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  They devoured the meal with little conversation. Sophia was starved, having taken an early lunch, and missing her afternoon break.

  She sipped her warm Chianti. "Thanks for dinner. That was so good. Exceptional. I spent the entire drive home wondering what magic I could do to get food on the table. This is better." She stood and planted a big kiss on his lips, then smacked hers. "Tastes like pizza."

  Ray laughed. "You're welcome. Are you working tomorrow?"

  Sophia worked twelve hours shifts, which meant she had four days a week off. "Nope. I plan to go into Crossville to get groceries and look around some. It's only eighteen or so miles east of here, and I've never been there."

  "You'll find a nice little southern town, about a third the size of Crestville."

  "Nice. I heard there is an outlet mall east of town. I have stuff to get at Walmart, too."

  "I need a couple of things from hardware. Walmart should have them."

  "Text them to me. Then I won't forget."

  Ray fiddled with his phone for a minute. Sophia's message alert dinged.

  "I have three days off in a row next week—Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. I'd like to fly into Ft. Lauderdale and spend a couple of days with Connie," Sophia said.

  "Missing your friend?"

  "Yeah, I am. But, more importantly, she asked me to come. There's a baby shower for one of the nurses on Wednesday, and I'll get to see everyone."

  "It'll be hard, but Mischief and I will get along without you." He grinned. "By the way, I told the folks we'd go into Knoxville Sunday. Kerri will be there for the week-end, and Branden has the day off from work."

  "Sounds wonderful. I miss your kids, Branden especially. He and I spent a lot of time together while I stayed with them."

  After dinner, Sophia and Ray took Mischief for a walk. The dirt and gravel road in front of their rental connected to the cart paths for the golf course surrounding the cabins and the lake.

  "This is the part I love about coming back north," Ray said.

  "We're still in the South." She smiled.

  "Hell, you know what I mean, woman."

  Sophia laughed. "I do. What is it you like so much?"

  "The day cools off. The damn heat is gone, even though I know it'll be here mid-day tomorrow."

  "Mischief agrees with you—the temperatures here agree with her." Sophia rubbed the Boston Terrier's head. "I like the hills and the trees. It's so different from flat Florida or treeless North Dakota." She continued down the road, urging Mischief onto the grass borders. "The people at work talk about all the half-backs who live around here, especially on the Plateau." She grinned. "I told them I was a one-third-back."

  "How so?"

  "Well, if someone who moves from New York, say, to Florida, then to Tennessee is half, then I must be a third—North Dakota to Florida to Tennessee." She paused. "I suppose I could compute the mileage and be more accurate about it."

  "Very cute." He grimaced.

  "They thought so."

  "Let's walk to the far side of the lake, then around the hill." Ray turned to the right and followed the paved path leading past the putting green and connecting to the hole beyond and edging the east side of the pond.

  A flock of Canadian geese fought amongst themselves, honking, splashing, and taking short flights. A goose with a broken wing kept her distance as if ostracized, but still longing to join in the fun.

  "I feel sorry for that goose. She seems lonely." Sophia pointed.

  "The couple next door feed her. He said a coyote attacked a bunch of goslings. She is the only survivor."

  "Poor thing." Sophia scratched her arm. "We didn't spray ourselves for ticks and chiggers."

  He grinned. "We'll do a full-body search and check for ticks when we get home."

  "Just like the country song." She tugged the dog away from something disgusting in the grass. "How is your case going?"

  "I inherited Friday's explosion at the meth lab, too. I went into Crestville to discuss it with the detective—Shim is his name—who had the case. Helpful guy. He's out of the Ft. Lauderdale PD." Ray paused a moment. "Anyway, the thinking is the fire and subsequent explosion—"

  "Isn't it explosion, then fire?" She stepped off the cart path and onto the grass rough south of the pond, stopping to let Mischief sniff the ground.

  "Not this time. It was probably arson. I'm waiting on the final report from Crestville."

  "No shit? Which makes the deaths murder."

  "Right you are." He filled Sophia in on the possible drug war. "Shim said Carl Silken may be the force behind it all."

  "The fancied-up dude from the dry goods store?"

