Based on the amount of water soaking the home’s foundation, I guessed the building had cooled sufficiently, which meant the fire had been suppressed several hours ago. And based on the limited degree of structural damage, I figured that the firefighters must have made it here almost immediately. Maybe they received a tip.
Lieutenant Mendez waved to me. “ Buenos dias, Dr. Bowers. I didn’t think you would come. I couldn’t get in touch with you.”
I gestured to my outfit. “Went for a little jog. Left my cell at the hotel. And Lieutenant Mendez, I keep telling you my friends call me Pat.”
She gave me a polite nod. “Si, Dr. Bowers.”
I’d first met Aina three weeks earlier when I came to San Diego for a day to do an initial assessment of the case. I liked her right away. She struck me as savvy, street smart, and, most impressive of all, open-minded. Too often detectives only look for evidence that confirms their suspicions or fits their “gut instincts.” Not Aina; she trusted facts above feelings. And that makes all the difference in the world.
Though it was still early in the day, Lien-hua wore dark sun-glasses. She tipped them up and eyed my soaked T-shirt. “How many did you get in?”
“A hundred forty-eight, total.”
“Slipping in your old age, huh?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
I asked Aina for a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on. After all, evidence is evidence, even if it’s covered with soot. Then she signaled for two of the firefighters resting on the curb to lend Lien-hua and me their boots. They grudgingly obliged, and we pulled them on and followed Aina into the blackened mouth of what used to be someone’s front door.