A Flame in the Wind of Death Read online

  A FLAME IN THE WIND OF

  DEATH

  ABBOTT AND LOWELL FORENSIC

  MYSTERIES

  A FLAME IN THE WIND

  OF DEATH

  JEN J. DANNA

  WITH ANN VANDERLAAN

  FIVE STAR

  A part of Gale, Cengage Learning

  * * *

  Copyright © 2014 by Jen J. Danna.

  The Additional Copyright Information on page 5 constitutes an extension of the copyright page.

  Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Gale, Cengage Learning.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  All characters named as being part of the Massachusetts State Police Department and the Essex County District Attorney’s Office are fictional and are not based on actual persons, living or deceased. All places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  No part of this work covered by the copyright herein may be reproduced, transmitted, stored, or used in any form or by any means graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning, digitizing, taping, Web distribution, information networks, or information storage and retrieval systems, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  The publisher bears no responsibility for the quality of information provided through author or third-party Web sites and does not have any control over, nor assume any responsibility for, information contained in these sites. Providing these sites should not be construed as an endorsement or approval by the publisher of these organizations or of the positions they may take on various issues.

  * * *

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Danna, Jen J.

  A flame in the wind of death : Abbott and Lowell Forensic Mysteries / Jen J. Danna ; with Ann Vanderlaan. — First Edition.

  pages cm. — (Abbott and Lowell Forensic Mysteries)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-2809-7 (hardcover)

  ISBN-10: 1-4328-2809-6 (hardcover)

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4328-2993-3 eISBN-10: 1-4328-2993-9

  1. Policewomen—Fiction. 2. Serial murder investigation— Fiction. 3. Forensic anthropologists—Fiction. 4. Halloween— Salem (Mass.)—Fiction. I. Vanderlaan, Ann. II. Title. PR9199.4.D365F53 2014

  813′.6—dc23 2013041355

  * * *

  First Edition. First Printing: April 2014

  This title is available as an e-book.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-2993-3 ISBN-10: 1-4328-2993-9

  Find us on Facebook– https://www.facebook.com/FiveStarCengage

  Visit our website– http://www.gale.cengage.com/fivestar/

  Contact Five Star™ Publishing at [email protected]

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 18 17 16 15 14

  ADDITIONAL COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  * * *

  Scripture Mark 12:43–44 was taken from the Douay-Rheims Catholic Bible. The title of this novel comes from the poem “Fire,” written in 1923 by Australian poet Dorothea Mackellar. Permission to use the title is granted by arrangement with the Licensor, The Dorothea Mackellar Estate, c/-Curtis Brown (Aust) Pty Ltd.

  J.J.D. and A.V.

  DEDICATION

  * * *

  In memory of Dave Giblin (1945–2012), who spent his entire adult life in service to others—six years as a member of the US Navy, and forty-five years as a firefighter and district chief. Also, to the men and women of our fire departments who put their lives on the line each day to protect us.They are our friends, even though we may never meet.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  * * *

  This book could not have been written without the help of Captain Lisa Giblin of the South Placer Fire Department. Lisa was our guide into the world of firefighting, sharing everything she knew about fires, offensive and defensive firefighting, rescues, investigations, incendiary devices, and the day-to-day life of a firefighter. But firefighters are a family, and assisting Lisa was her South Placer family: Dave Giblin (Chief), Bob Richardson (Butcher Bob), Dan Ward Sr. (Doc), Donny Gray, Erik Garside, Austin Kimbrell (A.K.) and Matt VanVoltinburg (Van). Sincere thanks to you all.

  We were also very grateful to be assisted by numerous experts in their field in the Salem and Boston area. The support from the Salem Fire Department was nothing short of outstanding: Deputy Chief Gerry Giunta for going above and beyond, not only hosting a personal tour of headquarters and sharing his knowledge and experiences, but for being available for multiple phones calls and emails, and then arranging connections with other experts and providing materials as needed; Communication Supervisor Jeff Brown for discussions and a demonstration into the inner workings of how the Salem Fire Department responds to emergencies, and for assisting with collecting radio calls so our communications lingo was accurate; Lieutenant Erin Griffin, for sharing her experiences as Salem’s fire marshal. Captain Jeanne Stewart of the Massachusetts Department of Fire Services, Fire and Explosion Investigation Section, for ensuring that our fire investigation was realistic. Steve O’Connell of the Essex County District Attorney’s Office for continually facilitating our research within the district attorney’s office and the Essex State Police Detective Unit. Detective Lieutenant Norman Zuk of the Essex Detective Unit for his unending patience and willingness to share departmental life and protocols with us. Salem Witches Laurie Cabot, Memie Watson, Sharon Bradbury and Gypsy Ravish for assistance with our questions concerning the Craft in Salem. Dr. Tara Moore at Boston University for always being willing to answer any of our questions concerning forensic anthropology research at the university. We’ve taken a few minor liberties with Salem for the sake of storytelling, but, beyond that, any mistakes are ours alone.

