Beverly Connor - One Grave Too Many

“On the original bone that started all this.” Diane looked at the fax transmitted by her friend, Ran. It wasn’t a particularly good copy, but she assumed he sent her an original in the mail. The first page had a list of numbers in a table. The other pages were Ranjan’s conclusions, written in his typical pedantic manner.

You’re in luck. Your fellow was a vegetarian-note the values in the table. However, I don’t think your person was a vegan, nor did he, I think, consume an abundance of legumes. Interesting. The delta numbers and the levels of the trace element strontium suggest that he ate fish and shellfish. I am most excited about this. Another interesting possibility to think about: You said the fellow was young, perhaps an older teenager. This would mean he had these eating habits from childhood. Is vegetarianism in children common? You must identify the fellow so we can test what the values seem to indicate. Also, I would say death took place five years ago.

Ranjan’s report went on to explain the numbers in detail and listed all the caveats associated with them. Bottom line, however, was that this analysis could be a clue in identification. His last paragraph explained the oxygen-hydrogen stable isotope ratios.

“Your person grew up in a climate that is cold and humid,” he wrote. “See table.”

“Cool,” “great stuff,” and “let’s find the guy” were the sentiments of the excavation crew.

“Ain’t that something?” said the sheriff.

“Damn. You did it,” said Frank. “You not only told me what the guy had for his last meal, but where he had it.”

“Ranjan’s warnings weren’t just cover-your-ass warnings. The conclusions aren’t written in stone,” warned Diane. “There are many variables.”

“Sure,” said Frank. “But it’s several damn good leads. We have a young man, perhaps in his late teens, perhaps a vegetarian, may have disappeared five years ago and may have grown up somewhere in the North. That’s enough to start looking at the missing person database.”

“Would the database have their eating habits?” asked one of the crew.

“Sometimes,” said Frank. “Particularly if there’s some kind of medical condition or distinguishing trait. The family usually tries to give as much information as they can.”

“Do you think he lived on the coast-maybe Maine or somewhere on the East Coast?”

The crew was getting into the spirit of the hunt. They liked the idea that their science might solve the mystery.

“Maybe,” said Diane. “He could just as well be from Michigan, North Dakota, Washington State or Canada, for that matter. If you guys are finished with lunch, we’d better start digging. Ranjan’s going to be calling me every day to see if I’ve found him-or her.”

“I’m going to go over and watch the digging for a while,” said Whit, following the crew.

The sheriff watched Whit’s retreating back and gave a half-hearted chuckle. “I think ol’ Whit’s a little nervous. Be funny if he and his family turned out to be serial killers.”

Frank laughed. “Yeah, that’d be just hilarious.”

They were joking, but as Diane watched the crew gather their tools and remembered that they were staying in the Abercrombies’ home, she said, “You don’t think?” She let the question hang.

“No, of course not,” said Frank. “Whit and I went to school together.”

“Everybody went to school with somebody,” said Diane. “You didn’t go to school with his father, did you?”

“What’s this about?” asked Frank.

“Nothing. It’s just that the crew is staying in the Abercrombie house.”

The sheriff laughed. “Boy, wouldn’t that be funny.”

“It might be Mrs. Abercrombie,” said Frank. “Maybe this vegetarian fellow was a guest, and he insulted her by not having any of her pot roast.”

“This isn’t funny at all,” said Diane.

“Yes, it is,” said Frank. “I know these people. Do you think Whit would lead us right to the dump site if it’d been him? I think you-and the sheriff,” Frank glared at him, “are letting your imaginations run away with you.”

The sheriff chuckled again, clearly enjoying letting his imagination run away with him. “I’m going back to the office. I’ll tell my deputies to keep an eye out if they see one of the Abercrombies wielding an axe. Seriously, Ms. Fallon, I’ve know’d ol’ Luther all my life. He’s a good ol’ boy and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Neither would Whit. They’re good churchgoing folk.” The sheriff took a deep breath before he started back to his car. “I do wish the perp could have picked a more convenient place to dump the body,” he was saying as they watched his stout body disappear through the trees and underbrush.

“Maybe you’re right,” said Diane. “How’s Star?”

“Angry. Angry at the guards who found her before she bled to death, angry at the police for arresting her and not looking for whoever wiped out her family, at her parents for dying, at herself for not dying with them. I think she’s afraid if she gets over the anger, the grief will be more than she can stand.”

Like all the people who couldn’t find anything to say to her, Diane couldn’t think of any comfort for Frank. She couldn’t say that Star would get over it, because that would be a lie. Or that time will heal-it hadn’t healed her. She’d learned to get by, day by day, but that was hardly a comfort.

“Maybe anger’s a good thing right now. It takes up space,” she said.

“I’m going back to see her this evening. I’ve been staying with her at the hospital as much as I can-to let her know she’s not alone. Why don’t you come with me tonight to visit? You can tell her what you’re doing.”

Diane hesitated a moment, not wanting to watch someone else’s grief when she had no comfort to offer her, but in the end relented. “Sure, if you think it will help. When do you have to get back to work?”

“The end of next week. Think we can solve this thing by then?”

Diane offered a weak smile. “I don’t see why not.”

Frank shook his head. “I can’t help but wonder”-he gestured toward the pit where the crew were laying grid lines to start excavating-“what if this is not related to what happened to George and Louise and we’ve wasted all this time and energy in the wrong direction?”

“This is someone who needs justice too. Besides, what are the chances that your friends find a human bone, then get murdered within the week? My gut feeling is that someone didn’t want this site found. Have you talked to people they might have told about the bone?”

“Some. So far, looks like they either told no one or no one is admitting it.”

After arranging with Frank to pick her up at the museum later on, she went back to digging. The crew had laid out a grid of string and stakes. One of the guys was setting up the tripod and transit for mapping. Another guy and one of the women were setting up a screen to sift out the smaller objects from the dirt they removed. The remaining members of the crew were either driving stakes around the outlying bones or beginning excavation of the grids. It was going well; they didn’t seem to need her. How tempting to just leave in their hands this thing that looked too much like a mass burial.

Let’s just do it and get it over with , she told herself, squatting down beside a grid containing exposed bone. There was a row of teeth that looked like a deer’s. Not human; that was good. She took her trowel and began removing the dirt from the bone. Before long she’d uncovered a deer skull. The top skull plate had been sawed through to remove the antlers and a portion of the skull. Normal find for a taxidermist’s pit.

By the end of the day, a large portion of the first layer of the pit had been uncovered, leaving a tangle of exposed animal bones standing out in relief.