Kathy Reichs: Cross bones

We bolted and pitched, stones and gravel peppering the guardrail.

I planted both hands against the dash and tried to keep my elbows flexed. I dropped my chin to my chest.

I heard metal slam metal.

I looked up to see the Citroën’s headlights lurch sideways. They hung a moment, then nose-dived into darkness.

I heard an eruption of metal, sand, and dirt. Another. A wailing horn. Steady. Terrible.

Our speed choked back. The guardrail clicked past slower and slower.

The truck had barely stopped when Jake flipped open his cell phone.

“Shit.”

“No signal?”

“Piece of crap.” Jake tossed the phone on the dash and jabbed at the glove box. “Flashlights.”

While I found Mag-Lites, Jake dug flares from the back of the truck. Together, we sprinted up the tarmac.

The guardrail gaped jagged and curled. We peered past, down the hill. The fog was a dense ocean, swallowing our beams.

As Jake set flares, I hopped the barrier and scrambled down the slope.

In the basin, my light picked out a trail of shapes. A hubcap. A side panel. A side-view mirror.

The Citroën was a pitch-black hump in the darkness. I probed it with the Mag-Lite.

The car had impacted, flipped, and landed on its roof. Every window was shattered. Steam or smoke hissed from under the crumpled hood.

Purviance was half in, half out the driver’s-side door, twisted like a rag doll tossed to the floor. So much blood smeared her face I couldn’t see skin. Her jacket was saturated.

I heard crunching, then Jake was beside me.

“Jesus Christ!”

“We’ve got to get her out,” I said.

Together, Jake and I tried to ease Purviance free. Her body was slick with mist and blood. We kept losing our grip.

Above, a truck braked to a stop. Two men got out and started shouting questions. We ignored them, concentrated on Purviance.

Jake and I changed sides. Nothing worked. We couldn’t get a good angle.

Purviance moaned softly. I grabbed my light and ran the beam the length of her body. Flecks of glass glistened on her clothing and in her blood-soaked hair.

“One foot’s wedged among the pedals,” I said. “I’ll go in through the other side.”

“No way.”

I didn’t wait to argue. Circling the Citroën, I sized up what remained of the passenger window. Big enough.

I dropped my light, doubled over, and squeezed through head-first. Pulling with my elbows, I wriggled to the driver’s side.

Groping like a blind man, I determined I was right. One of Purviance’s feet was broken and jammed behind the brake.

Using outstretched arms, I tried gentle twisting. The foot remained lodged. I shoved harder. No go.

An acrid smell was irritating my nose. My eyes were watering.

Burning rubber!

My heart thudded my rib cage.

Bellying closer, I dropped my upper body over the seat, yanked the zipper of Purviance’s boot, grabbed the heel, and tugged.

I felt some give.

Another hard pull and Purviance’s heel was loose. Using my fingers, I shoehorned her foot.

“Now!” I screamed when the toes slid free.

As Jake tugged, I wormed the foot through the pedals. Then I muscled back-ass out the window.

Smoke was pouring from the engine.

Voices were shouting from the highway. I didn’t need a translator.

“Get back!”

“It’s going to blow!”

Circling the Citroën, I grabbed Purviance under one arm. Jake had the other. Together we tugged her free and eased her to the ground.

Jake dived for the car.

“We’ve got to get clear!”

Jake was enveloped in smoke. I could see his lanky form darting forward and back.

“Jake!”

Jake was a madman, racing from one shattered window to the next.

“I can’t do this alone!”

Jake left the car and helped me drag Purviance another five yards. Then he raced back to the Citroën and began kicking its trunk.

“It’s going to blow!” I was screaming now.

Jake’s foot pistoned again and again.

Something popped. The hissing grew louder, the smoke thickened.

Were we still in range? A powerful blast would turn auto parts into deadly missiles.

Grabbing Purviance by her upper arms, I turned and began inching backward. Her body was dead weight. Was she already gone? Was I doing her more harm than good?

Foot by foot I dragged.

Three yards.

My hands grew slippery with blood. My palms and fingers were cut by millions of glass slivers.

Five.

Sirens whined in the distance.

My fingers tingled. My legs were dead. But I was hyped on adrenaline. Some fierce internal energy pushed me on.

Finally I decided I was far enough. I allowed Purviance to settle to the ground. Dropping to my knees, I felt her throat.

A weak pulse? I couldn’t be sure.

Ripping Purviance’s jacket. I searched for the wound that was pumping out blood. A black crescent slashed her belly. I pressed a palm to it.

At that moment, a blast tore the night. I heard the awful sound of metal shearing metal.

As my head snapped up the Citroën exploded in a ball of light. Fire burst from the engine, strobing white geysers into the blue-black fog.

Dear God! Where was Jake?

I ran toward the Citroën.

Twenty feet out the heat stopped me like a wall. I threw up an arm.

“Jake!”

The car was an inferno. Flames licked its underbelly and leaped from its windows. No sign of Jake.

“Jake!”

I felt ash and sweat on my face. Mist. Tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Jake!”

A second depth charge blew metal and flames into the sky.

A sob rose in my throat.

Hands gripped my shoulders.

I was yanked roughly back.

I’LL TELL YOU RIGHT OUT THE GATE. EVERYONE SURVIVED.

Change that. Everyone survived but the guy in the shroud. He went from being bone to being bone ash.

Jake burned his hands and singed his brows. No big deal.

Purviance lost a lot of blood and fractured some ribs and a foot. Her spleen was removed in pieces, and she’d need hardware in the ankle. But she’d recover. And serve time.

The Citroën would not recover. Its remains were barely worth hauling for scrap.

Purviance was unconscious for a day, then the story dribbled out.

Slowly. As Ryan suggested variations based on info from Kaplan and Birch.

My mental mapping was spot-on. Ferris and Purviance had been an item. Birch found the usual at her apartment in Saint-Léonard. Man’s robe in the closet. Extra Bic and Oral-B in the medicine chest.

The affair started shortly after Purviance began working for Les Imports Ashkenazim. As the years passed, she increased the pressure on Ferris to divorce Miriam. He kept putting her off. She also increased her hold on the business.

Purviance was familiar with operations at the warehouse. Read: she knew everything and was involved in everything. She overheard Ferris’s call to Kaplan asking him to middleman the Masada skeleton. She overheard his conversations with Father Morissonneau and Tovya Blotnik, and learned of the skeleton’s history. She resented Ferris’s working this deal on his own and freezing her out.

Not long before, she’d overheard Ferris’s conversations with the travel agent. Ferris was planning to vacation in sunny Florida with his wife. It was the last straw. Ferris was working a score without her and was trying to rebuild his marriage. Purviance confronted her lover about his priorities.

Tired of guilt, or tired of the stress of maintaining the balancing act, Ferris decided to cut Purviance loose. Les Imports Ashkenazim had hit a rough patch, but, all in all, was doing well. His relationship with Miriam was improving. He didn’t need Purviance. Sure, the business was riding some economic bumps, but the sale of the skeleton would take care of that. It would be better if he fired Purviance. Ferris promised her six months’ severance pay, and told her to clear out.