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“Not with Strava.” I’d looked.

“I’m on it.”

And Skinny was gone.

At nine that night, he called again, sounding like a bundle of jolting nerves.

“I been alternating working Unger and Body, letting one sweat while grilling the other. You know the deal, find the weak link, push for the flip. At first, I low-keyed it, then I turned the screws hard, asking about Jahaan Cole, dropping hints on this Strava joy, mentioning little things like the death penalty and the longevity of child killers inside the can.”

“And?” Wanting new info, not a review of Slidell’s interrogation tactics.

“Hot-fuckin-diggety.”

“You got a confession?”

“By the time their windbag lawyers showed up, both were looking to deal. I made no promises but implied things might go better if one of their clients had something to trade.”

I waited out a pause while Slidell performed some complicated maneuver, probably rotating his head to relieve tension in his neck.

“Bottom line. According to Unger, Body grabbed Cole, intending to hold her for a few days, then free her. Things went south, and the kid died. Like we thought, Body wanted the publicity to drive audiences to his shitpods, generate distrust in the government, and goose the sale of his underground crash pads. Unger admits to setting up the kiddie-porn op but says he had nothing to do with snatching any kid.

“Body’s version differs on a few key points.” Oozing sarcasm. “He says he made an innocent off-the-cuff remark to the effect that wouldn’t it be perfect if some kid disappeared and the public went apeshit. He claims Unger, being a dolt, took him at his word and followed through, an outcome he never intended. He claims Unger told him what he’d done, that the kid had died, and that he’d disposed of her body. Body claims he was unaware of the kidnapping until after the fact.”

“Who do you believe?” My impatience leaking through.

“Your Strava stuff seems to back Unger’s version. At this point, who the hell knows?”

“Timothy Horshauser?”

“Both deny knowing anything about him.”

A sensation of strobing emotions, shutter-quick feelings vying for ascendancy. Abhorrence. Relief. Anger. Sadness.

“Do you think either can be persuaded to reveal the location of Jahaan’s body?”

“Both claim they know zip. I think there’s some lawyerly advice operating there. Hold back that intel to score a sweeter deal. But don’t worry. I’ll pry it loose. Before I’m done, this case will be wrapped tighter than a mummy’s dick.”

“Good job, detective. The Cole family may finally get some closure.”

“Yeah.” Dejected. “Trust me, doc. At least one of these shitstains is going away for the whole ride. Maybe both.”

After a brief pause, I asked, “Was Timmer involved?”

“No.”

“What about Vodyanov?”

“According to Unger, Vodyanov wasn’t looped in on the kiddie-porn op or Jahaan Cole. The guy was just a stooge, chasing down crap for Body’s shows. Then, sometime last fall, he stumbled onto something, Unger wasn’t sure what it was or how he got it. Vodyanov started poking around, confronting people—”

“Vince Aiello.”

“Vodyanov always had Body’s back, never asked questions. But messing with kids crossed some kinda line. Shitting his jockeys with guilt, he decided to bloodhound what he could, unload on you, then off himself.”

“Why’d he give up before talking to me?”

“In the end, maybe he just couldn’t bring himself to burn little brother.”

Unbidden, a phrase winged into my thoughts. Do whatever it takes . How differently that dictum had been interpreted by Tatiana’s two sons. Felix became the compassionate nurturer for his sibling. Nick became the egomaniacal psychopath.

A long, melancholy silence hung between Slidell and me. I suspected Skinny’s thoughts were traveling the same path as mine, imagining the upcoming conversation with Jahaan Cole’s mother. Though heartbreaking, we both knew Skinny’s news would be welcomed. Knowledge concerning the fate of a missing child, no matter how bleak, is always better than the agony of not knowing.

Slidell spoke first. “That’s it. I’m going back at these squirrels, starting with Body. He’s been off the blow long enough now sweat’s pushing out of him like guts from a roach. I’m betting he’ll soon be begging to trade it all.”

“Thanks for keeping me apprised. It means a lot.”

“Eeyuh.”

After disconnecting, I moved to the chair by the window. Sat and closed my eyes. Did some deep breathing to check my roiling emotions. Eventually, my pulse slowed sufficiently to consider retiring.

I knew I wouldn’t sleep as ferociously as I had the day before for a long time to come. That most nights, racing thoughts, fragmented memories, and disjointed scenes would replay in my mind. That I’d again see Heavner, Body, Timmer, and the others. Vodyanov with his mangled face and eviscerated belly. The fenced property, the underground bunker.

I knew the headaches would continue to plague me. Worries about the aneurysm. But I would come out the winner. My doctors would help. Together we’d find the proper combo of meds and lifestyle adjustments.

I knew I’d struggle with my recall of the grotesque characters and events associated with the faceless man. To objectively sort reality from illusion.

What was real? What was not?

My eyes drifted over the things Ryan and I had chosen together. The acrylic bar cart. The chrome lamp curving overhead. The Chihuly lithograph hanging on the wall. I pictured the annex, where repair of the incinerated study was already under way.

Rising, I went to the bedroom, dug an item from my suitcase, and returned to the window. The warm ginger sunset wrapped the little elephant-headed deity lying in my palm. Ganesha, the remover of obstacles. The god of beginnings. Even with one tusk. For a very long moment, I just gazed at him. He gazed back. Challenging me?

OK, old friend. I accept. I will blend my life with Ryan’s and set forth on a new course. Leading to a strengthened bond? To a sad ending? Hard to know.

A horn honked far below on Sherbrooke. Another answered.

My thoughts drifted back to Body. He claimed he was free to spew any cockamamie theories or toxic falsehoods he chose. Sadly, he was right. And the world was worse for it. But he wasn’t free to pander the abuse of children for the sick pleasure of pedophiles. To line his pockets by exploiting the vulnerability of people living in poverty. To harm kids. Happily, Slidell and I had helped shut him down.

Jahaan Cole was dead, the location of her body as yet unknown. Unger or Body was responsible. Perhaps both. I had confidence Slidell would sort that out and that justice would finally be served.

Timothy Horshauser remained missing. Others. Body and his cronies claimed to know nothing about their disappearances. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they did. We might never find out.

So many unknowns. But one thing was certain. Slidell and I wouldn’t stop looking. Despite his bluster and bullying and bad suits, Skinny was one of the good guys.

I’d continue to search for clarity, for answers. For health. For happiness with Ryan.

And, always, I would search for the missing children.

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A Conspiracy of Bones provides a peek into the field of forensic entomology via a fleeting reference to Ophiocordyceps camponoti-balzani. Zombie ants. (Seriously. Check them out.) Why mention ants here? Because I’m a bit like the wee buggers, my feelers always out and sniffing for fresh booty, be it from a case at the lab, a newspaper or journal article, or an incident related to me by a colleague. Anything I do, read, hear, or see can be grist for the next Temperance Brennan novel.