  Ray nodded.

  "Funny thing. I had a patient today who was singed a bit in an early morning explosion on Dripping Springs Drive—out in the unincorporated area."

  "And?" Ray said.

  "Anyway, his name is Bubba Flocker. I don't know if he has a real name or if his parents were dumb enough to name him Bubba."

  "No worse than Boomer, I suppose."

  "Anyway, Bubba seemed happy Vast's lab blew up and seemed convinced the exploded body was Vast's." Sophia repeated the remainder of the conversation with Flocker.

  "I'll look him up and see what he knows."

  "Won't have any trouble finding him. The doctor admitted him to routine care under the watchful eye of a deputy."

  Ray stopped and faced her. "Remember, I don't want you getting involved. These meth guys are unpredictable and dangerous."

  "Hey, I'm just listening when they talk. Bubba said Vast, the dead guy, was a heavy user of his own product. Said he was a crazy bastard—I think that was his phrase."

  "You don't say." Ray looked thoughtful. "If you hear anything else around the hospital, let me know."

  She rolled her eyes. First, he wants me to stay out, then he wants me to report it. "Will do." He meant for her to listen, not probe, but if the opportunity arose, he's the one who issued the invitation.

  Chapter 7

  Ray

  The note on Ray's desk on Tuesday morning said the autopsies on the Friday night explosion victims would commence at ten o'clock. He called the ME's office to say he was coming, tagged Johnson, and picked him up in front of his house.

  During the drive, Ray updated Johnson on what little he'd learned the day before, including the fact he'd picked up the Friday night meth lab explosion case.

  "Guess they dumped the sucker on you, huh?" Johnson said.

  "I don't feel that way. Detective Shim wants to work the two explosions together. A fresh outlook's good for him, he said. Good for me, too, I figure, since it will be more exposure to the Sheriff's Department. Fast track orientation."

  "I guess." Johnson paused, then continued. "Krantz tracked me down at church Sunday morning. He lives outside the city limits a ways north of town. Guess that's why he's assigned to our end of the county. Anyways, he shot off his mouth some about you being the big city detective. I'm thinkin' he's going to be more trouble than I reckoned at first."

  "Mullins agrees with you."

  "I'm glad I didn't get your job."

  Ray nodded.

  "But I appreciate being assigned to you. If and when we get a second opening, I'll apply again."

  "Good to hear."

  They arrived at the Davidson County Medical Examiner's office a few minutes early. The modern glass and brick building sat, surrounded by parking lots, on R.S. Gas Boulevard. Ray swung into the partially-filled lot and parked near the entrance.

  "Have you been to an autopsy before?" Ray raised an eyebrow and glanced at Johnson.

  "No, sir, I haven't." Johnson turned a bit pale. "I wouldn't have eaten breakfast if I'd known."

  "In my opinion, it's better to eat first. You're less likely to faint." Ray grinned.

  Johnson grunted. "I'll get by."

  "I'm sure. Typically, we'll get gowns to cover our clothing—and masks." He fished a small blue bottle out of his shirt pocket. "Then we can put a bit of Vicks i
n our noses to hide the smell, though Sophie tells me to just not inhale."

  Johnson started to say something, stopped, then laughed. "Took me a minute. Guess I'm more nervous than I thought."

  "Also, remember you can leave and take a breather if you need to." Ray climbed out of the Taurus.

  When they got inside, the receptionist greeted them, indicated they were expected, and called a tech to escort them to the autopsy suite. Once they were gowned and given masks, they entered the suite, becoming engulfed in a world filled with stainless steel, white porcelain, and dangerous-appearing implements. Even in the state-of-the-art facility, with what he presumed was modern ventilation equipment, the stench emanating from the table in the center of the room was overpowering. It was a combination of scorched flesh, decay, and chemicals. He opened his Vicks, offered some to Johnson, then took a dab himself.

  "Gentlemen." A man dressed in green scrubs covered by a surgical gown turned away from his papers on the counter and stepped forward. "I'm Kevin Smith. I'm one of the forensic pathologists."

  Ray introduced himself and Johnson.

