The Burnt House. Faye Kellerman

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      THE POLICE TOOK eighteen-hour shifts. Somewhere Decker got down enough food to calm his stomach, although he had no memory of eating. The crash information that filtered through to the emergency crews was incomplete and contradictory. With the passing of the first twenty-four hours, no radical terrorist group came forward to take responsibility and that seemed to soothe frazzled nerves. Decker thought it was quite a world when everyone was rooting for mechanical failure. From the eyewitness accounts, it appeared that the plane had been in trouble from takeoff. Ascent was never fully realized, and a few moments later, it nose-dived. No one remembered seeing a midair explosion, and so far, no videos of the crash had surfaced.

      Thirty-seven hours after WestAir flight 1324 plummeted into 7624 Seacrest Drive, the fire department declared that the inferno had been contained, although it was far from out. Jet fuel was still stoking the flames, and even in the areas where active fire had died out, there were still flare-ups. It would take days before residents could come home. The Gov had come down, declaring the site a disaster area, making it easier for the surviving residents to get federal aid and loans.

      From the snippets of data that went in and out of Decker’s ears, he surmised that the casualties numbered around sixty to seventy, of which forty-seven came from the hapless travelers on the plane. Ground casualties were still being assessed.

      Decker was dismissed from duty after forty-two straight hours of work. If he drove home, he didn’t openly remember operating a vehicle. Nor did he recall seeing his wife and his teenage daughter, or taking a shower. Exhaustion had robbed any recollection of his falling asleep. His first conscious memory was Rina waking him up at nine in the morning. He was confused but not ungrateful. His dreams had been disturbing. He wiped his sweat-soaked face with the sleeve of his pajamas, leaving behind a gray streak of soot.

      Rina handed him the phone. “It’s Captain Strapp.”

      Decker took the phone and depressed the hold button. Electricity and phone service had been restored sometime between when he had left and when he had come home.

      “We’re getting calls, Pete. Family of loved ones that lived in the burnt house or in the area: relatives wanting to know if their kin is alive or dead. I want you to set up a task force and collect as many names as possible. Also, get the dental X-rays so that when the coroner’s investigators go in for recovery, we can provide them a list of names and the X-rays for identification. We’ll be one step ahead.”

      Decker understood the words as English, but it took him a few moments to grab the meaning. “Uh … do we have a list of the ground deaths?”

      Strapp’s voice was strained. “Did you just wake up?”

      “My wife just woke me up. I’ve only been home for”—he looked at the clock— “a little under eight hours.”

      “How long did you work?”

      “About forty-two hours.”

      “Good grief! That’s a lot of overtime.”

      “I suppose it is.” Decker hoped he had kept the sarcasm out of his voice.

      “In answer to your question, we don’t have a list of ground deaths. That’s what I want you to work on. I want your task force to contact the families of the suspected ground deaths and gather names. You can act as a liaison between the bereaved families and the NTSB and the coroner’s office. I’m calling for a town-hall meeting to assess what the community needs. The first thing we need to do is to set up a system so that worried families can access information.”

      Decker’s brain was beginning to work. Strapp was spot on target. The charred bodies of the crash belonged to the coroner’s office, the wreckage of the plane belonged to the National Transportation and Safety Board, but the community belonged to the police. Working with bereaved families was bound to be a gut-wrenching assignment, meaning it would be a job that he’d do personally.

      Another long day.

      Strapp was talking. “… less immediate note, there have been reports of graffiti and looting in the affected areas. I want those investigated as well.”

      Decker sat up. “Who’s reporting the looting? The residents haven’t been allowed back in.”

      “That’s what I want you to find out.”

      Decker exhaled. “All right. I’ll try to make it down in about thirty to forty minutes.”

      “See you then.”

      The receiver clicked off. Decker gave his wife the phone. “I’ve got to take a shower and go to work.”

      She didn’t even bother to protest. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

      “Food … that sounds real good.” Decker swung his legs over the bed, stood up, and stretched his six-foot-four frame. Over the years he had gained a few pounds, topping out around 225, but for a guy in his fifties, he carried his weight well. “Is Hannah in school?”

      “School is in the hot zone. It’s been temporarily canceled until the board can find facilities where the kids can inhale without clogging their bronchioles with ash. We’re going to my parents for Shabbat, by the way. The air isn’t pristine over there, but it’s a lot better in Beverly Hills than it is here.”

      “That could apply to a lot of things. That sounds fine. I’d love to see your parents.”

      “You would?”

      Decker smiled. “After witnessing such harrowing events, I look forward to a night with the in-laws and their mundane problems. Besides, your mother is a phenomenal cook.”

      “That she is.”

      “What about Cindy and Koby? Weren’t they supposed to come over on Saturday?”

      “Friday night, actually, and Mama was gracious enough to invite them as well. Hannah, by the way, is thrilled. Not so much because she’s going to see her grandparents, but because she gets to see her friends that live in the city for a change.”

      “It’s the age.”

      “That’s true. Hannah lives for her friends. She’s either IMing someone or on the phone or doing both at the same time.”

      “I hope I can make dinner this weekend.” Decker kissed his wife on the forehead. “This public servant may be doing overtime for a while. At least it’ll mean more cash in the till.”

      “I’d rather have you.” Rina stroked his face and Decker realized how lovely she looked. His hormones shot through his lower body, but it was all for naught. He didn’t have the time.

      After he showered and dressed, he sat down to pancakes and a cheese omelet. He drank four cups of coffee and two glasses of juice. He could have eaten more but the СКАЧАТЬ