Sara did not wait for an answer. She slipped Lena 's chart out of the holder at the foot of the bed and studied it as she waited for them to leave. Jeffrey could tell she was forcing herself to do this, that if she could snap her fingers, she would've been anywhere but here. He just wasn't sure why she wanted to stay.

For the first time since he'd entered the room, Lena spoke directly to Jeffrey. 'Get your fucking wife out of my face. I don't want her here.'

He locked eyes with her, willing the young woman to understand that there would be lasting consequences for her words. Jeffrey could put up with a lot of bullshit, but he would be damned if an officer on his force would get away with trashing his wife.

Sara looked up from Lena 's chart. 'It's okay. Just give us a few minutes.'

Despite his better judgment, Jeffrey managed, 'We'll wait in the hall.' He went to the door and held it open for the sheriff. Valentine stared at Lena for a few seconds, undecided. Finally, he shook his head, making it clear he wasn't happy with his choice, and walked out of the room.

In the hallway, Jeffrey let the door close behind him, then stood in front of it – not exactly blocking the way but close enough.

'So.' Valentine rested his hand on the butt of his gun. He obviously was itching to go back into the room. 'That what you expected to happen?'

Of all the scenarios Jeffrey had considered, this had not been one of them. He asked Valentine, 'Where's Lena 's uncle? Hank Norton?'

Valentine was staring at the door as if he wanted to bust through it.

Jeffrey pressed, 'He's Lena 's next of kin. Didn't you contact him?'

Valentine nodded. 'Wasn't there.'

There were muffled sounds through the door, but no yelling that Jeffrey could hear. He indicated to the sheriff that they should walk up the hallway a bit. 'You went by Hank's house?'

Valentine stayed where he was. '1 can't find him anywhere. I went to his house last night, then again this morning. His bar's been closed. There was something happened a few weeks ago-'

'Cook told me about that.'

'Yeah,' Valentine said, a suspicious look crossing his face. The man obviously did not trust his deputy. Jeffrey wondered how they got any work done. The force had to be a small one, with probably no more than five deputies in all. Parking Donald Cook at the hospital was one way of keeping his enemy at arm's length, but Jeffrey was going to take a wild guess and say that the old-timer had a lot more friends in uniform than his young boss.

Jeffrey asked, 'Any idea who it might be in the Caddy?'

'There are no missing persons that we know of. No reports on any suspicious characters hanging around. No Escalades reported missing. It's a puzzle.'

At least he hadn't been sitting on his hands all night. 'What about Hank Norton?'

'He drives a Mercedes that's probably older than I am.'

'No.' Jeffrey shook his head. 'Do you think maybe it's his body in the car?'

Valentine shrugged. 'All's I know is a DNA test is gonna blow half my wad for the quarter.'

His budgetary concerns were valid, but Jeffrey wondered again why Valentine wasn't more eager to nail down the victim's identity. Maybe he already had some idea, but he wasn't yet willing to share the information.

'I know you said there weren't any accelerants on her clothes, but did forensics find anything on her shoes?'

Valentine took his time answering. 'She was wearing those what-do-you-call-its, with the short heel.'

'Pumps?' Jeffrey asked, thinking it was odd that Lena was wearing anything dressier than tennis shoes on her day off.

'Right, pumps. My wife wears those shoes hippies and lesbians wear. You know, with the cork? I don't know what they're called, but she swears by them.'

Jeffrey tried to get him back on subject. 'Did they find anything on the shoes?'

'Just soot, dirt, the usual. Didn't seem like there was any need to send them to the lab.' Valentine tilted up his chin, asked, 'You think I should?'

Jeffrey shrugged. Though, if it was up to Jeffrey, he'd spend money on identifying the victim before worrying about Lena 's shoes, but that hadn't been the sheriff's question. 'Up to you.'

Around the corner, he heard the elevator ding again. Jeffrey tried to think of something to keep them out in the hallway a little longer, wanting to give Sara as much time as he could. 'Where's one?'

'What's that?'

'The elevator,' he said. 'The buttons only go to two and three. Where's the first floor?'

'Basement,' Valentine told him. 'Crazy, ain't it?'

'How do you get down there?'

'You have to use the stairs or go around the back of the building.'

Jeffrey wondered how many fatalities the county coroner dealt with. 'You got many bodies down there?'

'Bodies?' He looked shocked, then gave a chuckle as he explained, 'Our morgue's over near the impound lot. The basement's for the laundry room, storage, that kind of stuff.'

'That's strange,' Jeffrey said, grasping at straws. 'Why the impound lot?'

Valentine shrugged, glanced at his watch, then the door.

Jeffrey tried, 'Is she going to need therapy or anything? Medication?'

'What, for the fire?' Valentine shook his head. 'Nah. Doc says she'll be fine in a few days.'

'What about your usual suspects?'

'What does that mean?'

'Your bad guys,' Jeffrey clarified. 'Persons of interest.'

Valentine shook his head. 'You got me on that one, Chief.'

'Well,' Jeffrey began, once again trying not to sound too condescending, 'when something bad happens in my town, like a car gets stolen or somebody swipes a television, I've got a pretty good idea who might be behind it.'

'Oh.' Valentine nodded. 'Yeah, I got you. Only, we don't get many cars being blown up on the football field here.'

Jeffrey chose to ignore his sarcasm. 'Any arsonists?'

'That's a big-city crime.'

'Apparently not.'

Valentine scratched his chin. 'I figure whoever did this was trying to send a message.'

'What kind of message?'

'Your detective's the only one who can answer that. Speaking of which,' he said, nodding toward the door. 'I think your wife's had enough time alone with her.'

Jeffrey could only hope that was the case. He followed Valentine back into the room. Sara was leaning against the wall outside the bathroom. The bed was empty, the soft restraints hanging from the rails. The shower was running.

Sara explained, 'I talked her into cleaning up.'

'She talk back?' Valentine wanted to know.

Sara shook her head, and Jeffrey could see that she was telling the truth.

'Not much help then,' Valentine said, obviously annoyed. He glanced at his watch, then at the bathroom door. 'How long she been in there?'

'Not long.'

He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. 'Jesus, lady, you didn't think it'd be smart to go in there with her?'

Sara opened her mouth to answer, but Jeffrey cut her off, telling the man, 'Watch your tone.'

Valentine ignored him, knocking hard on the door. 'Miss Adams? I need you to open this door now.' He slipped his radio out of his belt. 'Cook, you there? Come in.' There was no answer, and the sheriff pressed his shoulder into the door, trying to pop it open.

For the second time that night, Sara's lips parted, but she did not speak.

'Cook?' Valentine tried the radio again. There was no answer, and he banged his fist on the bathroom door. 'Miss Adams, you've got to the count of three to open this door.'

The radio crackled. In a slow drawl, Don Cook asked, 'What is it, Jake?'

'Find the passkey for the bathroom and get your ass in here!' Valentine barked. He tucked the radio back in its holster and put his shoulder to the door again. 'Miss Adams,' he tried again. 'Lookit, just come out and everything will be fine.'