The first faint rays of sunrise sparkled across the ocean, glittering like diamonds suspended on the waves. Gulls dipped into the surf, scavenging for their breakfast in the rising tide. Less energetic birds strolled the thin ribbon of pristine beach, their tracks disappearing into the morning mist. The world was at peace, tranquil and calm.
Behind the drawn blinds of an isolated beach house, far removed from the tourist trails, hooded eyes studied the progress of the gulls' hunt. Their cries carried over the surf to his attentive ears; his eyes drifted shut as the muted roar of the surf numbed his senses.
With a protracted sigh, the man replaced the blind to its original position and turned from the window. Slats of growing daylight cast a striped glow across the foot of the bed where she lay. He reached for the bedside lamp, then decided to light a candle instead. She was so beautiful in candlelight; he wanted to see her that way one more time.
She did not stir as he gently brushed back a stray lock of blonde hair from her temple. He caressed her cheek, his hand slowly progressing down her shoulder and across one partly exposed breast.
"You are so beautiful, so perfect," he whispered. "I wish things could have been different." He admired her shapely body, slid his hand down her soft abdomen. Still she did not stir. "I really thought you were the one."
He smiled and leaned over to bestow one final kiss on her pale forehead. "I must admit you did try. I guess I'll just have to keep looking."
He cocked his head slightly to look into her clouded eyes. After several unsuccessful attempts to close them days ago, he had finally resigned himself to her vacant stare. When the light played tricks on him and made her eyes appear as if they watched him, he tossed a pillow over her head. After all, it wasn't like she was in danger of suffocating...not anymore.
The candle flickered in the dusky room as he lifted it from the bedside table and touched it to the bloodstained sheets. The fire leapt from his hand onto the bed, scorching the rumpled fabric. He watched in fascination as the flames danced, accelerated by a liberal dousing of cleaning fluid from the kitchen pantry. Noxious clouds of fumes and smoke soon filled the room.
He took one last look at the latest failure to enter his life, now ablaze in a macabre funeral pyre of linen and flesh and blood. Why were they all alike? Why did it have to end this way...again? This one had seemed to hold real promise. For a while, he really thought she was the one. But she turned out to be just like the rest of them.
One last look around the room assured him all his belongings were safely tucked away in the backpack near the front door. After scanning the immediate area for prying eyes, he left the front door ajar and strode across the beach. Backpack slung across his shoulders, he never looked back as the first traces of smoke and charred wood and burning flesh wafted into the salty morning breeze.
"At least it used to be," Tom said as he switched off the engine. He stepped out of the car and promptly sank ankle deep into the sand. "Oh, great."
"What's wrong?" Cassy teased as she exited onto the packed gravel on her side of the car. "I thought you loved walking on the beach."
"Barefoot, in the moonlight, maybe. Not in $80 shoes and a suit." He stopped to dump the sand from his shoes, then surveyed the rest of their surroundings; nothing but more sand to cover to get into the house.
"Now you see why women wear sandals in the summertime. Open shoes don't collect a load of sand."
"Cassy, I don't think Harry would appreciate me showing up for work looking like a leftover from Woodstock." He grimaced as more granules ground their way into the soles of his feet. "If we had gotten here a little sooner, we wouldn't have had to park halfway down the beach."
"Oh, okay, Mr. Punctual. One morning out of a hundred, I come in late, and this puts you in a mood." Cassy climbed the weathered steps of the cottage, passing several gray-faced officers on their way down. She waited patiently for her partner to join her. Turning, she almost bumped into Sterling Morton as he joined them on the enclosed front porch. Tom noticed his drawn expression and pallid color, a perfect match for the officers now descending the steps.
"Bad one?" Tom asked sympathetically.
"Aren't they all?" Sterling answered morosely as he held the door open for Cassy to enter. "I just don't like fire victims. Personal pet peeve, I guess."
"Although," the coroner continued, "I guess we got lucky on this one. Someone spotted the fire and got the fire department here in time to save the place. At least I have a little more to work with than teeth and charred bones."
"How many victims?" Cassy asked as she surveyed the interior of the ruined cottage. The walls were blackened with smoke and streaked with water from the soaking by the fire hoses. Traces of smoke and the unmistakable odor of burned flesh still hung heavily in the stifling air.
"Just one. Back here." He led the way down a narrow passage to the master bedroom. The stench was overpowering as the detectives hesitated in the doorway. Morton approached the scorched bed in the center of the room. "Fair is fair, guys. If I have to do this, so do you."
Tom and Cassy exchanged reluctant glances, then crossed the room to survey the remains on the blackened bed. It was impossible to determine the age or sex of the corpse. What was obvious was that the fire seemed to have been concentrated on this room, and more specifically, on the center of the bed where the body had been found by the astonished firefighters.
"The local fire chief said there shouldn't have been anyone in this house." Morton said as he circled the bed, stepping around a stone-faced lab technician kneeling near the body. "He knows the owners, says they were planning to sell it, so they didn't rent it out this season. It had been locked up and vacant for months."
"Any signs of squatters living here illegally, clothes, food, that kind of thing?" Cassy asked. A uniformed officer standing behind her heard her question and stepped forward.
"Not specifically. Hard to tell what was left here by the owners and what might have belonged to an intruder. The house is a mess now, what the fire didn't ruin, the water did. It's gonna be a chore sifting through this place."
"The arson unit should be arriving any time now," Tom said, his eyes traveling across the smut covered walls. "Maybe they can tell us more. I guess we should check out the rest of the place."
Cassy immediately cast a grateful glance in her partner's direction. Charred corpses were not her cup of tea, either. She wasted no time in following him out of the room and down the dimly lit hallway. Morton observed their hasty retreat; casting a final look at his next assignment, he directed his assistants to begin preparing the Jane Doe's remains for transport.
