Murder as a Fine Art by John Ballem Page B

Laura shouted frantically against the sound of burning trees, hissing and steaming as the streams of water hit them. The Mountie’s lips twisted in a grimace and she motioned toward the fire chief who was standing nearby, glumly surveying the remains of the studio. It was reduced to nothing more than a pile of ash, blackened with the torrents of water that had been dumped on it. The boat’s iron rudder still stood defiantly upright. It and the concrete piles on which the boat’s cradle had rested were the only things left standing. The fire chief winced when the corporal told him that there might have been someone in the studio.
    â€œIt’s completely saturated with water so it’ll be cool enough for us to take a look,” the chief said. “You going to join us, Karen?”
    She nodded mutely, and he asked if she had ever seen the body of a fire victim. When she shook her head, he muttered something about there having to be a first time for everything in their line of work and, with the corporal following him, went off to detail two of his men to join in the search.
    A few tendrils of smoke still rose from the charred branches and trunks of the burned trees, but the flames had been doused and sparks no longer flew. The other studios were safe. Laura registered that fact somewhere in the back of her mind, but all her attention wasfocused on the policewoman and the firefighters as they gingerly stepped onto the sodden rubble that had once been a studio. A murmur of excitement and apprehension rippled through the crowd as they realized the grisly purpose of the search.
    Behind Laura, the colonists were clustered together at the barricade as if seeking comfort from each other. As usual, John Smith stood a little bit apart, his camera focused on the firefighters sifting through the rubble. Jeremy, wearing a fur coat over his pyjamas — trust Jeremy to have a fur coat — was pushing his way through the crowd towards Laura. “My God, do they think Erika’s in there?”
    His question put into words what they were all thinking. Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, she replied, “I don’t know. But she’s not in her room and I can’t find her anywhere.”
    With Jeremy standing by her side, Laura turned her full attention back to the burned out studio. A firefighter was bending down to lift a charred timber that had once been a rib of the boat’s hull. The fire chief was leaning toward Corporal Lindstrom, saying something in her ear.
    â€œSmell that?” asked the chief.
    Corporal Lindstrom sniffed and almost gagged. Mixed in with the acrid smell of smoke was another odour, so cloyingly sweet it stuck in the throat.
    â€œShe’s in here somewhere,” the chief grunted. He pointed to where the prow would have been. “That’s where the couch was. See that piece of metal spring? If she fell asleep, this is where she’ll be.” He nodded to one of his men who carefully began to remove lumps of sodden ash with his gloved hands. It was awful, far worse than anything Karen could possibly have imagined. The object resembled nothing human. Rivulets offat ran down the sides of the shrivelled torso, two pathetic stumps were all that remained of the legs, the head had shrunk to a third of its size and what had been a mouth now looked like the beak of a bird.
    Karen gasped and turned aside, fighting back the nausea that rose in her throat. The fire chief looked away until she had regained her composure. “What a horrible way to die,” she murmured, straightening her shoulders.
    The fire chief nodded. “That’s one of the worst I’ve seen, and I’ve seen more than my share.” Motioning his men to cover what was left of Erika’s body with a tarpaulin, the chief went on, “The fire must have been white hot to incinerate the body like that.”
    â€œMeaning it could have been set?” Karen’s investigative