Free Christmas Carol Murder (A Lucy Stone Mystery) by Leslie Meier Page B

they were able to discover.”
    “People think most of the evidence is destroyed in a fire but that is not necessarily true,” said Cronin, a tall, intense man whose hair was thinning. “We used two of our fire dogs, Blaze and Smoky. Blaze is trained to identify human remains and Smoky’s specialty is accelerants. They were both successful. Blaze found a badly damaged body, which was identified by dental work as that of Jake Marlowe. Smoky indicated debris containing accelerant, and using chromatography we identified two sources: PETN, a nitroglycerin-style compound that we think created the initial explosion, and kerosene, most likely from a heater, which would explain the rapid ignition that took place.”
    “Now, as to the cause of death, I’m going to pass this over to Dr. Fred Singh, in the medical examiner’s office.”
    Dr. Singh had a full head of black hair, thick glasses, and was wearing a white lab coat. “This was a very badly damaged body,” he began. “I didn’t have much to work with. I was able, however, to get a positive identification from the victim’s dentist, who recognized bridgework that survived the fire more or less intact. Damage to remaining bone fragments indicate both hands were amputated by the blast. It was also possible to determine that there was considerable damage to the thorax, which leads to the conclusion that death was instantaneous due to the explosive blast, and not a result of the fire.”
    Amputation, bone fragments, not much to work with . . . the words rattled around in her head and she felt dizzy. Death was instantaneous.... That was a mercy, at least, but why would anyone intentionally and deliberately wish to inflict such a terrible fate on a fellow human being? It made her feel queasy, sick to her stomach, to imagine such evil.
    “So this Marlowe was beyond saving, right?” she heard someone ask. It was Frank Harris, from the Portland Press Herald, seated just in front of her. She focused on the back of his neck, dotted with freckles, and the collar of his blue and green plaid shirt, and the nausea passed.
    “Correct,” Singh said. He looked around. “Any more questions?”
    Lucy hoped not. She wanted to get out of there and into the fresh air, but Bob Mayes raised his hand and got a nod. “So this explosion was the result of a package bomb, is that right?”
    Sam Carey decided to answer that one. “Yes. The postal service was able to provide us with information that a package was delivered to the house shortly before the explosion, and PETN is consistent with that type of device. The postal worker who delivered the package remembered it because it was wrapped in festive paper, and had a Do Not Open Till Christmas label. He said it weighed about a pound, also consistent with the force of the explosion.”
    Lucy wasn’t going to think about it, wasn’t going to entertain the possibility that it could have been Wilf, instead of Marlowe, who was killed by the bomb. Not sweet, kind Wilf, who loved Phyllis and was loved back. Not for even one second. She was shaking her head to banish the thought when Bob Mayes followed up with a second question.
    “So is there some sort of Ted Kaczynski guy out there, sending mail bombs?” he asked.
    “I sure hope not,” Carey said, “but only time will tell. I can tell you this: the state police, assisted by my department as well as the local Tinker’s Cove PD, are vigorously investigating this crime.”

Chapter Seven
    O n the drive back to Tinker’s Cove Lucy found herself rehashing the press conference, despite herself. The details she’d learned were truly horrible. She hadn’t really thought about the damage a mail bomb could do to a human body, and now she knew more than she wanted to know. Worst of all, however, was the notion that some insane person might at this very moment be busy building more mail bombs and disguising them as Christmas gifts. It really took the fun out of Christmas, she thought with a