Page 74 of Fire and Bones

“So many that I can’t justify burning funds on a case having such a low probability of success.”

“I’ll pay for it.” Before thinking it through, the words left my mouth. Why not? I’d made the same offer a few years earlier in a Montreal case.

Thacker looked at me with the long-suffering patience of a painted Madonna.

“You’ll pay for it?”

“I won’t bill for any of the work I’ve done for you. Everything will be pro bono, reports and all.”

Thacker’s eyes roved my face, razor sharp, before flicking away. A grin teased one corner of her lips.

“Would you sweeten the deal by agreeing to review a file or two?”

Really? The woman was haggling over price?

“No problem,” I said.

We eyed each other a long moment across the wide desk. Then,

“May I ask one question?”

“Sure,” I said. Sure that I wouldn’t like it.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why such an emotional commitment to this case?”

I hadn’t a good answer.

CHAPTER 17

Resigned to the realization that I wasn’t going home for a while, I requested file designations for the cases Thacker wanted reviewed. Then, grumpy, I trudged to my office.

First off, I looked up the number of a colleague in Reston, Virginia. Dialed.

“Dr. Lizzie Griesser, please.”

“Dr. Griesser is in court today. May I take a message?”

Inwardly cursing, I left my name and contact info, then disconnected.

Using my iPhone, I checked my email. Found news alerts, solicitations from political groups offering to triple-match my donation, pics of animals saved by foundations in need of my money, a notice of an upcoming sale on Spanx.

I deleted all but the Spanx ad. A temporary solution to Lan’s culinary overload?

The messages in my voice mail were equally dispiriting.

No texts.

Feeling deficient over my lack of popularity, spurned by my lover, disappointed at not talking with Griesser, and irked at myself for the idiot agreement I’d made with Thacker, I logged on to the OCME system computer.

Both of Thacker’s files involved DOAs shelved in coolers for more than a month. I skimmed the summaries.

Cynthia Bierny. White. Age seventy-four. Burned to death in the laundry room of her Southeast Washington home.

I read a note inserted into the file two days after its creation.

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