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exam.
    Looking at their charred, twisted exteriors, Hogg could guess what awaited him internally. Determining their sex was fairly straightforward as the hips were key giveaways. He could tell from their shape that the older victim had given birth at some time in her adult life. But he knew it would take close examination of the remains, plus comparisons to dental records, DNA and X-rays, to determine accurate identities. All of that would take time. Which, in turn, would annoy the hell out of the investigating officers.
    Keep positive
, Hogg reminded himself.
    He took several deep breaths – inhaling through his nose and releasing it, hissing Cobra style, through his mouth – before returning to the bodies.
    Both victims were locked in pugilistic poses, their fists and arms drawn up toward their chins. Skin and muscles tended to contract because of the intense dehydration caused by fire. This madeentry to their internal organs (if they hadn’t been completely cooked or liquefied in the blaze) difficult.
    Not impossible
, Hogg told himself,
just difficult
.
    ‘Dr Hogg!’
    Hogg turned to his cinematographing assistant. ‘Yes, Sally, what is it?’
    Sally was excited. ‘This one’s holding something. I think it’s a doll or a – no, it’s a bear, a stuffed bear.’
    Hogg moved swiftly around the table to join Sally who was trying to get a better angle on the tiny object with her zoom-enabled camcorder.
    To the naked eye, the scorched entity beneath the younger victim’s blackened hands was barely discernible. Hogg lowered a magnifying glass from his macabre chandelier of tools to examine the object in closer detail.
    ‘I think you’re right,’ he said. ‘It is a bear. Its stuffing must have been made of fireproof material.’
    With scalpel and tweezers, Hogg gently cut the top half of the toy bear from the child’s rigid grasp. Beneath the animal’s protective shadow, a tiny patch of unmarred skin, no larger than a matchbook cover, shone from the girl’s chest like a tiny, perfect island in a rough charcoal sea.
    The bear had protected a secret, and the revelation of it made Hogg gasp.

14
    Sam reeled at the confirmation as if slapped in the face. Detective Hogan flashed his partner an angry scowl.
    ‘Please excuse my partner’s bluntness, Mr White.’ Hogan settled into one of the chairs. ‘He’s better with crime scenes than people.’
    Detective Preston snorted and, turning his back to the room, looked out of the window as though he had lost interest in the interview.
    ‘Did they suffer?’ Sam instantly wished he hadn’t asked, as there was only one answer he could bear to hear.
    ‘They wasn’t laughin’,’ Preston muttered.
    ‘We’re sure they didn’t,’ interjected Hogan. ‘The house went up like a bomb.’
    Sam flinched.
    ‘What caused it?’
    ‘You tell us,’ Preston said.
    ‘The fire marshal suspects the furnace,’ said Hogan. ‘Gas leak—’
    ‘And that ain’t something that happens everyday,’ interrupted Preston.
    Sam spun to glare at the detective, a surge of rage bubbling within. ‘What are you implying?’
    Preston turned with arms folded tight across his barrel chest.
    ‘This ain’t my first rodeo, Mr White.’ Preston’s drawl made him sound both polite and condescending at the same time. ‘And I find it damn suspicious that a modern furnace equipped with automatic shut-off valves would fail in such an almighty manner.’
    The last modicum of colour drained from Sam’s face.
    ‘You don’t know me,’ he said weakly. ‘To think I could even contemplate . . .’ The sentence went unfinished.
    ‘We’ve looked at your bank records,’ Preston continued. ‘You’re not faring too well. Credit card debts, a large interest-only mortgage, furniture bought on one of those don’t-pay-till-Judgement-Day plans. Need I go on?’
    Sam ground his teeth. ‘I would never hurt my family.’
    ‘Maybe you didn’t mean to,’ Hogan jumped in. ‘Maybe you just wanted to