Michael Connelly: City Of Bones

The page showed an illustration of a bone, anterior and posterior views. In the corner of the page was a small sketch of a skeleton with the humerus bone of both arms highlighted.

“The humerus,” Guyot said, tapping the page. “And then we have the recovered specimen.”

He reached into the shoe box and gently lifted the bone. Holding it above the book’s illustration he went through a point-by-point comparison.

“Medial epicondyle, trochlea, greater and lesser tubercle,” he said. “It’s all there. And I was just telling these two officers, I know my bones even without the book. This bone is human, Detective. There’s no doubt.”

Bosch looked at Guyot’s face. There was a slight quiver, perhaps the first showing of the tremors of Parkinson’s.

“Are you retired, Doctor?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know a bone when I see-”

“I’m not challenging you, Dr. Guyot.” Bosch tried to smile. “You say it is human, I believe it. Okay? I’m just trying to get the lay of the land here. You can put that back into the box now if you want.”

Guyot replaced the bone in the shoe box.

“What’s your dog’s name?”

“Calamity.”

Bosch looked down at the dog. It appeared to be sleeping.

“When she was a pup she was a lot of trouble.”

Bosch nodded.

“So, if you don’t mind telling it again, tell me what happened today.”

Guyot reached down and ruffled the dog’s collar. The dog looked up at him for a moment and then put its head back down and closed its eyes.

“I took Calamity out for her afternoon walk. Usually when I get up to the circle I take her off the leash and let her run up into the woods. She likes it.”

“What kind of dog is she?” Bosch asked.

“Yellow Lab,” Brasher answered quickly from behind him.

Bosch turned and looked at her. She realized she had made a mistake by intruding and nodded and stepped back toward the door of the room where her partner was.

“You guys can clear if you have other calls,” Bosch said. “I can take it from here.”

Edgewood nodded and signaled his partner out.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said as he went.

“Don’t mention it.”

Bosch thought of something.

“Hey, guys?”

Edgewood and Brasher turned back.

“Let’s keep this off the air, okay?”

“You got it,” said Brasher, her eyes holding on Bosch’s until he looked away.

After the officers left, Bosch looked back at the doctor and noticed that the facial tremor was slightly more pronounced now.

“They didn’t believe me at first either,” he said.

“It’s just that we get a lot of calls like this. But I believe you, Doctor, so why don’t you continue with the story?”

Guyot nodded.

“Well, I was up on the circle and I took off the leash. She went up into the woods like she likes to do. She’s well trained. When I whistle she comes back. Trouble is, I can’t whistle very loud anymore. So if she goes where she can’t hear me, then I have to wait, you see.”

“What happened today when she found the bone?”

“I whistled and she didn’t come back.”

“So she was pretty far up there.”

“Yes, exactly. I waited. I whistled a few more times, and then finally she came down out of the woods next to Mr. Ulrich’s house. She had the bone. In her mouth. At first I thought it was a stick, you see, and that she wanted to play fetch with it. But as she came to me I recognized the shape. I took it from her-had a fight over that- and then I called you people after I examined it here and was sure.”

You people, Bosch thought. It was always said like that, as if the police were another species. The blue species which carried armor that the horrors of the world could not pierce.

“When you called you told the sergeant that the bone had a fracture.”

“Absolutely.”

Guyot picked up the bone again, handling it gently. He turned it and ran his finger along a vertical striation along the bone’s surface.

“That’s a break line, Detective. It’s a healed fracture.”

“Okay.”

Bosch pointed to the box, and the doctor returned the bone.

“Doctor, do you mind putting your dog on a leash and taking a walk up to the circle with me?”

“Not at all. I just need to change my shoes.”

“I need to change, too. How about if I meet you out front?”

“Right away.”

“I’m going to take this now.”

Bosch put the top back on the shoe box and then carried it with two hands, making sure not to turn the box or jostle its contents in any way.

Outside, Bosch noticed the patrol car was still in front of the house. The two officers sat inside it, apparently writing out reports. He went to his car and placed the shoe box on the front passenger seat.

Since he had been on call out he had not dressed in a suit. He had on a sport coat with blue jeans and a white oxford shirt. He stripped off his coat, folded it inside out and put it on the backseat. He noticed that the trigger from the weapon he kept holstered on his hip had worn a hole in the lining and the jacket wasn’t even a year old. Soon it would work its way into the pocket and then all the way through. More often than not he wore out his coats from the inside.

He took his shirt off next, revealing a white T-shirt beneath. He then opened the trunk to get out the pair of work boots from his crime scene equipment box. As he leaned against the rear bumper and changed his shoes he saw Brasher get out of the patrol car and come back toward him.

“So it looks legit, huh?”

“Think so. Somebody at the ME’s office will have to confirm, though.”

“You going to go up and look?”

“I’m going to try to. Not much light left, though. Probably be back out here tomorrow.”

“By the way, I’m Julia Brasher. I’m new in the division.”

“Harry Bosch.”

“I know. I’ve heard of you.”

“I deny everything.”

She smiled at the line and put her hand out but Bosch was right in the middle of tying one of the boots. He stopped and shook her hand.

“Sorry,” she said. “My timing is off today.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He finished tying the boot and stood up off the bumper.

“When I blurted out the answer in there, about the dog, I immediately realized you were trying to establish a rapport with the doctor. That was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Bosch studied her for a moment. She was mid-thirties with dark hair in a tight braid that left a short tail going over the back of her collar. Her eyes were dark brown. He guessed she liked the outdoors. Her skin had an even tan.

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

“You’re alone?”

Bosch hesitated.

“My partner’s working on something else while I check this out.”

He saw the doctor coming out the front door of the house with the dog on a leash. He decided not to get out his crime scene jumpsuit and put it on. He glanced over at Julia Brasher, who was now watching the approaching dog.

“You guys don’t have calls?”

“No, it’s slow.”

Bosch looked down at the MagLite in his equipment box. He looked at her and then reached into the trunk and grabbed an oil rag, which he threw over the flashlight. He took out a roll of yellow crime scene tape and the Polaroid camera, then closed the trunk and turned to Brasher.

“Then do you mind if I borrow your Mag? I, uh, forgot mine.”

“No problem.”

She slid the flashlight out of the ring on her equipment belt and handed it to him.

The doctor and his dog came up then.

“Ready.”

“Okay, Doctor, I want you to take us up to the spot where you let the dog go and we’ll see where she goes.”