Page 6 of The Family Cross

I pulled my head back out and said, “He was shot before the fire. There’s a clear small-caliber bullet hole in his skull. And see the posture? Curled forward and down?”

“I do.”

“It suggests he was held up long enough after death by a seat-belt harness for his body to become stiff with rigor.”

“Or the heat caused his muscles to contract and pull him forward.”

“Or both.”

Sampson nodded, said, “And when the fire ate away the seat belts, the body fell forward against the dash and burned to charcoal.”

“That’s my take,” I said, turning my attention to the north embankment. The people under the bridge were still watching us, mostly in silence.

I was going to suggest we each take a side of the camp and start climbing up to canvass the spectators when I heard an all-too-familiar voice shouting behind me.

“Pop-pop-pop! I told you life was bad under the bridge!”

I turned to find Anna Bananas beyond the yellow tape and up the north embankment, still in her filthy trench coat and pointing an accusing, trembling finger at me. “I told you and pop-pop-pop other cops. No one came, ’cause no one cares about trolls who live under the Bridge to Nowhere.”

I held up my palms as I walked toward her. “We’re here now, Anna.”

She scowled and shook her head, neck, and shoulders like a horse pestered by flies. “You cops don’t listen. Nobody listens to us nobodies. You don’t see. You don’t hear. Whole country’s dying. Whole country’s burning.”

“Burning?” I said, ducking under the tape. “Like the car?”

Anna sneered at me. “You think I burned that bugger? I was with you, a long way from home. Remember?”

“I remember the call you got,” I said, climbing toward her. “Was it about this car burning?”

Anna shrugged, began worrying at the buttons of her coat.

“Did you call this in?” I asked.

Sadness crossed her face. “They seen too much already.”

Stopping a few feet below her, I said, “Who’s seen too much already, Anna?”

“Kids,” she said softly and gazed at the ground.

I frowned. “The kids who live here under the bridge, Anna?”

The glare was back. “Pop-pop-pop. You gonna contact child protective services on me?”

Child protective services. Anna Bananas has kids? Here?

Things were getting very complicated. I glanced up the hill and took in the abject squalor. I tried to be as compassionate as possible.

“We’re here for other reasons, Anna,” I said. “Did your children call 911?”

Anna kept worrying at her buttons and would not make eye contact. “Maybe.”

“Can we talk to them?”

“Maybe,” she said.

6

ANNA LED ME AND Sampson up the side of the north embankment, which was tiered with narrow benches between each rise that supported the makeshift shelters clinging to the underside of the Bridge to Nowhere.