn that long. But he says, "Fall-down effect, probably. Shielded her torso and face from the flames."

"Lucky girl," Ng says.

Jack makes himself look at the photos again and says, "She went pugilistic."

He's not talking about boxing exactly, except for the fact that when a human body is exposed to high heat, its arm and leg muscles contract, the arms pulling up into a classic boxer's pose. One reason that it wouldn't do this would be if rigor mortis had set in.

"Rigor?"

"No."

"No smoke in her lungs, no carbon smudges around her mouth, low carboxy, and she went pugilistic," Jack says.

Ng says, "She died before the fire but not long before the fire."

"Faceup or facedown?"

"Faceup."

Most people who die in a fire are found facedown. It's not a situation where you lie down on your back and wait for it.

"And this is an accidental death?" Jack asks.

"That's what the cops say," Ng says. "And the cops would never ever lie."

"She had alcohol in her blood."

"Yup."

"A lot?"

"She would have been considered legally drunk."

"Enough to pass out?"

"Hard to tell," Ng says. "I also found traces of barbiturates."

"So it could've happened," Jack says. "She's drinking and taking pills and smoking, she passes out, the cigarette ignites the alcohol…"

"Say she is unconscious," Ng says. "She's still breathing. She's inhaling smoke. No, this woman was dead before the fire."

"So how did she die?"

They sit there for a second, then Ng says, "There's no bruising around the throat, no ligature marks, no apparent trauma to the trachea. There are no signs of a struggle, as they say on TV I wanted to talk to the husband about it but his lawyer shut me down. The cops won't pick it up. They say it's an accidental fire, accidental death. Now you know what I know."

"It doesn't strike you as funny that a guy gets a call that his wife died in a fire and ten minutes later he has a lawyer?" Jack asks.

"I'm an ME. I don't analyze live behavior," Ng says. "Yes, of course it strikes me as funny."

Jack asks, "Sexual activity?"

"Those parts were consumed by the fire," Ng says. "Why?"

"Some sicko rapes her, sets a fire."

Ng shrugs. Says, "I saved blood and tissue samples. If there's interest I can send them off to a specialist, get an opinion on violent suffocation."

"Can I see the body?" Jack asks.

"The body's gone," Ng says.

"Already?"

"I released it," Ng says. Sees the look on Jack's face and says, "Jack, what do you want me to do? I have a fire inspector's report that says accidental, smoking in bed. I have a bloodstream juiced with alcohol and barbiturates-"

"She died before the fire."

Ng nods. "She drops the cigarette, loses consciousness, and ODs before the fire ignites. It's all consistent. If you're fishing for reasons to not pay the claim-"

"Fuck you, Winston."

"I'm sorry," Ng says. "It's been a long shift. That was unworthy."

"Yeah, it's been a day. So…"

"So I'm calling it an overdose."

An accidental fire and an accidental death.

"That's cool, Winston. I just wanted an explanation."

"No need to apologize."

"How are the kids?"

"Fine," Ng says. "I think they'll be glad when school starts again. I know I'll be glad when school starts again."

"Elaine?"

"Busy," Ng says. "I hardly see her. She's in that EBD phase — 'everything but dissertation.'"

"Tell her I said hello."

"You got it," Ng says. "Hey, you want the End of a Long Day Dark-Humor Special?"

"Sure."

"Mrs. Vale?" Ng says. "They're going to cremate her."

Jesus, Jack thinks.

Again?

Jack watches Pamela Vale walk around the house.

It's pretty eerie. He's sitting in an A-V room back at California Fire and Life, watching the video that Nicky had given him.

They had to scrape her off the springs.

Now here she is, Pamela Vale walking around the same room that's now full of cold, black ash. Where Jack saw her blood baked onto the melted bedsprings. Now she's looking into the camera and talking to him.

Very weird, almost voyeuristic. He's seen pictures of her charred, naked body — right down to the leg bones — and now she's walking around talking to him.

Young and very beautiful, is that how Nicky had put it? And no kidding, because Pam Vale is — was, Jack reminds himself, a very beautiful young woman.

It's sick. Jack thinks, because if you didn't keep yourself aware that this woman is dead, you'd befalling in love with her. She's wearing a print sundress that shows her body. She has black satin hair framing a heart-shaped face, but her eyes are what really get to you.

Purple.

Violet.

Some shade in there that he's never seen before.

They grab the camera, they grab your eyes and hold them.

And her voice.

Is pure sex.

Even narrating this inventory that Nicky's walking her through. He's holding the camera and whispering instructions. But it's not Nicky's voice softly telling her what to do, it's her voice describing, the television, the VCR, the paintings, the sculptures, the furniture, that gets to Jack. He expected it to be that high-pitched beach-girl trophy-wife kind of voice but it isn't. It's a woman's voice — a woman who was a wife and a mother of two kids and a manager of an expensive, complicated household — it's a voice with some real life experience behind it and it's deeper than he expected, and fuller. It's a mature woman's voice and it's pure sex.

Even in this video of Nicky's, basically saying Dig my possessions and this sexy woman is one of them.