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said,
glancing over at the reporters.
    A few of the reporters bustled toward the
car clutching microphones and followed by cameramen.
    “What should we say?” Simmons asked.
    “Nothing. Don’t say a word to any idiot with
a camera.”
    The two detectives sprung from the car and
headed toward the front door of the Ackerman house. The black,
burly cameras followed closely on their heels.
    “Detectives, do you have any information on
how the fire was started?” A female reporter asked. She was a
fairly attractive brunette, maybe in her mid-thirties, dressed in
one of those bright colored, sharply trimmed women’s suits that
have become all too trendy these days.
    Neither of the detectives responded and
continued up the cement walkway.
    “Do you know if any negligence on the part
of the girl’s parents had anything to do with her death?” A
different reporter asked, this one a man.
    What do you think we’re here to find
out?
    Isaac opened the door and allowed Simmons to
go in ahead of him, then turned toward the crowd of reporters
gathered in the front lawn.
    “There will be no comment at this time,” he
said, trying to project his voice over the crowd. “Now back up. I
don’t want to see anyone without a badge within fifteen feet of the
house.”
    He turned to go inside when the pretty
brunette spoke again.
    “How long will it be before an autopsy is
performed on the young girl’s body?”
    Autopsy? Sorry, but not even the most
prestigious pathologist could perform an autopsy under these
circumstances.
    Isaac turned back around and stared the
brunette reporter right in her bright, anxious eyes. “I said no
comment at this time. How hard is that to understand?”
    From the first step inside the house, Isaac
could smell a strange odor unlike anything he had ever smelled
before, and he’d been witness to many awkward scents over the years
with the Elmwood P.D. The scent was fresh, almost sweet, and it
crawled all over his skin.
    A half dozen policemen roamed about the
house, going upstairs, back down, and then back up again like
working ants revolving in a steady circle. Simmons chatted with one
of the blue and white uniformed officers in the kitchen. Isaac
headed over, but before he could take two steps from the front
door, another policeman snuck up from behind him.
    “Sir,” said the officer. “I’m assuming
you’re Detective Winters.”
    Isaac turned around and faced the policeman;
a young kid, maybe twenty-five, probably new to the force. He had a
big black cowboy hat on his head.
    “We’ve been waiting for you. Would you like
me to lead you upstairs?”
    Isaac glanced up the staircase and saw the
open doorway with the yellow police ribbon around it. “No, I think
I can find my way.”
    He walked past the officer then turned back
at the foot of the stairs.
    “Hey, what’s your name?”
    “Deputy Christopher Howers.”
    Isaac nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
    The officer nodded back.
    “Simmons, come."
    Isaac peeled back the yellow police tape and
stepped underneath. Simmons followed behind. The sweet scent Isaac
had first smelled when he entered the house had grown tenfold. He
could feel it tickling at the back of his throat, making him want
to sneeze, or cough up his lungs, whichever would make the tingling
sensation go away quickest.
    He stood in the doorway of the room and
peered over at what used to be a little girl and her bed. The scene
looked far worse than the pictures could have ever shown. As he
inched closer to the bed, he noticed the foot, hanging lonesome,
about to fall into the black hole in the mattress. When he looked
into the hole, he saw the other foot, the left one, smothered
amongst the black ash.
    “There’s number two.”
    Isaac walked around the side of the bed and
began examining the surrounding objects in the room. Simmons
couldn’t take his eyes off the ash and the lonesome feet. His eyes
told the tale of a man who knew he was way out of his league. In
his short time as