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arson.”
    Garrison stared at the charred and smoking timbers that still hissed a protest as firefighters sprayed water onto the embers. “Fatalities?”
    “One.”
    “How many people got out?” Malcolm said.
    “Seven. And that was a miracle. Witnesses say flames engulfed the place in less than two minutes.” Macy rubbed the back of her neck and glanced toward the charred timbers. “Everyone was spared because they’d been in the front of the house watching television and when the smoke detectors went off everyone hustled out.”
    “Where was the victim when the fire broke out?” Garrison said.
    “That’s the thing,” Macy said. “She didn’t die in the fire.”
    “Where is she?” Malcolm said.
    “In the backyard.” She crooked her finger. “Follow me, gentlemen.”
    Garrison and Malcolm followed Macy around the perimeter of the yellow crime scene tape to what had been the home’s backyard. Fifty feet from the house lay an area roped off with red crime scene tape and in the center lay a body covered by a white sheet.
    Macy moved up to the body, squatted and reached for the sheet. “We covered her up to protect the evidence until we could get the blaze out. This close to the house it’s a miracle she’s not soaked in water.”
    Garrison moved beside her, bracing as he pulled rubber gloves from his pocket and tugged them over his hands.
    Macy folded back the sheet to reveal a woman’s still, slack-jawed sallow features. The fire had not touched her face and death had yet to rob her of what must have been striking looks when she’d been alive. Full lips, a high slash of cheekbones and blond hair that he imagined were just as much an asset to her as the large breasts hidden by the sheet.
    “She doesn’t look like the type who’d have been in the homeless shelter. She came out of that building?” Garrison said.
    “I don’t think so.” She rolled back part of the sheet to reveal stab wounds into the victim’s heart.
    Malcolm pulled on gloves as he moved to the other side of the body. Both detectives squatted next to the body and studied the deep and jagged wounds. “She reminds me of the woman we found near the Metro stop a few months ago. Stab wounds are similar.” That victim had been identified as Eliza Martinez, age fifty-seven. She’d lived alone, worked as a domestic and her only daughter had died of cancer a year earlier. She didn’t use drugs nor had she ever been arrested. Neighbors had said she was a nice woman. “A good Catholic,” one neighbor commented. Loved it when her grandson visited. No one understood why anyone would have wanted to kill Eliza. So far the case remained unsolved and growing colder by the day.
    “This victim’s wounds look deeper, which suggests a lot of rage,” Garrison said. “Martinez had a single knife wound to the chest and she wasn’t naked. In fact, the killer had covered her face with a towel. ”
    “There is another big difference between the two victims.” Macy pulled the rest of the sheet down and a rush of worry shot through Garrison’s limbs. The woman’s belly had been branded four times with four-pointed stars, which encircled her navel.
    “Shit,” Malcolm said.
    Garrison studied the red, angry stars. Christ, the pain she must have endured. He could almost hear her screams in his head. “Martinez certainly wasn’t tortured like this victim.”
    Garrison looked around the backyard, encircled by a privacy fence. A back gate banged gently, as if someone had just passed through it. “Any blood trail?”
    “No. And there are no apparent signs of a struggle. Clearly, she wasn’t tortured or murdered here,” Malcolm said.
    “Why dump her here?” Macy said.
    “That’s what we need to find out,” Garrison said. “You said you suspect arson?”
    Macy nodded. “I’d bet a paycheck on it.”
    Garrison stood, the discomfort in his knees reminding him of his last days as an air force paratrooper. “Why?”
    “Hard to say. Intense,