'Not too shabby,' Valentine interjected, though she could tell from the look on his face that he was slightly ashamed of the morgue's location. 'Most of our autopsies are car wrecks, accidents, that kind of thing. We handle the load from Seskatoga, Ahlmira, and a couple of other counties. Having the morgue on site makes it easy to take them from one to the other.'

'Of course,' Sara said, feeling like she had just insulted the man when in fact the facilities were more than serviceable. She was lucky not to be stuck in the embalming room at the local funeral parlor. 'Where's the Escalade?'

'Through here,' he said, opening another door. A large, open warehouse was on the other side. Two desks and a row of filing cabinets were shoved into the corner. Tools lined the far wall. Six hydraulic lifts had cars on them, but no mechanics were in sight. Car parts were scattered around, crashed vehicles in various states of disassemble so that damage could be assessed, blame placed on the right head. Sitting in the middle of the warehouse was obviously the SUV.

It was draped in a gray tarp, plastic spread underneath to protect the floor.

Valentine walked toward the Cadillac, explaining, 'We towed it straight here once the metal cooled down. Being honest, all the fire department did was keep the field wet while they let the fire burn itself out. Not much left after that.'

Sara reached into her pocket and pulled out a band to tie her hair into a ponytail. She asked Valentine, 'Do you know the cause of fire?'

The sheriff shook his head. 'Some kind of accelerant was used, but the kicker was the gas tank going off. They're not sure if it was rigged or not, but you can tell from the back of the car that the tank exploded. Must have been pretty full, from the looks of it.'

Jeffrey asked, 'Did you hear an explosion?'

Valentine looked thoughtful as he grabbed on to the tarp and started rolling it back. 'Come to think of it, maybe I did. It's hard putting the pieces together after the fact.'

'I guess so,' Jeffrey said, in a way that made it sound like he thought the other man was lying. He stepped forward to help Valentine roll back the tarp.

Sara tuned out their conversation as she stood in front of the decimated Cadillac. The car was a shell of its former self. The tires had melted so that the frame sat on soot-blackened steel rims. Parts of the roof had been blown away but, surprisingly, some of the leather and the foam padding for the seats remained.

'Guess the cushions were treated or something,' Valentine offered. 'We can call in the shop guys to unbolt the frame when you're ready to move the body.'

Sara looked into the backseat. Cutting the corpse away from the leather would take hours. It would be like separating pieces of wet toilet tissue.

Still, it had to be done.

She leaned into the car, assessing the victim. The body's frame was small, but that did not necessarily mean it belonged to a woman. It could be a teenage boy or a man with a build similar to Valentine's. No matter who it was, the death this human being had suffered had obviously been excruciating. The arms and legs were flexed in a pugilistic fashion, as if the victim had tried to fight off the flames. Heat-related fractures riddled what Sara could see of the bones. The left hand had been engulfed, completely eaten off by fire. The hair had been burned away, the flat orbs of the eyes left lidless in their sockets.

She asked, 'Have you taken photographs?'

Valentine nodded and she leaned farther into the car, trying not to touch anything as she checked to see if the seat belt had been buckled. The actual belt had been burned away – part of it had melted into the flesh – but she saw the metal buckle firmly secured and assumed the passenger had been restrained.

Had the victim tried to get out, Sara wondered. What was it like to be trapped in the back of a burning SUV, flames licking up around you, as you struggled with the seat belt, scratched at the door handle, desperately trying to get out?

Horrifying, she decided. It must have been absolutely horrifying.

Several long seconds, perhaps a full minute, must have passed before the body gave up, the organs shut down. This was not counting the wait before the fire caught, before the gas tank exploded. There was no telling how many minutes ticked by as the victim waited for the inevitable.

Sara's lips parted as she went in for a closer look, trying not to inhale the distinctive odor of burned flesh.

Around seventy-five percent of the skin from the external surface of the body had been burned away. Most of the underlying muscles and ligature were scorched but not completely destroyed. The top of the head and the back of the skull were essentially charred off, and Sara could see shattered bits of teeth and the side of the tongue through a large hole in the left side of the victim's jaw. The jawbone was remarkably white, and she had to assume that the chunk of flesh covering it had been knocked away as the body was jarred during transport.

A patch of skin the size of a standard piece of paper was missing from the torso, and Sara could clearly see the chest wall and thoracic contents. The abdominal organs were likewise exposed, the liver sitting like a cooked piece of dark meat under the frayed strips of the stomach; it had obviously exploded from the intense heat. Sara imagined the tiny pieces of what looked like blackened cork dotting the outside of the small intestines would turn out to be the burned remains of the stomach contents.

What remained of the skin around the thighs had melted into the seat, sinew draping like Christmas tinsel down the legs. Crusty remnants of a pair of blue jeans and white underwear were still stuck in place where body fluids had leaked into the material then dried. The top of a white sock circled the left ankle. Though there was scant residual skin on both feet, a split piece of toenail remained on the right big toe. A square of chipped, pink nail polish showed. Sara leaned down, moved in closer. The area around the pubis had extensive damage, but she was fairly certain she was looking at a woman's genitalia.

She closed her eyes for just a second, unbelievably relieved that the victim was not Hank Norton. It gave her some hope that Lena 's involvement in the crime did not run as deep as Jake Valentine believed.

'Sara?' Jeffrey asked. There was a slight edge to his voice. 'You okay?'

'Yes,' she told him, giving a slight shake of her head to answer the question that was obvious to everyone but the sheriff.

Valentine said, 'Pretty bad, huh?'

Sara nodded. 'Has your coroner seen the body?'

'Just a quick look-see on the field that night,' Valentine supplied. 'Fred says he's never seen anything like it. Worst case he's ever had. Oh-' He stopped abruptly, as if he'd just remembered something. 'Once we get the body out, we'll give Fred a call and get him over to help with the X-rays. The machine's real temperamental. You might not want to try it on your own.'

'Fred is your coroner?' Jeffrey asked.

'Yep,' Valentine confirmed. 'Fred Bart. He's in the middle of a root canal right now, but he said to just give him a call and he'll hop on over.'

Sara must have looked confused because Valentine barked a laugh. 'He's doing the root canal, not getting it. Fred's the only dentist in town. Does the coroner's job for fishing money, he says. Real nice guy, but he knows when to let an expert take over.' Valentine offered a weak smile. 'Which brings me to thanking you again for doing this, Dr. Linton. I know we haven't talked about fees yet, but I ran by the bank this morning.'

He pulled out a wad of bills and Sara felt a blush working its way up her neck. She had assumed she was doing this as a favor. There was a difference between getting a check from Grant County and taking cash from Jake Valentine. The thought of money changing hands made her feel cheap.