Patricia Cornwell - Isle of Dogs

Christensen concluded that in some instances, the human body can indeed burn itself up at a very low heat if it is aided by cotton clothing that serves as a wick.

Obese elderly women with thinning bones and cotton house dresses are most likely to fall victim to this rare but ghastly phenomenon, and I offer here the sad case of Ivy, whose last name I will withhold out of respect for her privacy.

Ivy was a seventy-four-year-old white female who, at four-foot-eleven, weighed almost two hundred pounds, according to her driver's license and descriptions given by people who last saw her in the neighborhood. Up until two years before her strange, fiery death, she worked as a babysitter in Miami to supplement her modest income from Social Security checks and the small amount of cash her husband, Wally, had left her upon his sudden death. Ivy never worked for the same family longer than six months, as she would inevitably alienate the parents after they were subjected to one suspicious situation after another until finally they dismissed the peculiar woman even if they couldn't prove that she had actually done anything wrong.

Ivy had an insatiable need to be needed, and by her way of thinking, no one was needier than a sick or frightened child. She was careful never to take jobs if the children were old enough to talk intelligently and credibly, and therefore the parents never heard the truth about her misdeeds but certainly became concerned when they would return from outings and discover little Johnny or little Mary with stomach cramps, diarrhea, unusual bumps and burns, or in hysterics.

Several former clients of hers called her Poison Ivy behind her back and claimed she doctored their children's food with laxatives and other medicines, and by overspicing. One couple was certain the woman had burned their two-year-old with a cigarette deliberately, although Ivy claimed the child had grabbed the cigarette out of the ashtray and stomped on it, thus explaining the eight burns on the bottom of his tiny feet. Tales and scandals swirled about Ivy, and she finally decided it was best to retire, which was when her real problems began.

Home alone most of the time in her tiny stucco house, Ivy spent her days drinking cheap port, smoking, and eating snacks in front of the television. She was very stooped and round-shouldered from osteoporosis, and her arthritis seemed to flare up more often. No one called anymore or needed her for a thing. She grew to hate her life and everybody who had ever touched it, and never imagined that she was well on her way to becoming a case study in spontaneous human combustion.

As fate would have it, Ivy was in an especially foul mood on Christmas Day, 1987, when she put on a long-sleeve cotton housedress because the weather was a bit nippy. She fixed herself a strong screwdriver after opening the deluxe box of Whitman chocolates that were a gift from her son, who lived nearby but never came to see her and rarely called. She parked herself on the vinyl couch in front of the TV and drank and smoked the morning away. It was here on this very couch that her badly burned body was discovered two days later when the Cuban lady who lived next door became concerned because Ivy had not picked up her newspapers.

Virginia Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Kay Scarpetta worked the case, you, the reader, might be interested in knowing. She was beginning her career as a resident forensic pathologist at the Dade County medical examiner's office and responded to the baffling scene. Fire investigators and the police had never encountered anything like this, which isn't surprising since there have been only some two hundred cases of SHC reported since the 1600s. Ivy's torso was almost completely incinerated, including the bones, yet there was no sign of a fire anywhere in the house. Although not much was known about SHC at the time of Ivy's death, in retrospect it is fairly easy to reconstruct what happened.

Ivy passed out drunk and a lit cigarette dropped out of her mouth, setting her cotton housedress on fire. As her body began to burn, fat melted and the cotton became saturated and served as a wick. Ivy sustained low heat combustion possibly for many hours before the fire extinguished itself long after Ivy was dead. It's just lucky I did research on this rare phenomenon, because I know enough to realize two things about the mysterious death of fisherman Caesar Fender, whose burned body was recently discovered on Canal Street:

SHC is not a paranormal event, nor does Caesar's death meet the criteria in any sense.

In the first place, the grayish-white residue in his chest cavity clearly suggests an external fuel source. Also, Caesar was not very old or overweight, and it is unlikely his bones were thinning. Most significantly, he was not wearing cotton and a wicking effect could not have occurred. Nor was there any evidence that he was smoking at the time of his death, even if a witness, who is now the main suspect, claimed there was a Bic lighter in Caesar's pocket. That alleged lighter or pieces of it were not recovered at the crime scene or the morgue.

This leads me to suspect that a flare gun was used to commit what is clearly a murder, and I have a feeling Dr. Scarpetta is thinking the same thing. This makes Caesar's death quite different from what happened to Poison Ivy, who craved getting attention at the expense of others. Her syndrome is known as Munchausen's by Proxy, which simply means that someone harms another person who can't defend himself or describe what really took place. Victims are often young children or the infirm. The motivation of the perpetrator is to gain sympathy, attention, or feel needed as he rushes his victim to the doctor or the hospital.

"Oh, I don't know what's wrong with my little baby, " the wicked perpetrator will sob to the doctor. "But he's got terrible diarrhea again and is dehydrated and too weak to get out of bed. I'm just so distraught, I don't know what to do. I love my little baby so much, and I've already lost two babies, and if I lose another one I will lose my will to live!"

Another common reaction after the so-called caretaker has harmed someone in his or her care is to wrap the victim in his or her arms and coo and cry.

"Poor little baby, " the mendacious, cruel-hearted perpetrator cries out, "oh, my poor little baby! How did you burn your little feet? Oh, don't you worry, I'll take care of you. Don't cry, please don't cry, and don't be mad at me. I didn't do anything, you poor little darling. "

Baby wails and shrieks, and in pain and terror clings to mommy, daddy, or the caretaker's neck as the little one is rushed to the doctor, where the parent or caretaker gets the desired attention and compassion.

I think it is entirely possible that Major Trader, in addition to his pirate proclivities, suffers from Munchausen's by Proxy. He poisons others to manipulate and feel needed. If any of you, my readers, run across him or know where he is, please call the police immediately. He was last seen eating a breakfast sandwich as he backed out of his driveway earlier today, and has evaded arrest and is now considered a dangerous fugitive. If you spot him, please do not approach him, as he is violent and incapable of remorse. Nor should you accept any food from him, especially sweets.

Be careful out there!

That's what I'm considering. " Dr. Scarpetta's voice came over the speakerphone in Hammer's office shortly after Trooper Truth's latest essay rocketed through cyberspace. "But I would have preferred not having any information about a flare gun or anything else pertaining to my case published on the Internet. "

"No one has any control over what Trooper Truth writes, " Hammer replied as she gave Andy a disapproving look. "He's anonymous, assuming he's a he. "

"How did he know about my case in Miami?" Dr. Scarpetta inquired.