Kathy Reichs - Break No Bones

Miller had logged the hanging victim as CCC-2006020285.

After changing into scrubs, Emma and I transferred CCC-2006020285 from his bag to the autopsy table. First the articulated portions, next the skull, finally the body parts that had fallen or been yanked free and dragged off by scavengers.

The brain and internal organs were gone. The torso, arms, and upper leg bones remained encased in muscle and ligament, at some points putrefied, at others browned and toughened by sun and wind. Though inconvenient for skeletal analysis, the flesh was a potential bonus for a quick ID. Tissue means skin. Skin means prints.

A jacket sleeve had protected the right hand, sparing it full-out mummification. But decomposition had rendered the tissue extremely fragile.

"Got TES?" I asked Emma. Tissue Enhancing Solution, a citric acid-buffered salt solution useful for restoring dried or damaged tissue.

"Courtesy of my favorite embalmer."

"Warm it to about fifty Celsius, please." As with the Dewees case, Emma had made me head honcho during examination of these bones. I wasn't sure how long she'd get away with it, but I was determined to do the job until someone pulled the plug.

"Microwave?"

"Fine."

While Emma was gone, I removed each of the right digits at the level of the first interphalangeal joint. When she returned, I placed the severed fingers in the solution and set them aside to soak.

"Mind if I slide out for a while? There's a construction site death needs my attention. When the prints are ready, give them to the tech and he'll shoot them to Gullet."

"No problem."

The skeletal exam was straightforward enough. And, save for the tedium of cutting and stripping tissue, somewhat reminiscent of Saturday's analysis of the Dewees unknown.

The vertebral column was the most difficult to separate into component parts. While it soaked, I began with those bones less tenaciously imprisoned in flesh.

Skull and pelvic shape said this vic was male.

Dental, rib, and pubic symphyseal indicators said he'd lived thirty-five to fifty years.

Cranial and facial architecture said his ancestors came from Europe.

Another white guy in his forties.

There the physical similarities ended.

While the man from Dewees was tall, long-bone measurements said the man from the trees stood only five-six to five-eight.

The former had long blond hair. This guy sported short brown curls.

Unlike the man from Dewees, the man from the trees had no dental work, and was, in fact, missing three upper molars and an upper bicuspid. The lowers were a mystery since I had no jaw. Tongue-side staining suggested the deceased had enjoyed cigarettes.

When I'd completed the biological profile, I began my search for skeletal abnormalities. As usual, I was looking for congenital oddities, bony remodeling due to repetitive activities, healed injuries, and evidence of medical history.

The man from the trees had taken his lumps, including a broken right fibula, fractured cheekbones, and some type of injury to his left shoulder blade, all healed. The X-rays showed an abnormal opacity on the left collarbone, suggesting the possibility of another old fracture.

The guy wasn't big, but he was a scrapper. And a great mender.

Straightening, I rolled my shoulders, then my head. My back felt like the Panthers had run scrimmages on my spine.

The wall clock said four forty. Time to check the digits.

The tissue had softened nicely. Using a small syringe, I injected TES beneath the dermal pads. The fingertips plumped. I wiped each with alcohol, blotted, ink-rolled, then printed. The ridge detail came out reasonably clear.

I called the tech. He collected the prints and I went back to the bones.

Postmortem damage was limited to the lower legs. Gnawing and splintering, coupled with the presence of small circular puncture wounds, suggested the culprits were probably dogs.

I found no evidence of perimortem injury, nothing to suggest that death had resulted from anything but the obvious: asphyxiation due to compression of the neck structures. In laymen's terms, hanging.

Emma called at seven. I updated her. She said she planned to swing by the sheriff's office shortly to "goose" Gullet. Her words.

Reminded of my hunger by the reference to fowl, I hit the cafeteria. After an exquisite repast of undersauced lasagna and overdressed salad, I returned to the autopsy room.

Though some segments were still insufficiently rehydrated, I was able to free most of the spine from its sleeve of putrefied muscle. Leaving one obstinate chunk to soak, I placed the newly liberated cervical and thoracic vertebrae on a tray with the two neck vertebrae I'd detached from the skull base.

Moving to the scope, I started with C-l, then, slowly, worked my way south. I found no surprises until I got to C-6.

Then it was Saturday all over again.

There was the vertebral body. There was the arch. There were the transverse processes with their small holes for the passage of cranial vessels.

There, on the left, was the hinge fracture.

I adjusted focus and repositioned the light.

No question. A hairline crack kinked across the left transverse process, radiating from opposite sides of the foramen.

It was the exact pattern I'd seen on the Dewees skeleton. The hinging and lack of bony reaction told me that this fracture had also resulted from force applied to fresh bone. This injury had also been sustained around the time of death.

But how?

C-6. Lower neck. Too far down to have resulted from hanging. Though the head had fallen off, probably dislodged by yanking scavengers, the noose had remained, embedded between C-3 and C-4.

Sudden wrenching when the victim jumped from the branch? If he had jumped from the branch, how had he gotten up there? Shinnied six feet up the trunk? Maybe.

Closing my eyes, I conjured a picture of the body hanging from the tree. The knot had been at the back of the neck, not at the side. That seemed inconsistent with unilateral fracturing. I made a mental note to check Miller's scene photos.

Could hanging explain the Dewees victim's neck injury? Had he, too, committed suicide?

Maybe. But the guy sure hadn't dug his own grave.

Could Emma be on the right track? Might the Dewees man have killed himself, then been buried by a friend or family member? Why? Shame? Reluctance to pony up funeral expenses? Fear that insurance payments might be denied? That seemed unlikely. It took years to have a missing person declared dead.

Might the Dewees case turn out to be nothing more than improper disposal of a human corpse?

I ran through alternative explanations for the unilateral neck trauma I was seeing on the man in the trees. The same explanations I'd considered for the man from Dewees.

Fall? Strangulation? Whiplash? Blow to the head?

Nothing made sense, given the type of fracture and its location.

I was still pondering when Emma burst through the door.

"We've got him!"

I turned from the scope.

Emma waved a printout at the skeleton. "Gullet ran the prints through AFIS." The Automated Fingerprint Identification System. "Our boy popped right up."

The name she announced blew vertebral fractures right off my radar.

"NOBLE CRUIKSHANK."

"Sweet Jesus."

If my reaction surprised Emma, she let it go.

"Cruikshank's a retired Charlotte-Mecklenburg cop. But that's not why he was in the system. CMPD rookies are printed at their academy, of course, but the prints are kept in-house. Cruikshank was arrested in ninety-two for DWI. That's when he was entered."

"You're certain it's Cruikshank?" Stupid. I knew the answer to that.

"Twelve-point match."

I took the printout and read Cruikshank's descriptors. Male. White. Five foot six. DOB put his age at forty-seven.