Torch Scene by Renee Pawlish Page B

about?”
    “O’Rourke was in trouble with some bookies. I don’t have much more than that.”
    “But why would a loan shark kill O’Rourke? They can’t get money from a corpse.”
    “That’s what I’ve been asking myself,” I said. “Unless they got tired of him and decided to get rid of him. Permanently. Or they’re sending someone a message.”
    “Who?”
    “I didn’t say I knew the answer.”
    She pulled a key from her pocket and unlocked the new front door that the insurance company had put up so the house was secure.
    “How’d you get a key?” I asked.
    She rolled her eyes. “I’m the police, Ferguson. I can get things, like a key from the insurance company.”
    “What’re you doing here?”
    “I wanted to look around again,” she said. “Sometimes it helps me focus. The little things can get overlooked.”
    My curiosity got the best of me. “Can I…”
    A twinkle entered her eye. “Okay,” she finally said. “Be careful.”
    She ducked under yellow crime scene tape that was strung across the door and I followed her into the entryway, trying to act like a professional and not a kid in a toy store.
    The old Victorian had been fashioned into three units. A large foyer was now closed off. The door to Willie’s ground floor apartment was directly opposite the main door. To our right, stairs led to the other units. The space reeked with a dank, smoky odor. The walls were water-stained, the paint bubbled in spots. A poster of Paris that Willie had hung on one wall in the foyer was lying on the floor, ruined.
    We headed up the stairs. The door to Darcy’s apartment was at the top of the stairs, across a small landing. Plywood covered most of the wall by the stairs and a new door had been installed. A portion of what was her ceiling was gone. I suspected her unit had sustained a great deal of water damage. I reached out and touched an exposed section of drywall. It might’ve been my imagination, but it felt damp. I let out a long sigh.
    “Yeah, it’s bad,” Spillman said. “Watch your step.”
    The stairs leading up to the third-floor studio were already warping, and those near the top were charred and deformed. The fire inspectors had repaired them enough so that a person could walk all the way up. As the room came into view, I was stunned.
    The entire roof had burned away, leaving only a few charred crossbeams. Two of the walls were gone, leaving a gaping hole exposed to the world. The other two walls were partially gone, more framing than part of a house. I hadn’t been able to see much of this from my condo. The entire living space, what was left of it, was a black mess.
    I ran a hand over my face. “How did they find a body in there?”
    “It’s amazing, really.”
    She got to the landing and passed through what would’ve been the entry to O’Rourke’s apartment. Her eyes roved around the space, taking it all in. Then she moved into the room, treading carefully over plywood that had been laid on the floor.
    I made it to the top of the stairs, and she indicated I should stop.
    “Stay out of the way,” she said.
    I had no choice but to comply, but I was disappointed. She crouched down and stared under the twisted metal that used to be a bed frame.
    “What do you see?” I asked.
    “Lots of ashes.”
    Smartass , I thought. “You think the fire inspectors missed something?”
    She snorted. “No, those guys are good. And thorough.”
    “How do you know it was arson?”
    “First indicator was how fast it burned. You’re in the middle of the city, where a fire department can get here fast. Even so, a lot of the place burned quickly. That means the fire likely had help, like an accelerant. And look there.”
    She flicked a hand at one of the remaining walls.
    “Yeah?”
    “The windows were open.”
    I studied the wall and the window. “How can you tell?”
    “I couldn’t, but the fire investigator told me. He could tell by the way the glass was broken.”
    “The fire needs