Jonathan Kellerman - Guilt

The C.I. hadn’t shown up yet. Neither had the crime scene techs, but Liz had gloved up in anticipation. She stood right up against Moe, hips pressed against his. Hard to say who was supporting who.

Guzman stared at the white bones and sniffled.

Reed’s mouth twisted. “Okay, thanks, sir.”

“For what?”

“Calling us.”

“There was a choice?” said Guzman. He took another look. “Man.”

Reed said, “You can go, now.”

Guzman said, “Sure,” but he lingered. Reed prompted his exit by pointing at the yellow tape.

Guzman said, “Sure, sure,” took a step, stopped. “I’ll never forget this. We just had one.”

“One what, sir?”

“Baby.” The word came out strangled. “George Junior. We waited a long time for him.”

“Congratulations,” said Milo.

Guzman looked at him.

Reed said, “This is my boss, Lieutenant Sturgis. Sir, Mr. Guzman is our first arriver. He called it in.”

Guzman said, “I’m always here first. Since we started the job, I mean.”

“What’s the job?” said Milo.

“Making sure water doesn’t collect and ruin the roots of all those trees.” Guzman pointed. “We need to check out the entire area, taking samples of what’s below, then if we need drains, we put ’em in. Few years ago it was done wrong, flooded the archery field.”

“It’s your job to get here before anyone else?”

“No, no, not officially,” said Guzman, “but that’s what happens, I make it at seven ten, fifteen, the other guys not till seven thirty. ’Cause I take my wife to work, she waitresses at Junior’s on Westwood. I drop her off, she gives me coffee, I drive a couple minutes and I’m here.”

Guzman’s eyes drifted back to the bones. “I thought it was a squirrel or something. Dead animals, we see plenty of that. Then I got close and …” He blinked. “It’s definitely human?”

Everyone turned to Liz Wilkinson. She said, “Unfortunately.”

“Damn,” said Guzman, biting his lip. His eyes misted.

Milo said, “Appreciate your help, sir. Have a nice day.”

His prompt was more directive than Reed’s, a nudge to Guzman’s elbow that got the giant in motion. Guzman plodded toward the tape, ducked under with effort, walked several yards, and joined another group of orange-vests hanging near a yellow city truck. The group stayed there, listening as Guzman regaled them.

Milo said, “There’s one who likes attention. You pick up anything about him that fills your nostrils, Moses?”

“Kind of a crybaby,” said Reed, “but nothing overtly creepy.”

“Run him through, anyway.”

“Already done, boss. Clean.”

“Good work, kid, that’s why you get the big bucks. Any anthropological impressions, Liz?”

Wilkinson said, “By its size, this child might be younger than the first. The teeth will help me judge but I haven’t inspected them because the way the skull’s positioned the mouth is in the dirt.”

“We’ll get you access soon as the C.I. okays it.” To Reed: “Any word from the crypt?”

“Held up in traffic. Best guess is within the hour.”

“What about Crime Scene?”

“They should’ve been here already.”

Milo turned to Liz. “You were notified by the crypt crew?”

She smiled. “By Moe.”

Reed fidgeted.

Milo laughed. “Anything for a date, Detective Reed?”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Liz said, “I think that’s a compliment.”

Milo said, “Anything else of a scientific nature, Dr. W?”

“These bones look considerably fresher than the first, so you could have a fairly recent crime. But that could also be the result of cleaning or bleaching. From what I can see so far, they appear totally de-fleshed. As to how that was done, I’m a bit puzzled. The most common methods would be mechanical-scraping-or chemical-corrosives, boiling-or a combination of both. But all that seems to be lacking here.”

“How can you tell?”

She let go of Reed’s hand, walked closer to the bones. “Don’t tattle on me to the crypt folk, Milo, but I crouched down and had a good close look.” She held up a gloved hand. “Then I put these on and touched several of the bones because the freshness intrigued me. I was careful not to move anything, there was no disruption of the crime scene. But I wanted to see how they responded to tactile pressure. I also used a magnifying loupe and couldn’t find any of the tool marks you’d get from scraping, or the pitting and cloudiness you’d get from a corrosive bath. More important, the bones felt relatively rigid, as firm as an infant skeleton could be, and with boiling you’d expect them to turn at least a bit rubbery. Especially the smaller bones, those could be as pliable as cooked noodles. It’s possible there’s a new chemical able to do the job without leaving traces but I haven’t heard of it. Maybe something’ll turn up in the analysis.”

“De-fleshed,” said Milo, “but no sign of trauma. So maybe this one is a lab specimen, Liz. Some sick wiseass reads about the first case, decides to prank us with a medical souvenir he buys on the Internet.”

“Anything’s possible but I don’t think so. For the same reason as with the first: You’d expect holes for wires.”

Milo went over to the bones, squatted, a Buddha in a bad suit. “Almost like plastic, with that shine.”

I said, “Is it possible they were coated with something that’s obscuring the tool marks?”

Liz said, “I thought about some kind of lacquering but it would have to be super-thin because normal anatomical irregularities are visible.”

Milo said, “Call the C.I. again, Moses, get a fix on ETA.”

Reed complied. “Half an hour, minimum.”

“Wonderful.”

I said, “Sick joke or murder, with the dump being so close to the first bones, this reeks of copycat.”

Milo inhaled, gut heaving. “Two in Cheviot Hills. Can’t remember the last time we had a murder here.”

Liz said, “The distance to the Ruche home is less than a mile-point nine three to be exact.”

Milo smiled. “Geography’s in your job description?”

Reed said, “She clocked it ’cause I asked her.”

“You did me a favor, honey. Distracted me from thinking about two dead babies.” Ungloving, she took out her phone, walked a few feet to the side.

Milo said, “Moe, soon as the techies and the crypters get here, you and I are heading back to the office to run a search on missing infants. Meanwhile, call Sean. I’ll be wanting him to canvass the neighborhood.”

Moe left a message for Binchy.

Liz returned. “Just spoke to one of my old profs. He’s never seen a specimen without wires and he’s not aware of any lacquer that’s commonly used. But no one knows everything so I’ll stay on it. One bright spot: If these are relatively fresh, DNA’s likely. Speaking of which, what’s the status with the first set? DOJ hasn’t instructed me to send them yet.”

“Start the paperwork, kid.”

Reed’s phone rang. He said, “Hey, Ess-man, whusup? What? ”

As he listened, his hand tapped the butt of his service gun. When he clicked off, his face was tight. “You’re not going to believe this, they just found another.”

Liz said, “Another baby ?” Her voice caught. All pretense of scientific detachment ripped away like a dangling scab.

Reed said, “Another DB, adult female, gunshot wound, right here in the park, the southern edge.”

Milo’s face was as animated as a frozen chuck roast. He waved a uniform over.

“Keep this area tight, Officer. No one but the techies and the C.I. gets in.”

“Yessir. That mean you’re finished here?”

“Not even close.”