"I'll take your word for it," I said. "You sure she's human?"

  He shrugged. "Not too many species of supe fit the profile," Scanlon said. "A werewolf would have transformed and broken the ropes with no sweat. A fairy would have just vanished. She's too small for an ogre and too big for a troll or goblin." It sounded like he had been reading the manual.

  "How do you know it's not a vampire?" There was something in Karl's voice that I caught, even if Scanlon didn't.

  "No fangs," Scanlon said. His face, what I could see of it, was expressionless. "I had the forensics guys check, even though it's not their job." I was betting that none of them had given him an argument about it, either, although putting your face close enough to that corpse to see its teeth could be nobody's idea of a good time.

  "No reason she couldn't be a witch, though," I said. "Like the last one."

  Technically, witches and wizards are considered supernatural beings, or supes, but they're also human – most of them, anyway.

  "No, I guess not," Scanlon said. "But why somebody who can work magic would let herself be abducted, then burned alive, is more than I can figure."

  Maybe he hadn't read the manual, after all.

  "Witches don't wear magic like body armor," I said, "and they can't use it instantly, like karate. Working magic takes preparation."

  "Remember that guy, Kulick, a few months ago?" Karl asked. "He was a wizard, and a good one. But he was taken by surprise – and you saw what happened to him."

  George Kulick had died hard, although it had taken a while for his spirit to move on to the Great Beyond, whatever that was. Personally, I hoped the bastard was roasting in Hell.

  "But they can do defensive spells, can't they?" Scanlon said.

  "Sure, if they have a reason to." I glanced toward the charred figure tied to the tree. "And if it turns out that this vic is a witch, too, I bet every practitioner in town is going to have a defensive spell in place within a few hours of getting the news."

  "Which means this one should be the last," Scanlon said. "They'll be ready for him, next time."

  "They fucking well better be," I said.

  Homer Jordan lumbered over. He nodded to Karl and me but spoke to Scanlon. "Well, I pronounced her, Lieutenant, which shouldn't come as a surprise. Cause of death's pretty obvious, too – but I'll check the internal organs to see if she was poisoned or drugged, first."

  "What about T.O.D.?" Scanlon asked.

  Homer shrugged his big shoulders. "Time of death's a bitch with burn victims, Lieutenant. I'll do the best I can."

  "The guy who called it in said he could see flames," I said.

  "The time of the call is probably a good indication of when she died, give or take a few minutes."

  "That's good to know, thanks," Homer said. "I'll check the police report." He looked around at the dark trees. "Good thing we've had a lot of rain lately. Otherwise, the motherfucker could've started a forest fire, on top of everything else."

  As Homer walked away, one of the uniforms came over and said, "Since the doc's done with the crispy critter, can we cut her loose, now, Lieutenant? The ambulance guys wanna get out of here."

  Scanlon was in the cop's face faster than a Marine Corps drill sergeant. He didn't raise his voice, but I could hear every word he said, from fifteen feet away.

  "You're talking about a woman who died in a horror and agony that your dim little brain can't begin to comprehend, and that you should pray to God you never have to learn about first-hand. But if I ever hear you refer to any burn victim as a 'crispy critter' again, I will personally tear that badge off your chest and make you eat it. Do you understand me?"

  Even in the uncertain light, I thought I could see the cop's face start to perspire. "Jeez, Lieutenant, I was only–"

  Scanlon's voice could have frozen Lake Scranton. "I asked you if you understood me."

  "Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

  "Then cut the victim down, and help the EMTs get her on the stretcher."

  "Yes, sir."

  Scanlon walked back to Karl and me, shaking his head. I didn't say anything – I figured he'd said it all.

  "I guess your squad and mine will both be investigating this, from different angles," Scanlon said. "It would be a good thing to keep each other current on any progress – informally, of course."

  "I agree, Lieutenant." Informally meant we'd avoid official paperwork and the interdepartmental rivalries that sometimes went along with it. It's like the CIA and FBI – they're supposed to share information, but they don't, always. And when that happens, sometimes people die.

  I glanced over toward the tree, and saw the EMTs gently lowering the burned body onto the stretcher. "We probably oughta get going," I said to Karl.

  I wanted to get on the path before the EMTs did. Otherwise, we'd have to follow them, and their macabre burden, all the way to the parking lot. It would slow us down, and would mean another ten minutes or so of inhaling that sickly-sweet odor from the burned corpse. I'd smelled enough of that for one night – or a lifetime, for that matter.

  As I followed Karl and his vamp-vision through the dark, he said, over his shoulder, "Wonder if she has a family?"

  "Probably," I said. "Most people do." Whoever the victim's survivors were, I was glad it wasn't my job to inform them of her death, and how it had happened. "We'll probably have an ID in a day or two."

  "Even with the way she was burned?"

  "Somebody'll report her missing, most likely – just like the other one, Mrs, uh–"

  "Allerdyce," Karl said. "Brenda Allerdyce."

  "Once Homer has a name to work with, he won't have much problem confirming her identity. Then we can go to work. Just like real detectives."

  "Looking for stuff they had in common, all that."