They mentioned an odor that reminded them of their mother’s overheated blow dryer, and possibly what they were detecting was burned hair. If so they were telling the truth about that, and the more I observe at close range, the more reality shifts right in front of me.

What began as the scene of an attempted mugging, robbery or sexual assault turned deadly is quickly becoming something else entirely. Marino won’t want to hear it. Not at first. But after spending most of my professional life with him, I’m used to talking him down from the ledge, and he returns the favor. Now and then I’m guilty of bias too. I don’t know anybody who isn’t.

Marino probably is the most relentless cop I’ve ever worked with, and his kneejerk reaction will be to resist the track my thoughts are taking. When a detective worth his salt sinks his teeth into a theory, he doesn’t want to let go. If one isn’t careful, an investigation becomes a competition, a contest when it shouldn’t be about winning. It should be about truth.

“Maybe she burned her hair when she was drying it after the shower this morning,” he suggests. “It’s important to remember we don’t know when it happened. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with what killed her.”

“She dried her hair after the shower this morning?” I call attention to what he just said. “Do we know that’s what she did?”

“Negatory since we barely know who the hell she is. But what I’m trying to say is we have no idea when it happened. I’ve seen people burn their hair from grills, the stove, cigarette lighters,” he reminds me.

But what he’s really referring to is that he’s experienced each of the above more than once. Marino hasn’t changed much. He still makes me crazy when he starts squirting lighter fluid during backyard barbecues. I can’t count the times I’ve said to him: What is it you don’t understand about more not always being better?

“Back in the days when I had hair to worry about, I scorched it when I was lighting a flare one time,” he says, and I remember that too. “Took a long damn time to live that down.” This was in Richmond, and he didn’t live it down. “Point being, we don’t know when she singed her hair and it might have nothing to do with anything.”

HER EYES STARE DULLY at me from slitted lids.