Free What Burns Within by Sandra Ruttan Page B

anywhere. I called for this yesterday.”
She straightened up. “Well, maybe there’s something in there that can help.”
“Bit like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Craig said. “Must be dozens of perps here, and we haven’t even got a clue what we’re looking for.”
“Sure we do. We’re looking for some sick schmuck who gets his rocks off by forcing women to bend over.”
“I thought rapists usually had a type they preferred. Brunette, blonde, redhead. Some defining characteristic they use to choose victims.”
“Well, what have we got? Karen Chalmers was our first victim, at least, from what’s been reported. She had black hair. Sara McPherson…” Lori looked up at Craig.
He leafed through a stack of folders, extracted a photo and passed it to her.
“Redhead,” Lori said. “Hmm. Next is Stephanie Bonnis. She’s blond.”
“And Cindy Parks is blond.”
“No brunettes, though. Guess I’m safe.”
“Not enough information to base a pattern on,” Craig said.
“What about locations?”
Craig shook his head, passing her the map. “I’ve marked all the spots. They’re randomly configured, as far as I can tell.”
“Yeah, I agree. Scattered in Coquitlam and Port Coquitlam. Karen Chalmers lives in Port Moody. I thought rapists were supposed to hunt in their own territory, stay in their comfort zone.”
“There’s only one thing about this guy I can say with absolute certainty,” Craig said.
Lori arched an eyebrow. “Besides the fact that he’s a sick sonofabitch?”
“Goes without saying. I’m just talking in terms of a profile. Nothing seems to fit any of the standard textbook talk about rapists. He’s experienced. That’s the only thing I’d bank on.”
“There must be something that connects them.”
“You and I both know it could be as simple as means and opportunity, but we’re going to have to look through everything to see if we can figure out how he’s picking his victims.”
Lori sighed. “Just let me call home and cancel my plans for the next five years first, will you?”
     
“Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t dream of letting anyone in,” Paul Quinlan said as he passed Ashlyn and Tain helmets and boots. “If you need to bring a camera or anything, get it now. No telling if there’ll be a next time.
“And at the first sign of trouble, we’re done. No arguments, no bullshit. Either of you gives me any grief, I’ll make sure you push paper for the rest of the year.”
“Understood, Paul.”
Tain let Ashlyn follow Paul, lingering back so that he didn’t feel rushed. He let his eyes take in every detail of the charring, the pools of water gathered on the floor in a few places, the drip drip of a leak from a weak spot in a ceiling keeping time with his steps.
“You okay?”
He looked up to see Ashlyn, half a flight above him, looking down over the railing. “Have you been in a burned-out building before?”
“How d’you think I’ve been working these arson cases? Playing rummy at the station?”
There was no doubt in his mind most of the firefighters would be happy for her to hang out there, but he didn’t say that. “It’s a bit creepy.”
“First time I went home and checked every smoke detector in my place. It’s amazing how destructive fire is. A few days ago this was a serviceable building. In a matter of weeks it will be just a pile of rubble at the dump.”
They reached the landing to the fourth floor. “Good thing the room you want is this way.” Quinlan pointed to the far side of the hall. “That hallway doesn’t look safe.”
“How can he tell?” Tain whispered to Ashlyn.
“Experience,” was the brusque reply from the man ahead of her.
Ashlyn looked over her shoulder at Tain, rolled her eyes and gave him a quick grin, which he took as her way of telling him to keep his mouth shut so he wouldn’t look stupid.
The next thing he knew Ashlyn was holding his outstretched hand, telling him not to let go.
“If it’s bad enough for