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bedroom. There’s a lot of smoke damage, but who knows? We might find something.
    “And the rain and cold might work a little in our favor,” he said. “If the rain hadn’t come no doubt the body would have been subject to the wick effect, because our victim was big and had plenty of fuel.”
    The wick effect was when fat smoldered—sometimes for days—and rendered the carcass a mass of black gelatinous goo.
    “So because we have a great deal of the body left, the autopsy boys might be able to determine cause of death.”
    Cody centered his light on the frame of a metal desk and the black melted hulk on top of it. “We might even be able to recover something from the hard drive of the computer, I just don’t know. I don’t know if data on a hard drive can survive that kind of heat and this damned rain. But we might be able to recover something, if it’s even worth trying.”
    Larry said, “And there you have it, folks,” bowing and sweeping his hand toward the body like a performer done with his act, “an accidental death in a remote mountain cabin.”
    Cody said nothing. The rain drummed.
    “What?” Larry asked, finally. “Are you thinking something else?”
    “Let’s take a look inside the rest of the cabin,” Cody said. “Let me grab my gear.”
    “You’re thinking something else,” Larry said, his disappointment palpable.
    *   *   *

    All the walls were black with smoke, but the kitchen was neat and uncluttered. The table was cleared except for salt and pepper shakers designed to look like rising trout. It felt good to get out of the rain.
    There were no dishes in the sink. There were unopened packages of meat and vegetables still in the plastic bags from the store in the refrigerator.
    “Looks like he’d just been shopping,” Larry said. “There’s no old stuff in here at all, like maybe he’d been gone and just came back with groceries. And there’s plenty here—two big steaks, some potatoes, salad in a bag. Like he was expecting someone or maybe just eating for two. I bet these steaks are still okay, considering how cold it’s been.”
    Cody opened the dishwasher, hoping there would be dirty glasses or dishes inside.
    “Shit,” Cody said. “He ran the dishwasher before the place burned down, so we won’t pull any prints from the glasses or plates.”
    “He was a clean drunk,” Larry said, rooting through cupboards. “I’ll leave all these doors open so you can shoot ’em if you want. It might be better in the daylight, though.”
    Cody checked under the sink. Cleaning supplies, garbage bags, the usual. He shined his flashlight into the garbage can, which was lined with white plastic. Garbage cans often held good stuff, he knew.
    There were a few items inside, and he took the can out and emptied it on the table. Crumpled paper Dixie drinking cups, wadded-up Kleenex, shreds of cellophane, and the missing cork cap to the Wild Turkey bottle. Cody photographed the contents.
    Larry saw the cap in the flash of the camera and whistled. “So we can assume he was on a bender after all.”
    Cody pushed the cellophane strips around with the tip of his pen.
    “What are they?” Larry asked.
    “Cigar wrappers, I think.”
    “So maybe he was smoking a cigar as well,” Larry said. “But I still think it was the open stove.”
    Cody bagged the cellophane and the Dixie cups and the bottle cap and marked them with evidence numbers.
    “What’s with that?” Larry asked, observing.
    “You never know,” Cody said. “Maybe a print can be pulled.”
    Larry nodded his head but eyed Cody with suspicion.
    *   *   *

    “Got something here,” Larry called from the bedroom.
    Cody entered. Because the door had been closed, there was little smoke seepage or damage. The room was pristine compared to the kitchen; i.e., white walls, made bed, a half-full closet. Larry had his flashlight trained on an open suitcase on a cedar chest. Clothes were folded neatly inside. “He just got back