“A woman and her three young children. One didn’t make it out.”

“Christ.” Joe could still hear the mother screaming, hoarser now with her inconsolable grief.

“The father’s MIA,” Rawlins said. “They’re in the middle of a nasty divorce. He was spotted outside the kitchen window about three hours ago. The cops were called but when they got here, he was gone. They’re looking for him now.”

Joe knew all about asshole fathers. Too much. With a heavy sigh, he began taking notes. It was another half hour before the firefighters beat the flames down. During that time, Joe took pictures of the fire, the surrounding houses, the people watching. Later he’d study them all for clues but for now he just worked to record everything. He interviewed the witnesses, and all the neighbors.

Kenny showed up and joined the fray. “I got called out in the middle of an incredibly hot first date. And you?”

“Cindy’s pissed.”

“Shocker.”

“She told me to keep walking.”

“She’ll want you back.”

“No.” Joe shook his head. “Not this time. It’s not going to work out.”

“Yet another shocker. Let me guess. You got the ‘you don’t open up to me’ complaint.”

“Actually, she was willing to overlook that if I moved in with her.”

“And you said ‘oh goodie, where’s my key,’ right?”

“You’re funny.” He tossed Kenny a flashlight and they went into the house. As always, the work distracted Joe, he lost himself in it.

The kitchen had been hit hard. The countertops, floor, ceiling, and walls were down to blackened studs, and yet right across the room, the Formica and steel table and chairs stood perfectly in place, though the plastic coverings on the chairs had melted, and the cushions had burned.

Joe spent the first few minutes taking more pictures, recording the scene to preserve it for their report. Then he began to investigate for evidence of the origin/cause. He went through everything with a fine-tooth comb before his attention was caught beneath the sink. Before tonight there’d been a cupboard there, but now only the shell remained. As he moved closer, a sudden, piercing, heart-wrenching scream filled the air outside. Lifting his head, he met Kenny’s eyes from across the room.

“They found the kid’s remains,” his partner said quietly, his eyes shiny with emotion.

Joe let out a long, shaky breath and nodded. “Look.” He pointed with a gloved finger to the charred remains of a rag, balled up beneath the sink. Shining his flashlight for better illumination, he slowly pulled out the rag. The stench of paint thinner had his nostrils flaring. “Bingo,” he said softly.

“Maybe the mother had been removing her fingernail polish,” Kenny said, coming closer, playing devil’s advocate, as was their routine.