  We were thrilled to be joined again by our wonderful critique team. Lisa Giblin, Marianne Harden, Jenny Lidstrom, Margaret McMullen and Sharon Taylor: Once again we hardly know how to convey our thanks to you for all your hard work. To say that we wouldn’t be able to write to the best of our abilities without you is an understatement. Sincere thanks for all that you continue to do for us, and for the generous gift of your time and talents. Thanks as well to our wonderful agent, Nicole Resciniti, for always being there for us and for continuing to support us on our writing journey. And to our editor, Gordon Aalborg, who uses each manuscript as an opportunity to teach his authors how to improve their craft overall, thank you for your continued efforts and encouragement.

  J.J.D. and A.V.

  Thank you Paul and Shelly—still the best daughter-in-law any mom could ever have—for your unstinting enthusiasm when Jen and I decided to wade into the writing maelstrom yet again; and Paul, whose phenotype is one hundred-percent engineer, even read some poetry to find out more about the title of the first novel in this series. Don and Margaret Newman, whose help was invaluable after Spike Thundertail broke my ankle, continue to be great neighbors—even if Don won’t let me build him a computer. Angel, Love-A-Bull Pit Bull rescue alumnus, still greets me every morning with a big pittie grin while pretending he does not hog the middle of the bed. Meanwhile his fur brother Spike, a deaf dog from the same rescue, taught me to get out of the way when he’s got the zoomies (which are not diarrhea, btw). R Kane—that’s shorthand for Raising—is the newest member of the Thundertail tribe. This alumnus of Don’t Bully Me Rescue in Lago Vista, Texas, is the perfect “stubby dog”: big heart, big head, and a tail that never stops wiggling his
butt.

  A.V.

  Thanks to my husband for good-naturedly putting up with my crazy nonstop work habits that allowed a project like this to be completed outside of my day job’s regular work hours. Rick, without your support, I’d never have been able to pull this off. And to my daughters, Jess and Jordan, who started the journey of this book with me by accompanying me on a research trip to Massachusetts. You two were my support team, my sounding board, my fellow explorers, and my photographer and sidekick. To top it off, you patiently listened to my continual plotting during the entire trip with only minimal eye rolling. Let’s do it again soon!

  J.J.D.

  PROLOGUE: IGNITION

  * * *

  Ignition: the start of a fire; the deliberate human act of starting a fire to produce light, heat, or pleasure.

  Saturday, 4:07 a.m.

  Uniquely You Antiques

  Salem, Massachusetts

  As if cast by magic, flames suddenly burst in midair, slicing through the smothering darkness.Writhing tendrils of fire greedily reached out as they fell, finally tumbling to the floor below.With a whoosh, the fire found sustenance—wood, cloth, paper.

  And human flesh.

  The flames flickered and danced, hungrily consuming everything they touched. Smoke rose in dark billows to fill every crevice in the room as the fire grew stronger and brighter. Wood charred, cloth scorched, and paper crumbled to ash.

  A figure skulked in the shadows, safely observing from the far side of a pane of glass. Cool eyes watched as the face of the victim was lit by flames, then kissed by them, the skin blistering before shrinking and splitting to reveal pale bone beneath.

  It was a nightmare in shifting shades of grey, black, and red. But the killer felt only elation as the victim’s identity was obliterated. Washed clean by the scouring flames. Erased.

  Satisfied, the killer turned and melted into the gloom.

  CHAPTER ONE: FIRE POINT

  * * *

  Fire Point: the temperature at which a fuel produces enough vapor so it continues to burn after ignition.

  Sunday, 1:24 p.m.

  Harborview Restaurant

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Sunlight sparkled in lightning-quick flashes on the open ocean as a lone black-backed gull soared on outstretched wings, motionless on the breeze. In the harbor, sailboats unfurled yards of canvas to the cool fall winds, while high above the water, the historic Customs House Tower stood watch over the busy port below.

  Inside the restaurant, wide panels of sunlight fell across linen-draped tables set with china and silver. The air was fragrant with garlic and peppercorn as a low buzz of conversation filled the room, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clatter of dishes.

  “And then he jammed his gun in his pants to make a run for it. But while he was wedging it under his belt, it went off and he shot himself in the foot.” Leigh Abbott paused to sip her mimosa. “After that, the foot chase was pretty much a technicality, what with all the limping and whimpering.”

  Matt Lowell chuckled as he set his knife and fork on the edge of his empty plate. “I shouldn’t be laughing, should I?”

  “Because he’s a murder suspect?” One corner of her mouth tipped up in an almost reluctant smile. “Welcome to cop humor; it’s how we survive the job. This guy was a mistake waiting to happen from the second it occurred to him he could have the family business all to himself after his father died. He just needed to kill his brother to get it. He left a trail of clues a blindfolded rookie could follow.”

  Matt’s smile slowly melted away, his face growing serious. “You deserve an easy case. After the last few weeks . . .”

  His voice trailed off, but Leigh understood, even without words.

