And they used real log shakes on the exterior and were content to let the ocean weather it to a color somewhere between brown and gray so that the house became a part of the seascape, like driftwood that had been washed up on the shore. And a lot of driftwood, too, because it's a big old place for a single-story building. A big central structure flanked by two large wings set at about a thirty-degree angle toward the ocean.

Standing there looking at it, Jack can see that the central and left sections of the house are still intact. Smoke damaged, water damaged, but otherwise they look structurally sound.

The wing to the right – the west wing – is a different story.

You don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that the fire started in the west wing. Generally speaking, the part of a house that suffers the most damage is where the fire started. You know this because that's where the fire burned the longest.

Jack steps back and photographs the house first with one camera and then the other. He has one loaded with color film and the other with black-and-white. Color is better for showing the damage, but some judges will only allow black-and-white shots into evidence, their theory being that color shots – especially in a fatal fire – are "prejudicially dramatic."

Might inflame the jury, Jack thinks.

Jack thinks that most judges are dicks.

A lot of adjusters just take Polaroids. Jack uses 35 mm because the images enlarge so much better, which is important if you need them as exhibits in court.

So some bottom-feeding plaintiff's attorney doesn't take your shitty Polaroids and stick them up your ass.

"Polaroids are hemorrhoids." Another of Goddamn Billy's pithy sayings.

So just on the odd chance the file might end up in court, Jack's covering all his bases. Which is why he keeps two 35s handy in the car, because it would be a waste of time to have to reload and then go take each shot again.