By the time the volunteer fire department had extinguished the blaze of Officer Grissom’s house last night, the former deputy had been cooked a brilliant black, his polyester bedsheets melted into a shell around him like the egg of some forgotten reptile. Mayfield had identified Grissom by a tattoo on his left arm. The arm must have been stretched out toward the oxygen tank when it exploded because they found it outside, through the window, surrounded by its charred fingers.

“Cigarette filters,” Mayfield said when Clark reached him at the coffee machine. “Under the window. Three of them.”

“He fell asleep smoking?” Clark said cautiously. Mayfield made her very nervous lately.

“He hadn’t smoked since the accident. He couldn’t. The oxygen tank was because the horse crushed his lungs when it fell on him.”

“Where was his home nurse?”

“She’d left already. The overnight girl apparently quit a few weeks back. He was by himself from eleven to seven.”

Clark considered what Joel Whitley had told her about Officer Grissom. Considered what Grissom had said (and, dear Jesus, done) to Whitley ten years ago.

“He had that horseback accident the last week of July, right?” Clark said.

Mayfield nodded. “A Saturday. The twenty-ninth. According to the dates Bethany Tanner gave us, Dylan and KT weren’t in town that weekend.”

Clark wondered why Mayfield’s mind had made the same connection as her own. “You mentioned yesterday that Grissom had regained the ability to speak some.”

Mayfield gave her a long stare. “I only said that to the sheriff.”

Before she had the chance to lose her nerve, Clark turned and headed into Lopez’s office.

She knocked and stepped inside without waiting for an answer. Lopez and Boone were seated on either side of the large desk, looking through the photographs Mayfield had made of the fire. Lopez grimaced when Clark stepped inside. Boone rose politely to shake her hand.

“Officer,” the county attorney said. “You’re here early.”

Clark ignored him. She said to Lopez, “I’m here to request immediate leave.”

“Denied.” Lopez gave her an incredulous look. “We’re a man short as it is—Jones has to replace Browder at lunch to watch that damn bank all night. Who do you expect to patrol the streets, the fire department?”

“Sir, by my count I have three weeks of unused vacation, five days of sick pay and three Jewish holidays I could find a reason to celebrate. I’m prepared to file a complaint against the department for unfair labor practices if I’m denied the chance to use them.”

“As I said, you are just like my wife.” Boone chuckled. “I will always admire your spirit, Deputy.”

“It’s out of the question,” Lopez said, but before he could say another word a voice came from the open door.

“I’ll work her shift.”

The three of them turned to see Mayfield holding a steaming cup of coffee.

“You’re joking,” said Lopez.

“Why not?” Mayfield said. “My old khakis still fit. Mostly.”

“We need you both working today,” Lopez said. “We’ve got a dead officer on our hands, for Christ’s sake.”