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      Sam raised an eyebrow. “You’d have to have a pretty high concentration to die from a single breath, something like seven hundred seventy parts per liter, but this stuff is toxic. Even a small concentration will cause all sorts of respiratory problems. What did he use?”

      “Muriatic acid and lime sulfur. Bought it at the gardening center down the road from his place. More than enough to do the job. We had to get HAZMAT involved to come in and clear the place so my coroner could retrieve the body. Took a day to make it safe enough to get anyone near without a mask.”

      “Who found him?”

      Davidson’s brows pulled together. “Anonymous 911 call from a pay phone in front of a 7-Eleven on Rivermont. No working cameras there, so we couldn’t get a shot of the person who called. I can play you the tape, it’s quick. Male voice states the address, and requests police response to a dead body. That’s it.”

      “Have you dealt with many of these before?”

      “Not many, but it’s getting more and more common. Usually they do it in a car, in an out-of-the-way parking lot where they won’t be discovered and disturbed. You seeing this in D.C., too?”

      Fletcher shook his head. “I’ve heard of it but haven’t worked one. They still like the traditional means up north. Guns, pills, hangings.”

      “Well, some of these rural kids get pretty hopeless. This is a guaranteed death, without a lot of mess, and it’s cheap, and fast. The ingredients are readily available and mostly unregulated, too. They can do it with dandruff shampoo and toilet cleaner if they’re desperate enough. As long as there’s an acid and a sulfur, they’re in business.”

      “But Timothy Savage used industrial-strength elements for his concoction?”

      “That’s right. He wasn’t messing around. At least he warned us.”

      Fletcher flipped through a couple more pictures and stopped. “Is this his suicide note?”

      “It is. We found it right next to the body.”

      Fletcher pulled a plastic sheet protector from the file and handed it to Sam. Inside was a handwritten note. She read it aloud quickly.

      “‘I am sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. This is best for everyone. Goodbye. T.S.’”

      She set the letter down on the desk. “Fletch, the handwriting matches.”

      “Handwriting matches what?” Davidson asked, suddenly wary.

      Fletcher removed a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. “This is a photocopy of a letter Dr. Owens received yesterday. Before she was called upon by Mr. Benedict regarding Savage’s will.”

      Davidson read the letter, frowning the whole time. “May I keep this?”

      “By all means. I have the original in D.C.”

      “I don’t get it,” Davidson said. “Why would Savage kill himself but send a letter to Dr. Owens claiming to be murdered?”

      “There’s more,” Fletcher said, and filled him in about Benedict, the will and the lawyer’s subsequent murder. Sam noticed he left out mentioning the angle of the garrote.

      Davidson rubbed a meaty hand across his face. “Let me get this straight. Not only did he send you this letter, he made you executor of his estate, meager though it may be? And then Rolph Benedict is murdered after delivering the message? I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. We better get in touch with Rolph’s partners, see what’s up.”

      Sam finished flipping through the crime scene photos and a two-dimensional crime scene drawing. From what she could see, the Lynchburg P.D. had been thorough and careful. “Just so you know, the will stipulated I perform a secondary autopsy on Mr. Savage. I know he wasn’t sent to Richmond for posting, so he must still be here in town. I’d like to arrange it as soon as possible.”

      Davidson stared at her for a heartbeat, then paled and grabbed the phone. He dialed a number from memory and breathed an audible sigh of relief when the call was answered.

      “Roy? It’s June. You haven’t put Savage’s body through the furnace yet, have you? Oh, thank the Lord. All stop, right now. Yes. We’ll be down shortly. Bye.”

      He turned to Sam. “Lady, you have the Devil’s own luck. Savage’s body was set to be cremated this morning. Roy came in late and hadn’t gotten to it yet. We caught him just in time—Savage is already in the retort, ready to go.”

      “Who is giving the instructions regarding the body? Who decided he should be cremated?” Sam asked.

      “Well, that’s where all this gets a little hinky. No one claimed the body— Savage is a loner, doesn’t have any family nearby to speak of. The orders came from Benedict’s law office. They’re footing the bill.”

      Fletcher spoke up. “Cremation directly countermands the deceased’s request for an autopsy by Dr. Owens. What the hell, Davidson? What sort of law offices are these?”

      “Well-respected ones. I honestly have no idea what’s going on here. No one mentioned the man had a will.”

      Sam asked, “Does he have

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