David Wiltse: Bone Deep

"Which doesn't mean you can't sue somebody," Becker said. "If you try hard enough."

"As long as it's not the local cop."

Tee drove past the library and onto the series of inter connecting streets that honeycombed the Connecticut forest and called itself the town of Clamden. A woodchuck emerged from a stone fence, stood on its hind legs, and watched the police car pass as Becker regarded it in turn. Becker had often thought that it was debatable whether Clamden was the dominion of the people who lived there or of the large populations of deer, raccoons, woodchucks, and squiffels-not to mention the few coyotes that had taken up residence in the past few years. Raccoons tested the security measures on all garbage cans and occasionally ventured into houses. The deer, protected by strict hunting regulations and local leash laws on all the dogs, dined fearlessly on gardens, azaleas, and roses, browsing their way with arrogance through forest and yards alike, insolent as cats.

The persistence of the forest only an hour's drive from New York City was testimony to the affinity of New England's soil and weather to trees, and to the power of jealously protected local zoning regulations.

The citizens of Clamden had chosen to live in the woods-and had passed the laws and assumed the tax burden necessary to protect those woods.

They looked with some pity at the neighboring towns that provided them with such amenities as supermarkets, shops, restaurants, and movie houses but lacked the sylvan joys of the surrounding forest. For those who wished to do so-and Becker was one-Clamden was a most convenient spot to fake the simple life. Tee was contemplating life of a more complicated nature.

"Would you really tell Karen if someone came on to you?" he asked.

"I tell her most things."

"Yeah, but what don't you tell her?"

Just things I forget," said Becker.

"You really talk that much?… I talk to Marge, but there are some things… Say you're having a conversation with a good-looking woman and you suddenly realize she's coming on to you. You don't do anything, you understand, but you're pretty sure you're getting signals. Are you saying you'd tell Karen about that?"

"If I was sure I knew what was going on, yeah, I'd tell her. Knowing Karen, she would have noticed it already anyway. I wouldn't say anything just because somebody smiled at me, though. I'd have to be convinced it was a real come-on. Women are usually subtle enough to leave themselves a way out. It's easy to misunderstand." Tee fell back into silence.

"Did something happen you want to talk about?" Becker asked tentatively, after a moment.

"Yeah, something happened. No, I don't want to talk about it… I'd rather talk around it."

"Fair enough."

"You had. Tee started, reluctantly. "Never mind.

"Go ahead."

"Forget it. Another time."

"I'm here now," said Becker. "I had what?"

"Nothing."

"I hate talking to men, you know that? The minute you get into something other than sports or just plain bullshit, they all clam up tight as a duck's ass. Christ, Tee, we've known each other since high school. What can you say that's going to surprise me?"

"It wouldn't surprise you."

"Suit yourself," Becker said.

"I guess I probably will," Tee replied before lapsing into a silence that lasted until he pulled into a driveway.

A slight young woman in jean cutoffs and a halter came out of the house, lifting a hand in greeting before going back inside. Becker got out of the car, then paused as he saw Tee hesitate.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm not quite sure how to explain your presence," Tee said.

"I should stay in the car?"

"And miss the excitement? I just wonder do I say I brought a pal along for the fun, or introduce you as Special Agent Becker and congratulations, this is now a federal case, or what?"

"Why not just call me Dr. Watson?"

"Is somebody sick?"

Mrs. Leigh stepped out of the house again, this time holding a large bone at arm's length. She gripped the bone with a wad of paper toweling and her hand was encased in a rubber kitchen glove and her movements were gingerly and delicate, as if she found the job extremely distasteful.

"I found this in my backyard. Can you imagine? Who knows what kind of diseases you could get from a thing like this. What if my children had found it first? It's appalling."

Becker noticed a distinctive southern rhythm to her voice even though the words were unaccented, as 1 was educated the tones of Alabama out of her speech, but not the lilt.

"To have a thing like this just wash up, it's not as if I lived on the Jersey shore, Captain. I don't expect used syringes in my backyard, not in Clamden, no sir, that's not acceptable."

"It looks more like a bone than a syringe, Mrs. Leigh."

"Well, of course it's a bone, Captain. But it's a dead bone and they carry germs."

"Do they?"

"It stands to reason. Whatever it died of."

"Any viruses or bacteria that infected the organism while it was living would be dead within a few days if not a few hours," Becker volunteered.

"Well, how do you do?" Mrs. Leigh declared, as if Becker had suddenly materialized in her front lawn. Her eyes were the palest blue and gave her a slightly unearthly look when viewed straight on. The pupils seemed to melt away under scrutiny and dissolve into a hole which led to an alternate universe where many things were possible. They were mesmerizing, fascinating eyes, eyes the hue of a wolf's, and when she grinned at him tauntingly, Becker realized that she was a very dangerous woman. She was very thin, yet her upper arms had the well-cut look of weight training. Becker could imagine her striding along the road in her shorts and halter, swinging hand weights in an exaggerated motion.

"I'm John Becker," he said. "Oh, yes," she said. "You don't look the way I thought you would."

"I don't look the way I wish I did either," Becker said.

She gave him her left hand, turning it over and squeezing his briefly.

"I wouldn't be too quick to change if I were you," she said, grinning slightly.

"Mr. Becker is…" Tee halted lamely.

"I know who Mr. Becker is," Mrs. Leigh said. "Everybody in town knows who Mr. Becker is, even if we haven't seen him before. He's a celebrity."

"Not really," said Becker.

"Of course you are, don't be modest. You killed all those people, didn't you?"

Becker recoiled, his face darkening.

"Don't be embarrassed," she said. "They were all bad people, I'm sure."

"They were all serial killers," Tee said, "but it's not his favorite topic. "

"I am sorry, will you forgive me?" She touched his arm with the hand that wasn't holding the bone. The motion made her ribs stand out against the skin. "Now you must forgive me or I'll feel just awful."

"No problem," Becker said, managing a wintry smile.

"Thank you," she said, giving Becker a lingering look before turning again to Tee. She thrust the bone toward the chief, waggling it impatiently.

"Well, take it, Captain Terhune. You don't expect me to hold it forever, do you? It may not have the germs that killed it, but it could have other germs, couldn't it?"

"I'm not a captain," Tee said, taking the bone, holding it carefully by the paper toweling.

"Well, you certainly should be. I'd make you a colonel. " Tee laughed.

"Chief is good enough for me."

"You're two of the most modest men I've ever met," she said with delight. "I can't tell you how refreshing that is. My husband is-well, let's not get into that."

"Do you want to show me where you found the bone?" Tee asked.

"Why certainly. Just come along here."

As she walked toward her backyard, the woman touched Tee's arm several times as if for balance, although Becker saw nothing in the terrain to have disturbed her equilibrium. Alone with Becker in the car again, Tee said, "So, what do you think?"