Three #2
Helena walked beside him, her sharp gaze cutting through the shadows as she scanned the rocky path ahead.
Her fingers flexed around the handle of her tool case, the weight a familiar comfort despite the grim task ahead, if he had to guess.
She caught his eye and gave a slight nod, her expression set in that cool, focused mask she wore when the job demanded it, and Trevor appreciated how focused she could be when her own world had burned to ash only hours ago.
Lark padded ahead, her sleek, brown mottled coat cutting a sharp silhouette against the sun-bleached stone.
Her nose twitched, and Trevor tightened his grip on the leash, feeling the ripple of tension move through the line.
She was alert, head low and tail stiff, her trained senses already locking onto the scent of accelerant hidden beneath the wind’s shifting layers.
“You smell it, girl?” he murmured, his voice sounding small and out of place against the cathedral-like spires surrounding them. Lark gave a quick, silent nod of her head, her ears flicking back in confirmation.
The trail narrowed as they approached the lake, weaving through boulders and wind-sculpted arches, every turn revealing new splashes of green where the hard red stone had fractured enough to cradle a patch of resilient scrub.
The air grew heavier, tinged now with a sharp, acrid smell that clawed at his sinuses.
He could almost feel the heat that had seared the air here, a specter of the blaze lingering in the rocks themselves.
Then, just beyond a rise in the trail, the trees fell away and the land dropped sharply to reveal the glassy, wind-rippled surface of Silverpine Lake.
Its reflection was fractured by the jagged remains of a burned-out car perched on the edge of the shore—a twisted, blackened husk still smoldering in the midmorning light.
Smoke curled from the shattered windows like the breath of a dying beast.
Trevor’s pulse quickened as he dropped to one knee, unclipping Lark’s leash.
She darted forward, nose working furiously as she zigzagged toward the car, her tail snapping with intensity.
Trevor followed, the dry grass crunching underfoot, his breath tight in his chest. Helena was just a step behind, her tennis shoes striking the ground with a steady, deliberate rhythm, her eyes fixed on the wreckage.
The stench hit them fully as they closed in—a mix of charred metal, scorched plastic and the sickly-sweet, unmistakable odor of burned flesh. The sight that greeted them as they reached the car’s crumpled remains was enough to stop them cold.
Inside, the fifth victim, her body blackened and contorted in the driver’s seat, head thrown back in a final, empty scream, her charred hands still clutched around the steering wheel.
The interior of the car had burned hot, reducing everything inside to ash and twisted metal, but the shape of her remains was unmistakable, a ghastly silhouette against the cracked, melted dashboard.
Trevor exhaled slowly, his hand instinctively tightening into a fist at his side. Lark circled the vehicle. She’d found what she came for. Now it was his turn.
Around them, forensic investigators moved with dedicated, efficient purpose, crouching over charred fragments, photographing tire tracks and marking the faint, heat-cracked impressions of shoes in the dry earth.
A deputy unspooled yellow crime scene tape, staking it into the ground where the grass had blackened to ash, while another dusted the car’s warped frame for prints, their gloves already smeared with soot.
The crackle of radios and the low murmur of voices layered over the distant rush of wind through the pines, creating a discordant haunting symphony that only deepened the weight pressing on Trevor’s chest.
“What do we have?” Trevor asked Officer Bend.
“We held off until Helena got here,” he said, his voice muffled as he pulled a glove tight over his wrist. “ME’s on her way to take the body.
License plate’s missing, just like the others.
Anything that could ID her is burned to ash.
Probably going to come down to dental records again.
” He grimaced, his brow creasing as he covered his mouth and nose against the thick, clinging odor.
Trevor watched as Helena set her tool case down beside the charred vehicle, her movements precise and measured.
She snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves, then carefully opened the twisted hood, using a pry bar to unstick the warped metal.
Her gaze moved over the engine compartment, noting the melted wires and warped components, her mind already piecing together the sequence of destruction.
She was fascinating to watch.
Helena pulled out a small flashlight, angling the beam to catch the faintest hints of chemical residue clinging to the metal, her trained eye catching what others might miss.
She worked her way around the car as he’d watched before.
She didn’t need to explain what she was doing.
He’d watched her enough and listened to her before, read her reports to know she was checking for signs of tampering—a cut fuel line, a punctured gas tank, anything that might have contributed to the blaze.
She paused at the rear bumper, her gloved fingers tracing the edges of the trunk’s warped frame before gently prying it open.
The scorched interior offered little, and she moved to the interior of the car.
As she swept her light across the twisted metal, something caught her attention, and she gasped.
Trevor hovered over her as she pulled a small, metal tie clip wedged beneath the burned seat frame.
It was partially melted, the once-polished surface now bubbled and blackened, but the engraving remained faintly visible—a set of initials intertwined with the insignia of the local university’s faculty association.