What Burns Within by Sandra Ruttan Page B

flush of exertion in his cheeks, the strong, confident bearing gone. Despite being elevated on the threshold of the house above her, he seemed a few inches shorter, a few inches thinner, pale. He clearly hadn’t slept.
“I, uh, I can come back if this isn’t a good time.”
He half shrugged. “It’s fine.”
She followed him into the living room, sitting on the couch across from him. He looked around the room, at the ceiling, the corners and the points between the bookshelves. Finally, he looked at her, his mouth slightly open, his eyes pinched. “What do you need?”
“You told us that you found Isabella’s body on the fourth floor, in a room in the back right corner. Is that correct?”
He nodded.
“You said she was lying on a table under the window.”
Carl nodded again.
“Do you remember what kind of table it was?”
“What kind?” He blinked.
“A dining table, a child’s play table, a school desk. Color, length, anything?”
He stared at her blankly for another moment, then shook his head. “What’s this got to do with anything?”
“Carl, I know this isn’t a good time,” Ashlyn said, “but this is very important to the family out there that has to plan a funeral now for their daughter.”
His shoulders sagged. “She’s pregnant, you know. She can’t even take some of the medications, in case…in case…”
He held his face in his hands for a moment, his elbows propped precariously on his knees, his legs quivering visibly. In the loose, white dress shirt and khaki pants he looked like a solid gust of wind could blow him right out of the lower mainland and over the Rocky Mountains.
Then the trembling stopped, and he looked up. “It was a gray folding table.”
“Like the kind you buy at Costco?”
He blinked, rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“Was there a blanket on it? Anything at all?”
Carl paused with his hand over his mouth, his elbows still digging into his kneecaps. “No. But there was something funny on the wall.”
“Funny, how? What was it?”
He shook his head, holding up one open hand. “I don’t know. Funny, odd. I barely saw it, with all the smoke, and it looked like it was some sort of graffiti, drawn in black charcoal. It seemed familiar, but I’m not sure what it was. I just wasn’t paying that much attention, you know?”
She nodded. “It’s okay. You’re doing great.” Ashlyn waited a moment before continuing. “Last night you said there was thick, black smoke pouring out the window when you went into the room, that you almost didn’t see Isabella.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you remember if the window had been opened or if it was broken?”
“Like I said yesterday, I’m sure our guys didn’t break it.”
“I just mean generally. Had it been left open, or was it broken?”
“You think she tried, she might have tried to get out?”
Ashlyn shook her head, forcing herself not to look away as he stared directly at her. All that grief and shock, the wild eyes…She hadn’t even seen that much raw emotion at the Bertini house the night before. “No. She…she didn’t die there, Carl. Isabella was already gone when he put her on that table.”
“What’s wrong with this world, that there are all these sick bastards out there, running around hurting people?” Carl slammed his fist down on the coffee table.
Ashlyn felt herself wince at the sound of the blow, although she’d seen it coming. “I wish I had answers for you.”
“I don’t want your fucking answers. I want to kill—”
Carl froze. He’d looked like he was about to jump up, knock the coffee table over, smash everything in the room he could get his hands on until those words came out of his mouth. The fury in his eyes gave way to a look of fear. The hard line of his mouth had dissolved, and his eyes had the glassy look of being filled with tears.
She didn’t know what to say to him. So much grief, so much understandable anger, nothing that would make it