Beverly Connor - One Grave Too Many

“What do you know about him?”

“He grew up in a cool, humid climate, he was a vegetarian but ate fish, he’s been missing for about five years, maybe, judging from the vegetation growth over him.” Diane told him about the stable isotope analysis.

“I’m impressed.”

“You should be. I found that out when we had only the clavicle. With all these bones, you’d think I’d be home free.”

“What about his age and condition?”

“He’s still undergoing epiphyseal union on all his long bones-from a half to three-quarters fused, including his iliac crest.” She ran her fingers along the top of his pelvic bone and picked it up. “Look at the pubic symphysis.” She rubbed her thumb over the horizontal ridges and grooves where the two pelvic bones joined in front. “This is a young surface. My guess is he was in his late teens or early twenties.”

“My son’s that age,” Linc said, caressing the bone. “There are some parents somewhere wondering where he is.”

“Speaking of his pelvis, this is sort of unusual.” She showed him the lesion on the bone near the pubic symphysis. “I usually see this in pregnant women or those who have just given birth. It’s caused by the strain on the joint.”

“What about his shins?” asked Linc.

“Shins? He has a healed break in his tibia.”

“Check his elbows.”

Diane raised her eyebrows and reached for the left ulna and examined the proximal end. She raised her eyebrows further and checked the right ulna. However, it had been gnawed by animals.

“The left ulna has a healed lesion. The right might, but I can’t tell.”

Linc winked at her.

“How about the lower back?”

Diane narrowed her eyes and examined several of the lumbar vertebrae. “One shows some wear on the margins.”

Linc grinned broadly, showing a row of even white teeth.

Diane laid the vertebrae back in place on the table and turned to face Linc, who was still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Okay, are you going to tell me?”

“I think your fellow here was a hockey player,” he said.

“Hockey?”

“I’ve seen that cluster of injuries many times in hockey players. Breaks in the tibia are common, so are lower back problems. I’ve seen olecranon bursitis so bad it’ll leave scars on the bone. Groin pain is common in a lot of sports, but the side-to-side motion in hockey puts a strain on the pubic symphysis, causing the kind of lesions you just showed me.”

“Possibly a hockey player. Good. In fact, terrific. Grew up in a cool climate, that fits. Surely someone out there will recognize all the information we have and can identify this guy. Thanks.”

“Glad to be of help. Now, will you follow my orders as a doctor and go home and get some rest?”

“Sure.” Diane locked the vault, turned out the lights in the lab and locked it and the second floor when they left. Their shoes echoed on the marble floor as they walked across the lobby and through the doors to the elevator. Chanell Napier and Bernie Chapman were the two security officers on duty. They were talking to each other at the front information desk. Chanell was inside the semicircular booth and Bernie was leaning on the desk.

“Where’s Leonard tonight?” asked Diane.

“He’s been sick the last couple of days,” said Chanell. “We’re filling in for him.”

Diane realized how much she’d been neglecting the museum and felt guilty. “Not serious, I hope?”

“I don’t think so,” said Chanell. “He said he was having migraines.”

“You two doing OK?”

“It’s real quiet here. Bernie was just about to make the rounds.”

Bernie ran a hand through his red hair and put on his security cap. “Just going now,” he said, and started off on his rounds.

“Be sure to keep an eye out for that missing snake,” she told him. “I want him found.”

“Oh, my God,” Bernie said. A little tremble went through him. “I forgot about that snake.” He watched the floor along the walls and looked under a table in the hallway as he passed. At one point he gave a sudden jump to one side, as if he had seen something, then continued on.

Diane shook her head in bewildered fascination. She hadn’t had time to look for a head of security. She was thinking about Jake Houser, but he had a full-time day job. She decided at that moment to give it to Chanell. She had experience at the university before she came here, and Diane could send her for courses at the police academy. Most of all, she’d proved to be reliable and a self-starter.

“Chanell, come by my office when you get in tomorrow.”

She looked alarmed for a moment. Diane smiled at her and her face brightened. She felt better having made the decision. It was one she should have made several days ago.

They left the museum in the care of the security guards, and Linc walked her to her car. “Do I need to follow you home?”

“No. I intend to go directly there. I’ll be fine. Tell me, is Frank going to be all right?”

“I think so. I won’t say it isn’t bad right now-it is. But his condition is definitely survivable.”

She had never asked anyone at the hospital about the long-term prognosis for Frank’s injuries. How he would be when he recovered. She’d been concerned only that he recover. But she thought of it now. Would he have any paralysis? A heart condition? She was afraid to ask. She started to get in her car, but stopped.

“How is he? I mean, when he recovers, will he be OK?”

“I don’t know. They repaired all the damage, and he has feeling in his arms and legs. The bullet didn’t get near the spine and apparently didn’t nick any of the nerves. He’ll be weak for a while. Go home and get some rest and try not to worry.”

She got in her car and he closed the door for her. She rolled down her window to say good-bye and he handed her a card. “This has my cell phone number on it. Give me a call if you need anything.”

She drove home and parked in front of her building. She was getting to feel like she was running a gauntlet in getting from her car to her apartment door, and she was tired of living like this. She hurried to the door, flew up the stairs and opened her apartment door. She flipped on the lights. She expected to feel safe, but didn’t. She felt scared.

She stood in the hallway and listened for any sound-creaking, breathing, anything. This is silly, get a grip, she told herself. It was a small apartment with very few places to hide. In fact, under her bed and in her closet were it. She quickly checked both places, feeling foolish when she finished. What if she’d found someone? She didn’t have a weapon. This was really stupid. She walked back into the living room and was about to turn on the television when she saw a form in the draperies behind her living room chair. Her heart jumped in her chest. She was almost paralyzed in place.

As casually as she could, she moved to the hall and into the kitchen to look for a weapon. What kind of weapon? Her mind raced, trying to think. A knife. Maybe, but how would she fare in a knife fight with some intruder? She could run but would she make it before he caught her? The best course of action would be to call for help. But her cell phone was in the bedroom, and whoever it was would hear her talking. She could grab the cell phone and lock herself in the bathroom. And then what-hope help arrived before he broke down the door? She heard a rustle and creaking of the floor. No time.

She spotted her cast-iron skillet sitting on the stove, picked it up and stepped out into the hallway. She edged forward until she was almost to the living room. Maybe she could catch the intruder by surprise and knock him out. She raised it over her head as she saw a shadow cast by her lamp. One more second. Now she swung the pan, but at the last moment swerved and hit the wall with a crash, accompanied by a piercing scream.