Aaron Elkins - The Dark Place

Weight

The skeletal remains give no indication of obesity or thinness. They do, however, indicate a person of slender, gracile frame. Assuming no extreme of obesity or thinness, and taking into consideration the estimated age of 18, it is estimated that living weight was from 120 to 130 lbs.

Time of Death

Assuming the body to have been continuously in Pyrites Creek from the time of death to the time of discovery, and assuming the water to contain a reasonable complement of fish and other flesh-consuming organisms, the estimated time elapsed since death is two to four weeks, with two weeks the most likely estimate. Any variation in the above assumptions would greatly modify this estimate.

Cause of Death

No evidence of cause of death is provided by the skeletal material.

Not too bad, Gideon thought. Not as definite as he’d like it to be, but there wasn’t much to go on. Minor would love it. It was nice and bureaucratic, with enough passives to make it sound official.

Minor came in. "I heard the typewriter stop. May I assume you’re done?"

He sat down, placed the report on the table in front of him, aligned the two sheets with each other and the edge of the table, straightened his immaculate cuffs, and began to read. Gideon could see his eyes moving back and forth with rigid precision. When Minor finished, he put the first sheet back on top and straightened the papers again.

"Height, weight, sex, age, race, time of death," he said. "That’s a great deal to tell from so few bones."

Gideon said nothing. If Minor wanted to argue about it, he’d have to argue with himself. Gideon had done the best he could with the material, had indicated his reservations, and wasn’t going to quibble over his findings. Minor could take them or leave them. Gideon frowned, surprised at himself. His defenses were certainly up. The Hornick analysis must have bothered him more than he’d realized.

"If I understand correctly," Minor continued with polite dubiety, "your estimation of height is based on a single three-inch fragment of femur?"

"That’s right," Gideon said carefully.

"The femur is the leg bone?"

"Yes, the thigh bone."

"Dr. Arthur Fenster maintains one should never try to estimate stature with fewer than two complete long bones."

"Dr. Arthur Fenster is correct. I support Dr. Arthur Fenster and applaud him. But we don’t have two complete long bones. We don’t have one complete long bone. We don’t have half of one long bone. We have seven lousy centimeters, from the caput femoris to the…the…" He’d forgotten the Latin term for the lesser trochanter. Why was he speaking Latin, anyway?

Minor smiled for the first time, a pleasant, self-effacing smile. "I surely do take your point," he said. He glanced back at the summary. "It certainly looks as if it’s the Hornick girl, doesn’t it?"

"I don’t know. Could be."

"You don’t know? Didn’t you look at the stats?" He indicated a file folder that he’d earlier left on the table for Gideon.

"No. If you have a missing person’s stats, you tend to find what you’re looking for."

"Well, then," Minor said, "I really am impressed." He opened the folder. "Eighteen on the nose, five-seven on the nose-no, I guess you missed by half an inch there." He smiled again. "What can you expect from seven lousy centimeters? And she weighed one-thirty. And of course she disappeared September 28. Two weeks ago. It must be she."

"It sounds like it."

"Yes." Minor’s mild, slightly whimsical air vanished as he studied something in the folder. "Have you ever seen her picture?"

"Not that I can remember."

Minor handed a photograph to Gideon. It was a small black-and-white high school graduation portrait. The girl wore a black gown and a mortarboard set unfashionably straight on her head. She looked directly into the camera with a soft smile that showed a chipped incisor. Her hair, long and straight and carefully fanned over her shoulders, appeared to be light brown. She looked like a million other kids. Gideon had the feeling that under the gown she was wearing grubby jeans with torn knees, and dirty tennis shoes.

A convulsive shudder ran slowly up his spine and jerked his shoulders. Twelve-thousand-year-old skeletons, dry and brittle and brown, were more his line. No meat on the bones. No smiling photographs. He handed the picture back to Minor. "It’s a shame. She looks like a nice kid."

"You bet it’s a shame!" Minor said with sudden vehemence. "A goddamn shame!" As if embarrassed by this display of emotion, he visibly collected himself, ran a finger around the inside of his collar, and said, "I’d like to thank you for your excellent report, Doctor. You’ve been most helpful."

Julie had left a note for him on her office door. "I’ve gone home," it said. "Could you drop by when you have a chance?"

When she let him in, he was at once concerned. Her face was pale, almost gray, with the area around her mouth a dead white. She had changed from her uniform to a nondescript blouse and pants.

"What is it?" he asked. "The body?"

She nodded. "Come inside. Let’s sit down."

Worried, he followed her in. The sight of her bare feet padding along as strong, brown, and healthy as ever reassured him slightly.

"Was it Claire Hornick?" she said when they were seated on the sofa. Her clenched hands rested on her thighs.

"It was the Hornick girl, yes."

Her eyes flashed. "Not the Hornick girl…Claire! She had a name; she wasn’t a laboratory specimen!" She unclenched her fists and placed a hand on his knee. "Ah, Gideon, I’m sorry. I just…it didn’t really come home to me before, but this one…There really are murderers out there. I don’t care if they’re Indians or what… It scares me to think of you trying to find them."

"I know, Julie." With his own hand, he covered the hand on his knee.

"Gideon," she said, not looking at him, "don’t go looking for them. I don’t want to go, and I don’t want you to go." She was very near to crying.

"I don’t think there’s too much to worry about," he said gently. "Remember, I don’t even know where to look."

She squeezed his hand impatiently. "I want you to promise me you’ll leave all this to the FBI. You can study them after they’re caught. Promise me you won’t go." Before he could answer she said, "No, I’m sorry. I am possessive, aren’t I?" She tried a tentative, weepy smile, and his heart melted.

"You sure are." He tipped her head back to kiss her forehead. "Now stop being all female and trembly. I have to go back to Dungeness and get on with my dig, and I want a proper kiss good-bye."

She put her hands on the back of his neck, and he wrapped her in his arms. They kissed a long time, leaning back against the soft, old cushions, breathing in and out without moving. When he finally lifted his face from hers, she was Julie again, soft and smiling; no white skin around her lovely mouth, no tremulous muscles near her eyes. "Gideon, Gideon," she said, slumping lushly against the cushions, "you’re very good medicine for me." She smiled tiredly at him.

"That’s better," he said. "Now, are you or aren’t you going to invite me back down for next weekend?"

"Why don’t I come up there instead and spend a few days? Wouldn’t you like a hand on your project?"

"Was that a bawdy pun? I must say, I’m very surprised."

She laughed. "You’re terrible. Gideon, may I come? Or do you already have a mistress tucked away in your little cottage?"

"Two, but I’ll get rid of them. Come, please, Julie. Sure you can help me on the dig. And it will be fun for you to meet Abe. Fun for him, too." He paused and felt himself tense. "Julie…I want you to know I…like you a hell of a lot." Disconcerted to find himself stammering, his cheeks growing hot, he stopped. For three simple, monosyllabic words, "I love you" was giving him a great deal of trouble.