Kathy Reichs - Break No Bones

When I'd disconnected, Ryan asked, "Did you tell me Cruikshank was staking out some treatment center?"

"A clinic operated by GMC. Helene Flynn was working there when she vanished."

"Cruikshank had Unique Montague's name on a file."

"He did."

"Cruikshank was surveilling a free clinic."

"Not a verb. But, yes, he was."

I saw where Ryan was going.

"The clinic provides medical care to the poor and homeless. Unique Montague was poor and homeless." Excited, I twisted toward Ryan. "Maybe that's the connection that interested Cruikshank."

"Maybe."

I couldn't escape the feeling that there was more to it than that.

"This may sound crazy, but something in my gut tells me my two unknowns are linked to each other and to Cruikshank. Maybe even to Helene Flynn."

"I see the Cruikshank-Flynn-clinic link, with maybe a Montague tie-in, but how would the Dewees man fit in?"

"I'm not sure."

"This linkage theory is based on what?"

"Intuition?"

Ryan shot me a "give me a break" look.

I threw up my hands. "Doesn't that define gut feeling?"

Chest-crossing my arms, I slumped back. Ryan was right. Nothing really hooked all four cases together. Cruikshank and Dewees both had the peculiar neck fractures. That linked them. Maybe. Maybe it was coincidence.

The Dewees skeleton had nicks, Cruikshank didn't. I'd sure as hell check the barrel woman's ribs and vertebrae on Monday.

The woman in the barrel was probably Unique Montague. Cruikshank had Montague's name in his files. He had Helene Flynn's name in his files. That connected Flynn and Montague to Cruikshank.

Cruikshank had Willie Helms's name in his files. Could the man on Dewees be Willie Helms? If so, he was linked to Flynn and Montague via Cruikshank.

Was the man on Dewees linked to Cruikshank by the odd neck fractures? If so, was he linked to the others by association with Cruikshank? Was the similarity in fracture patterning simple coincidence? Lots of "if "s swirling around without any "then"s.

I didn't believe in coincidence. What did I believe in?

Hard evidence. Demonstrated facts.

Problem. We had none. Or none that established links. Bone nicks. Neck fractures. An eyelash in a snail shell. Hand-scribbled notes.

A computer disc.

"There are photos of people entering and leaving that clinic," I said. "Cruikshank saved them to CD."

"Was Helene Flynn in any of the images?"

"No," I said. "But Unique could be."

"Where's the disc?"

"Gullet's office."

Suddenly, I was in a froth to revisit that disc.

JPEG THIRTY-THREE SHOWED A WOMAN EXITING THE BRICK BUILDING. She had oddly puckered lips and hair tangled wildly around her face.

She also had an infant carrier strapped to her chest.

I couldn't believe I'd forgotten the image.

We were in the sheriff's office. I'd introduced Ryan, explained that he was a cop, and vouched for his discretion. Gullet had been cordial but cool. Or maybe he wasn't listening. It was impossible to read the guy.

This time we were using my laptop to view the CD. Gullet was peering over my shoulder. Ryan was seated on the far side of the room.

"What's that?" Gullet pointed to a shadow curving from the lower end of the baby carrier.

I enlarged the image to full screen and zoomed in. Though the shadow became a hodgepodge of tiny rectangles and squares, it was clear that something solid was snaking from the carrier.

"Cleopatra's tail," I said.

"You sure?" Gullet monotoned behind me.

"Look at the alternating bands of light and dark. I know cats. Those are stripes ringing a cat's tail."

"I'll be jigswiggered."

I peeked over the monitor at Ryan. His brows lifted ever so slightly. I lowered mine. Don't say it.

"What's the story on this Montague woman?" Gullet asked, still studying the patterned curl that was Cleopatra's appendage.

"You know what we know." I began clicking through the rest of the pictures. "Any luck locating the brother?"

"We've found seventeen Montagues in the metro area, none on Sullivan's. We're working the list. Saying we find this guy, will Miz Rousseau manage to pull DNA from the barrel DOA?"

"Yes."

Gullet said nothing. Jigswiggered speechless?

"Who runs this clinic in the images you're viewing?" Ryan asked.

"God's Mercy Church," I said.

"I mean on a day-to-day basis. Who's there on the ground?"

Behind me, I felt Gullet reorient toward Ryan. "My apologies, but your affiliation again, sir?"

"Lieutenant-detective, Major Crimes, Quebec Provincial Police," Ryan said.

Gullet was silent a moment, as though thinking about that. Then, "Oh. Canada."

"We stand on guard for thee."

I jumped in.

"I work with Detective Ryan in Montreal. He's visiting in Charleston this week. As long as he's here, I thought I'd get his view of things, just in case I was missing something obvious."

"Homicide?" Gullet asked Ryan.

"Yes. We just change the pronunciation."

"May I ask what brings you to Charleston?"

"Got some time. Thought I'd drop by, help you streamline the department."

Gullet's eyes narrowed maybe the breadth of a hair. Mine narrowed considerably more.

"You been working the murder squad long?"

"Yes, I have."

"You choose that?"

"Yes, I did."

"You know why?"

"Yes, I do."

"Lieutenant Ryan is regarded as one of the best homicide detectives in Quebec," I said. "His input could help. Bring a fresh perspective."

Gullet's body language told me he wasn't buying it. I laid it on thicker.

"I've seen Detective Ryan crack cases that had been stalled for months. He has an uncanny ability to read crime scenes and to penetrate the minds of perps."

"Miz Rousseau good with his involvement?"

"She is."

"Hell's bells, we're going to have more guests than regulars 'fore I know it."

Silence filled the room. I was about to break it when Gullet spoke again. To me.

"He screws up, it's on you. And the coroner."

"I trust him."

"I'm not signing your check, sir. Your input's strictly unofficial."

"And exceedingly discreet," Ryan said. "All homicides interest me, Sheriff, and if I can help without getting in your way, I'd like to."

"Long as we understand each other." Gullet showed not a trace of expression. "Might as well come on around, Detective. Have yourself a look."

Ryan got up and joined us. I set my computer to slide show mode. Gullet spoke as Ryan viewed the images.

"Clinic's on Nassau. GMC owns the building and equipment, provides an operating budget, hires and fires employees, but otherwise stays pretty much hands-off. Place is open Tuesday through Saturday, handles mostly colds and minor injuries. Anything more serious gets routed to a hospital ER. The staff is small, one full-time nurse, one drop-by doc, some cleaning and clerical personnel."

"Who are they?" I asked.

Gullet crossed to his desk, picked up and opened a manila folder.

"Doc's name is Marshall. Nurse is Daniels. Woman named Berry handles paperwork and supplies. Guy named Towery does cleaning."

I was about to ask a question when a woman appeared in the doorway.

"Sheriff, you said you wanted a heads-up on complaints from the Haeberles. Marlene's caterwauling on 911. Says John Arthur's whacking on her again."

"She OK?" Gullet asked.

"John Arthur's on another line. Says Marlene's blinded him in one eye with a wooden spoon."

"They drinking?"

"Does my hound Tyson scratch his fleas?"

"Merry hell." Gullet looked at his watch. "Tell Marlene and John Arthur I'm riding over there myself. And I best not find they've got tequila on board."

The woman withdrew.

"We serve and protect," Gullet deadpanned to Ryan and me. "Even our own blockheaded trailer-trash in-law kin."