  Dr. Smith indicated the remains on the table with a nod. "Shall we begin?" He pulled up his mask and motioned for Ray and Johnson to do the same. "Stand on the far side, if you will." He pointed, then looked at Johnson. "Officer Johnson, if you need to step out during the procedure, it's fine. Come back in when you're ready."

  "Yes, sir. I'll stay."

  Ray smiled, thinking Johnson's light green color was obvious to Smith, too.

  "We've already washed the body to reduce our own exposure to the chemicals used to manufacture methamphetamine. In this case, based on the odor alone, there is no doubt in my mind this man died in a meth lab explosion. You're aware, I'm sure, that ephedrine, pseudoephedrine, mercury, and lead are also common findings. We've taken swabs to test for those substances and several others as well."

  Ray noted the body, with its blown away and recovered parts, was placed in what approximated the original anatomical locations. The right hand was missing. The space for the left hand was occupied by the one that slid down Sophia's back Saturday morning—he recognized the wedding ring. The right forearm appeared to be badly damaged, but was still attached to the upper arm. The left forearm was similarly injured and lay in position with a one-inch gap. The face looked as if it had been beaten with a fiery hot sledgehammer. Ray's eyes slid down the rest of the body, noting everything seemed attached, though there were numerous areas of severe injury, especially the chest and upper belly.

  "Lots of damage," he said.

  Smith held his arms forward at counter height. "It appears the victim was working over the stove when it blew, hence the injuries to the upper extremities."

  "Do you think the left hand is his?"

  "Well now, that's the question of the hour, isn't it?" Smith picked up the hand and abutted it to the forearm. "It seems to fit. However," he said, pointing to a spot, "this bone seems too long on the hand. Without the other one for comparison, it's hard to say exactly. The partial prints most likely belong to LeRoy Vast, but it's not a hundred percent. We'll send samples out today for DNA analysis, then we'll know for sure. Vast has a record, so there is DNA on file. I have a friend in the lab who owes me a favor, so he'll jump it in the queue if he can."

  "Good to know. Dental?"

  "We got the records from Vast's dentist, but the mouth is so badly damaged they will be of little use."

  Ray and Johnson observed as Smith completed his examination.

  When he finished, he motioned for Ray and Johnson to follow him into the hall. "Let's step outside." After they removed their personal protective equipment, Smith said, "Any questions?"

  "So, what I gather is the cause of death, given the arson evidence, will be ruled a homicide," Ray said.

  "Correct."

  "This victim may or may not be LeRoy Vast, and the left hand is probably Vast's, but may not be."

  "Also correct."

  Ray thanked Smith, and he and Johnson headed out. Ray felt no smarter than when he walked in.

  ***

  After leaving the medical examiner's office, Ray plugged Vanderbilt University Medical Center into the GPS, dropped the Taurus into gear, and headed to the main road. "It's almost twelve-thirty. Want to find a place to stop for lunch?"

  Johnson, who had not regained his normal coloring, shook his head. "Maybe after we're done at the hospital."

  "That might not be better. I visited a burn unit a few years back, and some of what I saw wasn't pretty."

  "I'm good with the seein' part, I reckon. It's the smellin' part that has my stomach flip-flopping."

  Ray chuckled, knowing the smell wasn't always sweet in a burn unit. He didn't admit to feeling a bit queasy himself. "I spoke with the physician yesterday afternoon. He has cleared us to speak with Dylan Glad. Glad's injuries involved his legs and torso and were less severe than the other surviving burn victim's. Her name is Ashley Beach. She's on a ventilator and sedated."

  "I went to high school with her," Johnson said.

  "Did you now?"

  "She was a wild one. Left town after graduation, then showed up again with lots of tats and troubles. Her family threw her out of the house after about three weeks."

  "Do you know any of the others?"

  "From around town. Glad was a few years ahead of me in school."

  As directed by the GPS, Ray pulled onto US 31 and was relieved to see the traffic was light for midday in a city. "Were you involved in any of the arrests? I saw they all had sheets—mostly minor shit."