  A Trooper First Class with the Massachusetts State Police, Leigh was a member of the Essex County Detective Unit, headquartered in Salem. When a single human bone was found in a coastal salt marsh the previous month, she’d approached Dr. Matthew Lowell in his capacity as a forensic anthropologist at Boston University to help identify the victim. What began with a single set of remains rapidly spiraled into ten murder victims, all dead at the hands of a man determined to see how far he could twist the human mind. Their teamwork solved the puzzle, but the case nearly cost them their lives. Mere weeks later, they’d joined forces again for their second case together, a chilling tale of trust gone horribly wrong.

  “This case couldn’t have been more different,” Leigh stated. “You’re right—it was a welcome change of pace after Bradford. Still, I’m sorry I had to cancel dinner last week. Between court and this case—” She broke off as Matt covered her hand with his.

  “Don’t worry about it. I understand the job takes priority sometimes. Besides, we traded dinner for Sunday brunch, so it all worked out.”

  With a quick flick of his head, he shook his untrimmed dark hair out of his eyes, briefly exposing the thick ridge of scar tissue running into his hair from his temple.

  At a sudden shriek, Leigh jerked her hand free, reaching for the weapon that normally rode her hip. But even as her fingers touched soft wool instead of hard metal, her body relaxed as she quickly assessed the harmless scene across the room where a young woman had knocked over a glass of red wine.

  Leigh’s gaze drifted back to Matt to find his eyes fixed on her. “What?”

  He sat with his elbows braced on the table, watching her over his steepled hands. “You can’t turn it off, can you? You can’t just go out socially and let it all go. Even when a case is closed.”

  Embarrassed heat flushed her cheeks at his continued examination. “It’s not like it’s a switch you throw when the clock hits five. Cops are always on duty.” Stubbornness stiffened her spine and she met his gaze head on. “Apparently you can’t turn it off either. You’re studying me like I’m one of your bones.”

  “Just trying to figure you out, that’s all.” Reaching out, Matt tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. As his hand pulled away, he ran his fingertips along the curve of her jaw in a subtle caress. “You’re an intriguing puzzle.”

  Her eyes locked with his and her stomach gave a slow, sexy roll of anticipation at the heat in his expression. “No one’s ever called me ‘intriguing’ before.”

  “I like to think of you as a gift that needs to be unwrapped one layer at a—” Matt frowned as a muffled ring came from the suit jacket draped over the back of his chair. “Sorry, I need to see who’s calling.”

  Leigh’s senses instantly went on alert when he froze, his gaze fixed on the name of the caller displayed on-screen. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I think I have to take this.”

  The edge in his voice made the back of her neck prickle in alarm. “Is it one of your students?”

  “No, it’s the Massachusetts State Police.”

  “Calling you?” The words burst out, cutting through the buzz of conversation around them. Leigh purposely lowered her voice when several heads turned in their direction. “Why are they calling you?”

  “I’m as baffled as you are.” He answered the call. “Lowell.”

  Leigh leaned forward, trying to catch any trace of the other end of the conversation.

  Maddeningly, Matt relaxed back in his chair even as he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Sergeant Kepler, what a surprise,” he said into the phone.

  Only her white-knuckled stranglehold on the edge of the table kept Leigh from leaping to her feet to listen in on why her superior officer was calling Matt. If it was something to do with the Bradford case, he’d have surely gone through her instead.

  Matt was silent for a long time as he listened, his hazel eyes fixed on her. “This request comes straight from Dr. Rowe?”

  Rowe? Someone had to be dead for the medical examiner to be involved, but the remains must be in bad shape if Rowe was personally requesting Matt’s expertise.

  “Whose case is it?” Matt’s eyes suddenly went arctic-cold as his casual air of relaxation dropped away. “No.” The single
word was whiplash sharp. “That’s exactly what I mean. I’m not working with him. If you and Rowe want me on this case, you need to transfer it to Trooper Abbott.”

  Leigh recognized that stubborn tone; she’d run headlong into it several times—Matt was digging in his heels and wasn’t about to budge.

  “Actually my request is quite logical,” he continued. “Trooper Abbott and I had a rough start, but we learned how to work together. She’s familiar now with how my lab operates, and she knows my students and how we process evidence. It would waste my time to have to train a new officer.”There was a pause, and Matt’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Those are my terms, Sergeant. If you want my help on the case, have Trooper Abbott call me with the details.” He abruptly ended the call, his expression grim.

  “What was that about?” Leigh demanded.

  “Kepler wants me to consult on another case. There’s been a fire in Salem in one of the historical shopping districts. You probably know it—Wharf Street? The body recovered is so badly burned that Rowe needs a forensic anthropologist. He asked for me specifically.”

  “That’s no surprise—you work well together. But why do you need me?”

  “It’s Morrison’s case,” Matt said shortly. His open palm slapped down on the table hard enough to rattle silver and crystal. “I’ve got the right guy, don’t I? Isn’t he the Neanderthal who gives you a hard time at the detective unit?”

  Leigh let out a resigned sigh. “Yes. That’s him.” She met his eyes to be sure he understood without question. “Don’t interfere, Matt. I can handle him on my own.”