Aaron Elkins - Make No Bones

“You mean ten years ago? Oh, yes, we got his dental records, all right. We didn’t get much use out of them, of course, since the remains we thought were his didn’t have any…John, your question-why would anyone take those dental records?-implies that you think someone did take them.”

“That’s right, I do.” After a second he added: “Don’t you?”

Nellie didn’t respond to the query. “And that implies in turn that you think it’s one of us, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a pretty logical place to start.”

“And one of us who is here again now.”

“I guess,” John said carefully. “Nellie, anything you could tell me about that first meeting that might throw some light-”

“Such as?”

“Well, anything that-”

Nellie suddenly thrust himself up from his seat, took the couple of steps that the small room allowed, and stood with his back turned and his arms crossed, facing the Pepsi machine. “You actually think one of us killed poor Salish, don’t you?”

This time John wanted to wait him out if he could, but Nellie wouldn’t go along. “So? Do you? Say what you think, dammit!”

“At this point I wouldn’t even want to guess about that, sir.” At the word sir, Nellie emitted a peculiar growl. John was uneasily aware that he was being cagey with a man the director of the FBI had called the dean of American forensic scientists, a man of spotless reputation who’d already assisted the Bureau on more homicides than John would handle in his entire career.

But, yes, there was something in the air, as Gideon had said last night. He could feel it too. Holding something back, those were the words for it, all right. He took a deep breath. “Dr. Hobert, I think you’re keeping something to yourself and-”

Nellie spun around, stubby and contentious in his baggy shorts. “I am, am I?”

“-and I think the best thing would be for you to just tell me about it.”

“You do, do you?”

Dean of forensic scientists or not, it wasn’t the best way to get on John’s good side. “Yeah, I do,” he said angrily. “And you goddamn well ought to know it too.”

Nellie bristled. For a moment it looked as if he were going to stalk out and leave him there. John had unhappy visions of indignant telephone calls to Charlie Applewhite. But then the blue eyes closed. Nellie squeezed the bridge of his nose, rubbing hard. When he opened his eyes the heat had gone. He came back and sat down next to John.

“I seem to be barking at people these days,” he said mildly. “Really, I’m very sorry. This miserable business with Salish…”

“That’s okay, I understand.”

“There’s no reason at all why you shouldn’t ask me whatever you like. May as well come straight to the horse’s mouth. The horse’s something, anyway.” His smile was tired. “But I assure you I’m keeping nothing under my hat.”

John nodded at him. “Okay.” He was a long way from convinced. “Let me ask you about something else, then.

You heard about Jasper’s remains being dumped in the creek?”

“Yes,” Nellie said. “Horrible. Bizarre.”

John came close to laughing. Here was the guy who’d cheerfully worked out the plan to keep Jasper’s bones in a glass case for everybody in the world to gawk at for the next umpteen years, and now he was talking about bizarre because someone had taken them and put them into that nice, clean, peaceful river. These were weird people.

“Do you have any idea why anybody would do that?”

Nellie spread his hands helplessly. “It’s absolutely beyond me. That kind of thoughtless-”

“The idea’s come up that maybe Jasper was injured or already dead when he was put on that bus, and that someone wants to make sure no one takes a close look at him now.” At least he thought that was what Julie had been driving at.

Nellie laughed shortly. “Well, now, that’s a peculiar idea, I must say.”

“Did you actually see him get on the bus?”

“Well, no, it left at-I think it was 5:00 A.M.”

“When did you last see him alive?”

“The night before. We had dinner together. That is, all of us did.”

“What time did it break up?”

“I don’t know. Early. Eight o’clock, nine o’clock.” “You’re sure?”

“No, I’m not in the least sure. It was ten years ago. John, why all this hypothecating about Albert? I should think you’d have your hands full with Salish.”

“You don’t think there’s some connection?”

Nellie’s eyebrows went up. “Connection?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Between-? Forgive me, but I seem to have missed something in translation here.”

“That’s okay. We can talk about it later if we need to.” They would need to, he thought.

“Fine.” Nellie smacked his hands on his thighs and got up again, taking the file. “Quarter to four. I want to go back and check a few things before seeing what Gideon’s come up with. Unless you have anything else?”

John shook his head. “I’ll see you in there.”

Nellie had been gone no more than thirty seconds when Leland appeared.

“Somebody said I’d find you here,” he said, closing the door behind him. He looked, to John’s eyes, a little uneasy, a little squirrelly. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“If you’re trying to set up another poker game, forget it. I learned my lesson.”

Leland smiled woodenly. “Mr. Lau, there’s something you should know. Nobody else is going to volunteer it, so I might as well be the one.”

John had heard this opening a good many times in his career, and he had yet to have something useful come out of it. Most of the time, it muddied the waters instead of clearing them. He motioned to the chair Nellie had used, but Leland shook his head. He wanted, it seemed, to say his piece and get out.

“Go ahead,” John said.

Leland rearranged his mouth. His thick, old-fashioned glasses made his eyes look like the painted eyes in a doll’s head: round, flat, bland.

“Frieda and Chuck Salish were…carrying on.” “Who’s Frieda?” John said after a second.

“Frieda Hobert, Nellie’s wife.”

“Oh, yeah. What do you mean, carrying on? Could you be a little more specific?”

“I mean,” Leland said evenly, “carrying on. Loaded glances, odd disappearances together for twenty minutes at a time, whispered remarks no one else was supposed to notice. What else there was, I can only surmise.” His lips turned down. “The whole thing was pitiful. And repulsive.”

“Did Nellie know about it?”

Leland hesitated. “At the time, I thought he was the only one who didn’t.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t know. That’s something for you to pursue if it seems appropriate. I’m not suggesting,” he added with care, “that it will turn out to have any pertinence to…to what we now know.”

“Tell me-why wouldn’t anyone else volunteer it?” “Mr. Lau, you have to understand. Nellie Hobert is God to these people. They adore him.”

“But you don’t?”

Leland colored; a round pink disk beneath each pale eye. “I resent your implication.”

“I wasn’t implying-”

“I have nothing against Nellie. His reputation may be a bit, shall we say, inflated, but that has nothing to do with anything. For ten years I’ve kept as quiet about this as anyone else. I would have continued to do so if Salish’s body hadn’t turned up. But, as it is, I thought it was information you should have.”

And so, John admitted to himself, it was. “Thanks, Dr. Roach, I’ll look into it. I may want to get some more information from you later.”

Wordlessly, Leland looked at him for a few moments. “If you like. It’s nothing to me one way or the other.” He turned and walked out. John picked up his untouched Three Musketeers and bit in.