Kathy Reichs - Virals

Switching to a trowel, I dropped to my knees and began slicing thin layers of dirt. The oval darkened. Grew.

More slicing.

Sensing my excitement, Ben and Shelton stopped to watch.

Slice.

Slice.

Tick .

My trowel nicked something solid.

I grabbed a brush and, moving ever so gingerly, swept overlying dirt from the surface of the object.

A musty scent rose from the earth. Ancient. Organic.

A chill traveled my spine.

I brushed gently. Shapes emerged. Tiny cylinders arranged in a familiar pattern.

Heart hammering, I stared.

“Okay, that’s fifteen.” Hiram dropped the bucket he’d been sifting. “I’m bushed.”

Still I stared. So did Ben and Shelton.

“Tory?” Hi ventured. “You upset? No one’s blaming you or anything. If I’d read more about bodies, I might’ve thought the same thing.”

Still I was speechless.

“Hey, Victoria Brennan!” Hi shouted. “What’s what?”

A cloud crossed the sun, casting shadow over the small space in which I knelt. Crickets chirped from hidden places. Sweat glued my shirt to my back.

Nothing penetrated. My mind was locked onto the tiny brown objects before me.

I forced myself to acknowledge the truth.

I’d uncovered the delicate bones of a human hand.

CHAPTER 24

Isnapped out of my trance.

My head whipped up.

“I’ve got bones here.”

“Where?” Ben dropped his shovel and peered over my shoulder. “Holy crap! You were right.”

Shelton’s response was less manly. Spotting the gruesome discovery, he yelled, “Grave, grave!” and scrambled from the pit.

Hiram took one look and promptly upchucked.

Both dropped to the grass, flushed and panting.

Only Ben kept his head. “They’re human, right?”

“Absolutely,” I confirmed. “I’m positive.” And I was. I’d seen enough diagrams of the human skeleton to recognize human carpals, metacarpals, and phalanges.

“Then we call the cops.” Ben’s tone was decisive. “Now.”

Practicality tempered my roiling emotions. “Yes. But first we have to be sure.”

Ben nodded. “How?”

“I want to see more than hand bones.” I took a deep breath. “I want to know exactly what’s buried here.”

“We find a freakin’ dead body , and y’all want to keep on digging?” Shelton’s alarm was escalating by the second. “That’s crazy!”

“It’s a police matter now,” Hi whined. “They’ll be pissed if you mess with a crime scene. Especially if that’s the Heaton girl.”

“Don’t say that!” I snapped. “We’ve no proof it’s her.” Inexplicably, I wanted to punch Hi like a speed bag.

“Silly me.” Hi held up both hands. “Let’s dig a little more. Maybe it’s someone else.”

Shelton and Ben eyed me, clearly surprised. I’d jumped on Hi for stating the obvious.

Easy. What did you think you would find?

I took a deep breath. Admitted to myself. As illogical as it was, I didn’t want to accept that Hi was right. Not yet.

“I’m sorry, Hi. That wasn’t fair. I just need to be sure.”

“No sweat,” Hi replied. “I don’t think before I talk.” But he still looked wary, like a cat circling a sleeping dog.

Ben and Shelton said nothing. But I could read their faces. They, too, were convinced we’d found Katherine Heaton.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” I said. “Just let me examine the bones.”

Skeptical looks.

“The cops won’t believe us without proof,” I said. “Not those Folly Beach yokels. We need pictures of the grave, the skeleton, everything we find.”

“We can’t mess anything up,” Shelton said.

“We’ll be careful,” I promised. “We’ll document as we work. That way we preserve the evidence in case monkeys disturb the site after we leave.”

Reluctantly, the boys agreed.

I formulated a plan. Ben and I would dig inside the pit. The ’fraidy cats would stay topside, Shelton hauling dirt, Hi capturing images on his iPhone.

Two more hours of steady, painstaking excavation exposed a fully articulated skeleton. Darkened to the color of very strong tea, the bones looked like relics from another time.

One glance extinguished any lingering doubts.

The remains were human, and buried over four feet down.

I squatted for an up close look at the skull.

“Oh Jesus!”

I pointed at a small hole centered in the forehead. The defect was sharp-edged and circular.

“Holy shit. Is that a bullet hole?” asked Ben.

“I think so.” My voice trembled slightly.

The boys watched as I eyeballed the skeleton from top to bottom.

“There’s no trauma on any of the other bones. I’ll try to determine gender.”

“How?” Hi asked.

Lying sideways in the dirt, I observed the right pelvic blade. “The overall shape is broad.” I twisted my head so I could see the belly side of the bone. “The pubic portion is long, and the angle below, where the right half meets the left, is shaped like a U, not a V. Those are all female traits.”

Recalling a tip from Aunt Tempe’s book, I searched for the sciatic notch. Without displacing the bone, I stuck my thumb inside. It had plenty of room for wiggling.

An emphatic groan from the boys.

“Don’t be babies,” I said. “Sometimes you have to touch the bones.”

“Well?” Ben asked.

“Female.”

“How old was she?” Shelton was sounding maybe a hair calmer.

Crawling to the skull, I noted the sutures, the thin, squiggly lines between the individual bones. The ones I could see were wide open.

I peeked into the mouth.

“Healthy dentition. Wisdom teeth not fully erupted.”

I moved back down the torso. “Little caps at the ends of the long bones solidify as growth is completed. It’s called epiphyseal fusion. The cap of her femur hasn’t fused completely. Same with the clavicle.”

“The what?” Ben aked.

“The collarbone.” Shelton and Hi, in unison.

“From what I can see without moving anything,” I said, “she was young.”

“How young?” Hi.

“Less than twenty years old.” I felt numb.

“Like Katherine Heaton,” Shelton whispered.

Attaching a name to the bones made the tragedy real. This wasn’t an experiment, an adventure for a group of high school science junkies. I was kneeling in the lonely, unmarked grave of a young woman.

A teenager long ago murdered, buried, and forgotten.

“It’s time to call the cops.” Hi’s voice held not a trace of humor.

I nodded. “The sun is setting. Take as many pictures as you can before dark.”

Ben, Shelton, and I started gathering equipment. I was pulling a trowel from the earth when I heard a soft clink.

And knew right away.

Sifting dirt with my fingers, I discovered what my blade had struck.

“Holy Hell.”

The others turned to look.

“This should close the loop.” I held my find high. It glinted in the long ginger rays of the setting sun.

A second dog tag, twin to the one in my pocket.

Legible.

Francis P. Heaton.

The last light of day faded to gray.

I wanted to cry. To open the floodgates and unleash a torrent of sobs. But I wouldn’t. Not in this lifetime. Not ever.

Clamping my jaw, I backhanded a tear from my cheek. I added the newly unearthed tag to my Ziploc, and started shoving tools into the duffel. Stakes. String. A shovel. A trowel.

The boys were uncomfortable in the way males are when confronted by female emotion. Unsure how to react, what to say, they simply ignored me.

Sorrow coursed through my body. Katherine Heaton was dead. I’d uncovered her bones. There would be no magical happy ending.