“There are four stages,” she went on, as if I knew nothing. “First is the fire plume, or column of hot gases, flames, and smoke rising from the fire. That would have been the case, let’s say, if the throw rug in the bathroom had ignited. The higher above the flame the gases rise, the cooler and denser they become. They mix with combustion by-products, and the hot gases now begin to fall, and the cycle repeats itself creating turbulent smoke that spreads horizontally. What should have happened next was this hot smoky layer would have continued to descend until it found an opening for ventilation—in this case, we’ll assume the bathroom doorway. Next, the smoky layer flows out of the opening while fresh air flows in. If there’s enough oxygen, the temperature at the ceiling’s going to go up to more than six hundred degrees Celsius, and boom, we have flashover, or a fully developed fire.”

“A fully developed fire in the master bath,” I said.

“And then on into other oxygen-enriched rooms where the fuel loads were enough to burn the place to the ground,” she replied. “So it’s not the spread of the fire that bothers me. It’s how it got started. Like I said, a throw rug, curtains weren’t enough, unless something else was there.”

“Maybe something was,” I said, getting up to pour coffee. “How do you take yours?” I asked.

“Cream and sugar.”

Her eyes followed me.

“None of that artificial stuff, please.”

I drank mine black, and set mugs on the desk as McGovern’s gaze wandered around my new office. Certainly, it was brighter and more modern than what I had occupied in the old building on Fourteenth and Franklin, but I really had no more room to evolve. Worst of all, I had been honored with a CEO corner space with windows, and anybody who understood physicians knew that what we needed were walls for bookcases, and not bulletproof glass overlooking a parking lot and the Petersburg Turnpike. My hundreds of medical, legal, and forensic science reviews, journals, and formidable volumes were crammed together and, in some cases, double-shelved. It was not uncommon for Rose, my secretary, to hear me swearing when I could not find a reference book I needed right that minute.

“Teun,” I said, sipping my coffee, “I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for taking care of Lucy.”

“Lucy takes care of herself,” she said.

“That has not always been true.”

I smiled in an effort to be more gracious, to hide the hurt and jealousy that were a splinter in my heart.

“But you’re right,” I said. “I think she does a pretty admirable job of it now. I’m sure Philadelphia will be good for her.”

McGovern was reading every signal I was sending, and I could tell she was aware of more than I wanted her to be.