The wounder of blazes

Dr. Ellen Kennedy was just locking up her office for the evening when her phone began to ring. She paused at the door. It had been a long and grueling day and a ringing phone this late did not bode well. She sighed. While it didn't bode well, it meant that it was probably important. Swinging her door back open, she walked over to the still ringing phone. 'You've reached the office of Dr. Ellen Kennedy. This is she speaking,' she said, holding the phone in one hand and her briefcase in the other. 'Hello, Dr. Kennedy, glad I've caught you,' a male voice on the other end. 'My name is Detective Carl Rourke.' Ellen put her briefcase down on the floor and circled back around to her chair. She had better make herself comfortable. If there was a detective on the phone she was probably going to be here for a while. 'Yes, Detective, how can I help you?' She had been through this a few times before. Officers wanting her to disclose patient information followed by her refusing to give it. She had even been summoned to court once over it. Already she was preparing her speech mentally in her head as the Detective continued. 'I am calling in regards to one Connor Russell. He was found dead outside his apartment building tonight.' And just like that Ellen's speech scattered to the wind. Connor was one of her patients. He had gone through a long and harrowing ten years of therapy after the horrific murder of his best friend and had finally pulled himself back together. Just this afternoon he had been in her office, signing his newly published book for her. 'Dead?' she said as she tried to re-marshal her thoughts. 'What happened?' 'From what we can tell so far, a fire broke out on his floor. He was trapped in his apartment and could not make it to the fire escape. Witnesses say he jumped from his window.' Ellen put a hand on her desk. Something moved under it. Looking down she saw it was a book, 'By the Fire's Light'. Connor's book. She put her hand on her head and took a slow and steadying breath. 'You want my opinion on the state of his mental health.' It wasn't a question. She could almost see the Detective nodding as he answered. 'Yes.' Ellen sat up straight in her chair, pulling on her mask of professionalism. Her emotions could wait. 'I would say in no way shape or form was Connor Russell suicidal. He had just had a book published and it was selling well. He was getting ready to pursue a PhD in English Literature with an emphasis in folklore. He showed no signs of mental instability that would lead me to conclude that he would wish to take his own life.' 'I see,' the Detective said. He sighed. 'In that case, is there anyone who might bear a grudge against Connor?' Ellen stared in front of her, dumbfounded. 'Are you suggesting that the fire was arson? Or that Connor did not jump of his free will?' 'I am not suggesting anything,' the Detective said, no emotion in his voice. 'Just trying to gather all the facts.' 'There is Jared Holloway. He murdered Connor's best friend, Kurt, ten years ago. However, Jared is still in jail to my knowledge and plead guilty to the crime before the trial. Didn't even try for a plea bargain.' Ellen paused thinking back to this afternoon. 'I do know that Connor went to visit Jared today to talk with him and try to figure out why he killed his friend.' 'Interesting,' the Detective said on the other end of the line and she could hear scribbling. 'Detective, did Connor truly jump? Or why would you even want to know about possible enemies?' The Detective sighed again. 'Okay, this is entirely off the record. Connor pushed himself backwards out the window. Witnesses say it looked like he was yelling at someone before he fell.' He paused. 'One witness says they thought they saw someone look out the window after Connor pushed himself out.' Ellen felt her mouth drop. 'Then why would you think it's a plain suicide at all?' The Detective gave a small laugh. 'Because I'm not sure how much I can trust the witness's testimony. She said the person who looked out the window had no face.' *** Ellen sat at her desk long aft