Ted Kosmatka - Prophet of Bones

“You’ve gained weight” were her first words to him. She reached out to shake his hand. Her hand was delicate and cool to the touch. Then, tilting her head to the side, she smiled. “It suits you. You were always too thin before. Follow me.”

She led him outside.

They found a quiet place at the edge of the building, under an alcove, and watched the rain begin.

“I only have a few minutes,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “I’m in the middle of a hell day.”

“Thanks for talking with me.”

“It’s been years, Paul. I always wondered if I’d see you again.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

She brushed his comment aside with the wave of a slender hand. “For a long time, I hoped to hear from you.”

“Then what happened?”

“I stopped hoping. Life goes on.”

“It certainly does.”

“So you’re here, Chicago,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, I drove in from Baltimore today.”

“Drove? Jesus, what, you don’t believe in airplanes?”

“I believe in them. But I wanted this trip to be a little more under the radar.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m just being cautious.”

“Ah, married.”

“Uh, no, that’s not what I—the situation at work requires some delicacy.”

“This isn’t a social call then, is it?” she asked.

“No, not exactly.” He glanced up at the big stone columns. “How did you end up here?”

She took a puff of her cigarette. “They were hiring.”

“But still,” he said. “This doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you were interested in.”

“It’s work. I’m interested in working.”

“What happened to digs and primatology?”

“Life happened. Positions aren’t easy to come by. But this has me working in the field, at least. Before this, I was stuck teaching.” She faux-shuddered. “Me in front of an endless stream of students, semester in, semester out, giving lectures, assigning course work. Can you imagine?”

“I can imagine it.”

“It was hell.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“It was an exercise in futility. I taught them, and then every semester they came back dumb again.”

“Different students.”

“Not to me. To me, they were the same, every year.”

“Jesus, you really weren’t cut out to teach.”

“Told you. Now I’m working with primate bones. It’s interesting. It’s something.” She took another drag of her cigarette.

“How much do you know about Westing?”

“I’ve heard of it. So you work there?”

“I do. At the moment.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“It’s complicated,” he said.

“You always were.”

“Does your museum archive bones from Westing?”

“We get a lot of bones from a lot of different places.”

“Including us?”

“I really wouldn’t know.”

“The bones that come in, do you ever see them?”

“It’s not my specialty.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not involved with those projects. I deal with the primates. I handle the cleaning, the cataloging, the identification. I’m one of the most junior researchers here, and anything even vaguely worth publishing gets handled by others. I’m a glorified lab tech. Actually, come to think of it, I’m not even glorified. Just a lab tech. I do a lot of the basic cleaning and testing.”

Paul nodded. “But you could get access to the other bones if you wanted?”

She looked at him closely. “Why do you want to know?”

“It’s probably best that I don’t tell you quite yet.”

She crushed her cigarette out on the concrete paving and dropped it into the receptacle. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

“You drive here unannounced after not speaking to me since college. ‘Trust me’ really isn’t good enough.”

Paul sighed. He leaned back against the cold stone. “I worked at a dig site a few months ago. We found some bones. There were some irregularities, and I’m checking up on something.”

“You worked at a dig site for Westing.”

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re checking up on something, only they don’t know you’re checking up.”

“Something like that.”

“So you drive all this way, and this is your pitch?”

“I realize that it must seem a little odd.”

“Then you won’t mind if I tell you to fuck off?”

Paul lowered his head. This wasn’t going as he’d hoped.

“Do you have access to the bones?” he asked one last time.

“No, the bone room is under lock and key.”

“You always had a way with keys.”

For the first time, the briefest flash of a smile—despite herself. It faded quickly.

“Yeah,” she said. “I did, didn’t I?”

“But I guess a lot has changed since then.”

“Not so much,” she said. “The doors have gotten harder, though.”

He made an impulsive decision. Until that moment, he hadn’t been sure if he’d do it. “There’s one more thing I can show you.” He held up the manila envelope.

“Okay.”

He slid the pictures out of the envelope. He handed them to her one by one, until she held all seven.

“What are they?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. They’re dig pictures, but I’d like to know what you think of the bones.”

“It’s hard to tell from just photos.”

“Have you ever seen anything like this come through here?”

“No, nothing like this. Not that I’ve seen. Even in books.”

“What can you tell me about the bones, using your expertise?”

“Nothing, really. I don’t see a scale. I don’t have stratigraphic data. I don’t have anything. These could be fake for all I know.”

“Assuming they’re not fake.”

“Well, they’re bizarre then. They don’t look human,” she said.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m not sure. If I had the actual bones, I’d know more.”

“You said you do testing here. DNA?”

“No, of course not. Just simple stuff. Isotope analysis of bone matrix collagen.”

“To determine migration patterns?”

“And other things. Diet and trophic level. If there’s a reason to test it.”

Paul nodded. “How much do you know about what goes on with the bones after they’re delivered here?”

She stared at him, searching his face. “Where were those bones dug up?”

“You don’t want to know more,” he said.

“You know what? You’re right. Maybe I don’t want to know any of this.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Break’s over,” she said. “I have to get back.”

After a moment of awkward silence, he stuck out his hand. She shook it. “Thank you,” he said.

She turned and walked toward the building’s entrance, but she stopped after a few steps. “There is something odd, though,” she said, turning back toward him.

“What?”

“Bones come in, and they stay. For the most part. But now and then, we’ll get a shipment, and they’re cleaned and then repacked and shipped out to somewhere else.”

“Shipped out to where?”

“I don’t know.”

“It would be a huge help.”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Is there a way to find out?”

“Not my area. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Lilli—”

“I wish I could help.” Her tone said the conversation was over.

“Of course.” Paul tore off one corner flag of the manila envelope and wrote his cell phone number on it. He gave it to her. “If you see anything that might change that, give me a call. Any information would be greatly appreciated.”

He shook her hand again. “Thank you for your time.”