Indigo Lake

They walked toward what had once been a thirty-foot-high barn, still smoking in places. The old man seemed to respect the fact that Blade didn’t push him with questions. As they moved around the still-hot barn, Blade did most of the talking.

He told Dice that he’d worked a few arson fires, most in national forests, and handled several bomb alerts, but this was unknown territory for him. An isolated barn on private property. No witnesses. No reason.

“We all specialize at the bureau, but we’re federal so we go where needed. I guess that’s what I love about the job. Like this fire. If it was a crime, I think the why may be as important as the how.”

Dice seemed interested and even offered bits about how the hay was stacked and how most of it was probably a few years old. “Not worth much,” he said.

He also told how little was used last year or even the year before. Most of the supply in the barns was old because Collins sold off more and more cattle every year.

Half an hour later when the sheriff returned without the owner, Dice seemed to think he was part of the investigation team. They began listing all the scenarios: frustrated employee of the ranch, angry at being fired, rode through the rain, setting the two fires to make a point. With the rain there was a good chance the grass wouldn’t catch. Maybe once he saw the fire he got scared and bolted.

Next possibility: Collins set the fires or ordered someone to. No crime unless he claims insurance.

There was always the possibility of kids playing around, looking for excitement, maybe smoking pot. They could have decided to start a fire for warmth and it got out of hand. But that only explained one fire.

About the time Dice ran out of ideas, a four-wheeler pulled up. The man who climbed out didn’t look like he belonged on a ranch, but the sheriff introduced him as the owner, Reid Collins.

Collins must have crossed someone last night. His left eye was almost swollen closed and was several shades of blue. His right eye was bloodshot.

When Blade looked over at Dice he thought he could see anger building up behind the old guy’s watery blue eyes. Collins might have been his boss, but there was hatred in Dice’s stare. If all the hands felt that way about Collins, no amount of questioning would probably help find who set the fires.

Blade watched Reid Collins closely. His movements were slow for a man still in his twenties. He wore deck shoes and stepped carefully through the tall grass. Blade had no idea what Reid was on, or if he was simply hungover, but one thing was obvious: the landowner didn’t care about the damage to his barns. Half the time he showed no hint of even keeping up with the conversation.

They moved to the other site. Reid followed the sheriff’s cruiser in his four-wheeler, then reluctantly walked with the others, obviously thinking this outing was an entire waste of his time. As the embers cooled, they circled the skeleton of the barn, looking again for any clues.

When Blade turned toward the back left corner of the barn at a spot where he suspected the last fire had been set, he almost gagged. Earlier he hadn’t been able to get within ten feet, but now it had cooled some and a terrible odor drifted around him.

The air had turned putrid with a smell so bad that once you smelled it, you never forgot. It drifted into your mouth and seemed to decay there, leaving a taste almost as bad as the smell.

Dice was a few feet behind him and froze in midstep. He tugged his bandanna up over his nose. “Double damn,” he whispered. “There ain’t but one thing that smells like that.”

It was a smell like no other in the world. So terrible Blade felt his throat close up trying to keep the odor from his lungs. He’d encountered it in the army a few times and at several burn sites.

Human flesh burning. The odor of burned hair. Blood boiling to the point that it gives off a heavy, acrid odor so thick you swear you can taste it all the way to your gut.

The sheriff was several feet behind, busy writing notes. He looked up suddenly and Blade knew Brigman recognized the odor.

Reid Collins bumped into the sheriff, then yelled, “Damn! What is that smell?”

No one answered him. Brigman stepped forward and knelt in the pile of ashes spilling out of what had been the barn.

He brushed away ashes with his pencil and a hand rolled out of the rubble, its flesh burned away, its boney fingers stretching out as if for help. A gust of wind circled ashes exposing more bone.

Blade clicked a picture. The skeletal hand was curled up, with bits of charred muscle still attached to the bone.

Brigman stood. “Looks like he must have been trapped.”

“The smoke probably got to him before he could fight his way out the back.” Blade hated the smell, but he did his job. He clicked shots.

“No!” Reid yelled. “No! This isn’t happening. Maybe it’s an animal or an old skeleton buried in the barn years ago. Someone did not die in this fire last night.” The owner seemed to think yelling would make his words true.

Brigman shook his head. “Look closer, Reid. Someone did die. Looks like the fire caught him just before he reached the back door.” He noticed a padlock on burned wood that could have been the rear door to the barn. “Maybe he ran for the back door and found it locked. He was trapped by the fire.”

Reid glanced over the sheriff’s shoulder, gagged, and stumbled backward.

Blade and the sheriff moved in closer, trying to see something, anything, that might give them a clue.

“We’re dealing with a crime scene now,” Blade whispered.

“Shut the ranch down.” The sheriff’s voice bore no hesitation.

They both knew what had to be done. Blade offered, “I’ll help stand guard until the state troopers get here, Sheriff. We don’t want anyone trying to cover this up.”

Both men walked toward the sheriff’s car. “I’ll call it in.” Dan’s voice hinted at how tired he was already, and his day wasn’t close to over. “We may have a murder here. Unless he was the one setting the fires and got caught in the last one.”

“Not likely. I want to go back to the other site with equipment as soon as it cools. This was the only lock on any door that I saw,” Blade said. “He might have been sleeping it off in the barn, or maybe riding the land and spotted the arsonist setting the fire.”

Blade turned to Dice. “What do you think? How many cowhands were out riding last night?”

“Half a dozen, maybe more, but all the hands knew this barn had locks on it, front and back. Collins put them on six months ago. I figured it was to keep drifters out, but he said it was because as soon as the hay was gone he planned to store cars in there.”

“Did he store cars?”

Dice shook his head. “Not that I ever saw, but he did keep this one barn locked.”

Blade pushed. “You didn’t think that was strange?”

Dice grinned. “I’m a cowboy. I’m not paid to think beyond cow level.”

He pointed with his thumb. “We got a new problem.”

“What’s that?” Brigman said as he opened his car door and tugged out his radio.

Dice pointed back in the direction he’d come. “Boss man fainted.”

All three looked back at Reid lying spread-eagle in the mud halfway between the rubble of the barn and the cars.

“What do I do, Sheriff?” Dice tugged off his hat and started worrying the brim. “Officially, I don’t work for him since the night of the fire, and if he ain’t breathing I’m sure not giving him mouth-to-mouth with all that throw-up on his face.”

Brigman looked like a man who had his hands full. “Check to see if he’s breathing. If he is, leave him. He looks like he could use some sun.”

When Dice walked off, Brigman moved to the trunk of his car and pulled out a box. “You got a weapon, Hamilton?”

“I do. I carry a Glock 17 and my badge in my saddlebags. They’re in the back seat of your cruiser.”

“Then strap on a weapon.” He pulled another badge from the box. “I’m also deputizing you.” The sheriff glanced at his watch. “I don’t know what we’re facing but as of 1:45 p.m., I want you working for the county. We’ll finish up here and by four I’ll have men coming in to question. I’m going to need your help.”

Blade slipped the badge in his pocket and reached for his saddlebags. “This mean I’m getting paid?”