Lillie said. “No way,” Ophelia Bundren said. Lillie had called Ophelia, the county coroner, right after the Burn Unit in Memphis. The helicopter blades on the medevac started to spin, kicking up dirt, grit, and plastic bottles from the bridge where it had landed moments ago. Ophelia turned away, black hair covering her face, as she closed her eyes. “Jesus, God,” Lillie said. “I’ve never seen anything like that. And I hope to never again.” “EMTs pumped her full of morphine,” Ophelia said. “There’s that.” Ophelia was two years younger than Lillie, two inches shorter, but prettier, dark hair and eyes and a tight red mouth. She didn’t talk a lot, but when she did, it was often explosive. She’d once thrown a steak knife at Quinn Colson when she found out about him and Anna Lee. “How could she be alive?” Lillie said. “After all that? Christ, the girl was walking while on fire.”