  Johnson exhaled in a loud whoosh. "That's the thing. Anytime we conduct a raid—keep in mind because of our staffing we need to plan it and get the sheriff's help—we don't find a damn thing that will support a case in court for manufacturing and sale of meth. We find traces, sure, but they always claim it's for personal use. Then they get slapped on the wrist and are back in business."

  "The chief said a few labs were shut down."

  "That's true, but in my opinion, it was small stuff. In fact, the last one in town was like catchin' a runt in a pig litter."

  Ray chuckled. "Why do you suppose that is?"

  "I think someone is tipping off the big labs and setting up the little ones to take the fall. Has to be."

  "Yup. Sounds like."

  Fifteen minutes later, Ray parked in the Medical Center East's above-ground parking. He'd lucked into an open space and was able to avoid the garages. They made their way to the eleventh floor's burn center critical care unit.

  A phone hung on the wall next to the double door entrance. Johnson picked it up and stated their business. "They're expecting us."

  A buzz followed, and the doors swung open.

  Ray led the way.

  A tall heavyset nurse in blue scrubs stopped them near the nurses' desk. "Mr. Glad is in room five. The doctor said you can have ten minutes, providing Mr. Glad doesn't get stressed." She escorted them to the glassed-in room and gave them gowns and masks. "Please don't touch the patient or anything in the room."

  "We'll keep that in mind," Ray said.

  Ray and Johnson found Glad amid a sea of white bandages and white linens. Compared to the adjacent rooms, the amount of equipment was minimal.

  "How are you doing?" Ray said after introductions.

  "I'll live, they tell me. What do you want?"

  "We came to talk to you about the meth lab explosion that injured you."

  "Wasn't no lab explosion. Was a gas grill blew up. We had it too close to the house."

  "Interesting." Ray leaned in. "Let me tell you the facts. Vast's little cookhouse blew up because of arson. There was a fire, then the explosion. Someone wanted the lab gone and didn't care what happened to the people working inside."

  Glad grunted. "I'll find the bastard when I get out of here."

  "After you get out of jail?" Ray said.

  "Whatever it takes."

  "Who was working that day? We know of two dead and two injure
d. You're the one who got off easy."

  "Son of a bitch. Pisses me off. No one was supposed to get hurt."

  "Give us some help here. Who was working with you?"

  "My girlfriend, Ashley. Is she alive? No one will tell me anything."

  "She's bad burnt," Johnson said. "She's on a breathing machine."

  "The doctor is hopeful," Ray said.

  Glad raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Praise the Lord."

  "Who else was there?" Ray said. "You might as well tell us. We'll find out anyway."

  Glad set his jaw and turned his gaze toward the window.

  "Glad, now's the time to speak up. It could help you later on," Johnson said.

  "You gonna make me a deal?"

  Ray kept his expression impassive. "I don't have the authority. However, I can make a recommendation, say you were cooperative."

  "Okay." A long moment passed. "LeRoy, and his cousins, Richie and Harold."

  "That's Harold Kramer, right?" Johnson said. "He's the body the ME identified."

  "Who else is dead? You said two. Who else?" Glad's voice cracked. He sounded distressed.

  "That's what we're trying to figure out. Who was doing the cooking when it exploded?" Ray said.

  "I'd gone outside the front door to take a piss. Ashley was going to follow me out in a minute or two, and we were going to take a break—if you get my drift." Glad frowned. "Richie, Harold, and LeRoy were in the kitchen. Someone could have gone out back to take a hit, maybe. Richie and LeRoy use product."

  "Is that so? Tell me about it," Ray said.

  "Richie is like the rest of us, uses every now and then. LeRoy, though, he's high all the time. He can be a crazy sucker, if you know what I mean."

  Ray nodded.

  "Another thing. When I went outside, I saw someone in the yard."

  "Can you identify him?"

  "No, it was fogging in some."

  The nurse stepped into the room. "Time's up, officers. I'll help you out of your gowns."

  Chapter 8

  Sophia

  After Ray left for the day, Sophia tidied the cabin—a daily job because of its compact size—grabbed the laundry basket, and drove into Crossville—about eighteen miles southeast. The biggest inconvenience of their rental was the lack of laundry facilities. She planned to catch up with the drudgery, do a little shopping, and check out the town.