Pool walked over to the unbroken skid mark and squatted to look at it.

Kendra followed him. “The van burned quickly. There was a Toluene-based accelerant used.”

“Toluene?” One of the investigators, whom Kendra had just seen draw a chalk line around a severed hand next to the van, looked up at the word. “As in a solvent for paint?”

“Or for model-airplane glue.”

“How do you figure that?”

Kendra grimaced. “I smell it. It’s a lot like benzene.”

The investigator, a slender man with short gray hair, stood up and sniffed the air. “I’m smelling a lot of things right now, but that isn’t one of them.”

“Trust me. Take samples and run your tests. These cars were burned intentionally.”

The investigator looked at her skeptically. “Trust you? Pardon me for asking, but who the hell are you?”

“Someone you should listen to, Johnson,” Poole said. He took Kendra by the arm and guided her away. “Look,” he said in a low voice, “I’m going to call in Homicide. Stick around for a few, and I’ll have you—”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m not sticking around. This has taken up enough of my evening already. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Your forensics people can take it from here.”

He stared at her in shock. “You can’t be serious. You came out here just to—”

“Just to keep you from mistaking a murder scene for an accident. Though I guess I shouldn’t blame you too much. It’s probably one of the most unusual murder scenes any of you have ever seen.” She glanced back. “Although, like I said, I doubt whether any of these people actually died here.”

“And this doesn’t pique your curiosity just a little bit?”

“Sure. I’ll keep up with it in the newspaper. Good luck with your investigation.”

Poole frowned. “I can make you stay, you know.”

Kendra smiled. “On what grounds? Failure to perform police work on command?”

“What about civic duty?”

“I just did it. I told you everything I know. Good night, Poole.”

Kendra turned and moved around the forensics techs crouched behind the BMW.

Dean cast another look at the scene as they walked away. “I know you were just trying to impress me back there.”

“Did it work?”

“Of course, but it was totally unnecessary. You had me at ‘prison.’ You still owe me an explanation for that, you know.”

She took a quick look over her shoulder. Poole was still glaring at her. “Later. Right now, we’d better get to your car before Poole has it towed. He isn’t very happy with me at the moment.”

*   *   *

THEY DROVE BACK TO KENDRA’S condominium complex in less than fifteen minutes.

“You were amazing,” Dean said, as he walked her to the building’s front door. “The cops thought so, too. You could see it on their faces.”

“Trust me, those expressions can turn sour in a hurry. Especially if they think I’m making them look bad. Poole only wanted me to stick around because he knew his superiors wouldn’t have believed that he’d come up with those answers.”

He nodded. “I can imagine there would be problems. But why aren’t you interested in following up? Seems like a pretty interesting case.”

“I already have a job. It’s a lot more positive and fulfilling to me than what those people are doing on that bridge tonight.”

“Music therapy.”

“Yes. I help people. And I conduct research and publish papers that help others help people.” She unlocked the door. “Anyway, thanks for the ride. I’m sure this wasn’t the evening you had in mind.”

“It was better.” He grinned. “Sure beats first-date small talk.”

“Not sure what I can do to top it. You want to quit while we’re ahead?”

“No way.” He stepped closer to her.

She couldn’t deny how likeable she found him. She was happy at that response. She smiled. “Well, you have my number.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m not saying good night until you explain a few things to me. Let’s start with my bike. How did you know about that?”

“You have helmet head.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Impossible. I’ve washed my hair a couple times since the last time I wore a helmet.”

“Not your hair. Your skin. You have a clean tan line around your neck, and an inverted “U” that frames your face. And there’s a slight singe on the inside right leg of those jeans you’re wearing, right about knee level. The Harley Sportster’s rear exhaust pipe would hit you about there every time you have your foot off the pedal at a long stoplight.”

“Just the Sportster?”

“There are others, but that’s probably the most popular one. And the Harley Davidson sunglasses tucked into your shirt clinches it a bit more.”

He laughed and patted the sunglasses dangling from his neckline. “Do you ride?”

“I used to run with a pretty wild crowd, and I sometimes rode with them.” She raised her right pant leg and showed a small burn scar on her inside right calf. “It’s never a good idea to ride a motorcycle in shorts.”

“And here I was thinking you were so brilliant.”

“Well, it only happened once. I’m a fast learner.”

“I have no doubt.”

“And I caught a whiff of Castrol Simple Green on you. That’s how I knew you were doing some degreasing today.”

“Actually, it was yesterday. And I’ve showered since then.”

“Were you wearing those shoes when you were working on it?”

He looked down at his brown walking shoes. “Maybe.”

“And you’d be surprised how long our skin can hold on to odors, shower or no shower. It’s like a big sponge.”

“Okay. And how did you know where I’m from?”

She shrugged. “Your speech. You have a Central Florida dialect, peppered with an adult New England influence.”

He stared at her for a moment. “An adult New England influence?”

“If you’d moved there when you were younger, it would have a different sound. It would have had a different effect on the speech patterns you’ve been practicing since birth. I figured you moved there around college age.”

He nodded. “You’re right. But not quite Ivy League. Boston U. So you’re a linguistics expert, too.”

“Not really. Like you, I’ve met thousands of people in my life. From an early age, I got into the habit of listening and matching what I heard with what I found out about them. When you can’t see, you use what you have.”

He nodded, then paused. “Okay, now tell me what I really want to know.”

“Prison.”

“I’ve taken steps to make sure that period of my life won’t get in the way of my future. I didn’t think anyone in the city was aware of it, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

She tilted her head. “I’ll make you a deal. Tell me what you were in for, and I’ll tell you how I knew.”

“You got it.”

She took his left hand and angled it into the entranceway light. “I’m sure almost no one would notice this, but there’s a very faint tattoo remnant here, between your thumb and forefinger. You obviously tried to have it removed.”

“You’re right. Almost no one notices. And if they do, they see that it’s a box filled with an X. Like a strike on a bowling score sheet. Not like any prison tattoo I’ve ever seen.”

“And that was your intention when you tattooed over the five dots that were originally there. Five dots. One in the middle representing the prisoner, four more on each corner representing the prison. A pattern that’s almost always tattooed on the hand between the thumb and forefinger. It’s the placement that gives it away more than anything else.”

“How do you know so much about prison tats?”

“Like I said, I used to run with a rough crowd.” She looked him in the eye. “Your turn.”

He jammed his hands in his pockets and glanced away from her. “Well, you’re right. I had a drug problem in grad school, and I got in so deep that I supported my habit by selling some to my fellow students. Really stupid. I went away for thirty months. I got clean, got my Ph.D., and never looked back.”