Kathy Reichs - Bones Are Forever

Ryan and I nodded.

Chalker led us out the front door, dug Maglites and slickers from the trunk of his patrol car, and handed them to us.

Single-file, we circled the building, crossed the garden, and squished toward the pines, our soles leaving shallow depressions in the mud and soggy needles.

At a point along the tree line, I indicated the position of Ruben’s body. “She’s about ten feet straight ahead.”

Chalker continued alone. In under a minute, we heard him call out. “Clear.”

Feet spread, flashlight pointed at the ground, Chalker watched us approach.

I joined my beam to his.

And caught my breath in surprise.

Ruben’s body was gone.

“This is the spot.” Pointlessly, I shone my light on the pine with the tumor.

Chalker said nothing.

“She was here.” Working my beam back and forth at the base of my marker trees.

“It’s pretty dark, miss. Maybe—”

“I’m not an idiot,” I snapped, still riding my adrenaline-fed high. Or the Johnnie Walker.

“You sure she was dead?” Ryan asked.

“She had an exit hole in her forehead the size of my fist!”

“Maybe animals dragged her off.”

“Maybe.” I didn’t think so.

I expanded my search, slowly moving farther and farther out. Ryan and Chalker did the same.

Ten minutes later, we reconvened at the original location. My hands were shaking, and blood was fizzing in my chest.

Both men regarded me. Dubious.

“I swear. She was lying right here.” Dropping to my knees, I worked a close-up grid with my beam.

The needles appeared uniformly damp. None looked recently broken, displaced, or overturned. I spotted no blood, hair, tissue, or bone fragment.

There wasn’t a shred of evidence to indicate a person had been killed.

In shock, I stood and aimed my light in the direction from which the shots had come. “We need to check that area for casings.”

“I think we’re done here.”

“Hardly.”

Chalker exhaled up toward his eyes, the personification of patience. “Now, miss—”

I lost it. “Don’t you dare go all Trooper Murray on me. Someone fucking killed a woman out here! I saw her fucking brains blasted into tomorrow!”

“You need to calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down? ” I lunged forward and thrust my face into Chalker’s. “You think I’m some premenopausal dingbat looking for drama?”

Chalker took a step back. I felt a hand on my shoulder. No matter. I was in full rant.

“Let me tell you something, Constable Chalker. I was working crime scenes when you were still hoping for your big-boy shorts. The combined fucking genius of the RCMP and the SQ couldn’t find Annaliese Ruben. But I did.” I jammed a trembling thumb to my chest. “Ruben reached out to me . And some motherfucker put a slug through her skull!”

“We’re done here.”

Chalker brushed past me and strode out of the woods, his boots softly rustling the tangle of wet needles.

I turned to Ryan. “That guy has it in for me.”

“Let’s go,” he said gently.

“I’m not crazy.”

“I believe you.”

* * *

Back at the hotel, I stripped off my wet clothes, showered, and pulled on sweats. It was going on two, but my brain was wired on adrenaline and booze.

I was booting my laptop when I heard a knock.

As before, I hit the peephole.

Ryan was still wearing the jeans and sweatshirt. He held a flat square box in front of his chest. I opened the door. “Pizza?” he asked.

“With anchovies?”

“You’re finicky now?” Ryan’s brows floated up.

“A girl can’t be too picky.”

“No anchovies.”

“I accept.”

As we ate, I briefed Ryan on every detail I could remember, from Ruben’s call to my showing up at his room.

“How could someone launder a scene that effectively?” I was incredulous.

“The rain helped.”

“They moved fast.”

“Very.”

“Do you think Scar’s the doer?”

“I’m looking forward to asking him that.”

We each helped ourself to a second slice.

“You’ll make them put full effort into investigating Ruben’s murder?”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

“Under one condition.”

I cocked a brow.

“You clear something up.”

I nodded.

“Who the hell is Trooper Murray?”

“What?” The question was not what I’d expected.

“You threw the name at Chalker.”

“I did?”

Ryan nodded.

“Trooper Stephen Murray of Lincoln, Maine. You’ve never seen the video of his traffic stop?”

Ryan shook his head.

“It’s been on Court TV, YouTube. The thing went viral. Murray’s been dubbed the most patient cop in America.”

Ryan reached for more pizza. Said nothing.

“Come on. Chalker’s long-suffering forbearance act didn’t make you want to puke?”

“The guy was doing his job.”

“The guy was acting like a supercilious ass,” I said.

“I doubt you’ll be topping his hit parade, either.”

We ate in silence awhile. It felt easy. Like old times.

Then I thought of something. “If Scar wanted to send a message saying he’s a badass, why take Ruben’s body? Why not leave her where she’ll be found?”

“Remember the gatecrasher from Jasper?”

“The guy with the collie?”

“Someone whacked him and his dog and hacked off their ears.”

I pictured Ruben’s face in the moonlight.

Something cold crawled my spine.

THE PHONE WOKE ME FROM A JUMBLE OF DISCONNECTED dream fragments. Ryan and I eating pasta. Ruben waving from a bus. Ollie shouting words I couldn’t understand. Tank snapping at a raven dive-bombing his head.

“Brennan.”

“Hi, Mom.”

I was thrilled to hear Katy’s voice. My happiness lasted about thirty seconds.

“How are you, sweetheart?”

“You sound sleepy. Oh my God. I forgot. It’s only seven out there.”

“I was just getting up. Have you talked to your dad? Is Birdie OK?”

“He’s great.”

Though sun filled the room, frost bordered the edges of the window glass. I closed my eyes and lay back.

“Are you sitting down?”

“Mmm.”

“I joined the army.”

“You won’t believe what I thought you just said.” Yawning.

“You heard right. I enlisted.”

My lids flew open. I sat straight up. “You what?”

“I report to Fort Jackson on July fifteenth.”

I was speechless. Katy was the little girl who liked pink and wore tutus to the dentist.

“Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Surprised?”

“Stunned. When did you sign up?”

“Last week.”

“Do the recruiters allow a grace period? Time to reconsider?”

“Like buyer’s remorse?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going through with this, Mom. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Are you doing this for Coop?”

Webster Aaron Cooperton was Katy’s boyfriend. The previous spring he’d been killed while serving as an aid worker in Afghanistan.

“Not for him. He’s dead.”

“Because of him?”

“In part. Coop lived to help people. I don’t do shit.”

“And the other part?”

“I hate my job. The army will allow me to make new friends. To travel.”

To places where people get blown up and shot. I swallowed.

“Coop wasn’t in the military,” I said.

“But I will be.” Resolute.

“Oh, Katy.”

“Please don’t fight me on this.”

“Of course I won’t.”