Kathy Reichs - Bones Are Forever

“Like what?”

Snook hitched one shoulder. “Stubborn. The doctors said her thinking never made it past the fourth grade.”

The cat sat up, shot a leg, and began grooming its belly. Which had very little fur.

“Do you know why Annaliese came back to Yellowknife?”

“I think something scared her.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. She was so tired, mostly she slept. I didn’t press, figured we’d have plenty of time to talk.” Snook lifted her mug. Blew on it, though the tea was now cold. “Pressing didn’t work with my sister.”

“Do you know a woman named Susan Forex? Or did Annaliese ever mention her?”

“No.”

“Phoenix Miller?”

“No.”

“We believe Annaliese went from Edmonton to Montreal with a man named Smith. Signed a lease for an apartment with him.”

“Know about two dozen of those.”

Good point.

“What about Ralph Trees? Goes by Rocky.”

“No.”

“Ronnie Scarborough?”

“Why are you asking about these people?”

“They’re known associates of your sister.” I said the next as gently as possible. “Ronnie Scarborough was her pimp.”

Snook set her mug on the table. Held it tight.

“Scarborough is a prime suspect in Annaliese’s murder,” I added.

“You said you’re not a cop. But you talk like one.”

“I’m a forensic anthropologist.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I examine remains that are … damaged.”

A new pucker suggested she didn’t quite get it.

“I help coroners and medical examiners identify the deceased who are no longer recognizable. And I help figure out what happened to them.”

She appeared to give that some thought. “The coroner gonna do an autopsy on my sister?”

I leaned in and placed a hand on hers. “Whoever shot Annaliese took her body away.”

Her jaw went slack.

“We’ll find your sister, Nellie. And the bastards who killed her.”

Murray switched legs. His collar bell tinkled softly.

“What happened to Tank?” Snook asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You said you was there.”

“He ran into the woods.”

Snook’s chin dropped to her chest.

I stared at the top of her head, feeling like a voyeur, wondering if I could be so stoic in the face of such grief.

My gaze drifted to Murray, then to the mismatched fish swimming in the bowl at his side. One was off-white, the other gold. Sunlight sparked the sand and rocks lining the bottom of their world.

A long, silent moment passed.

Then Snook said something that kicked my view of Annaliese’s murder on its ass.

“RONNIE DIDN’T KILL ALICE. ANNALIESE.”

“How can you know that?”

“When I said my brother watched out for her, I didn’t mean Daryl.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I was talking about Ronnie.”

“Wait. What? Scar is your brother?”

“Don’t call him that. But yes. I was three when John Scarborough married my mother, five when he adopted me. Ronnie was ten.”

Jesus. Was everyone related to everyone in this town?

“Scar is a dealer and a pimp,” I said.

“I don’t ask about his business.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ronnie tried to keep my sister clear of all that. Gave her money and a place to live.”

“But witnesses say Annaliese worked the streets.” I gestured at the folder. “And she did become pregnant.”

“My sister was impressionable. And she wanted … things.”

“Meaning?”

“She saw Ronnie’s life and thought it was glamorous. Every time he let down his guard, off she went.”

“To turn tricks.”

“She was trusting and sweet and craved attention.”

“From what I understand, your brother practically rules the underbelly in Edmonton. Why not put it out that Annaliese is off-limits?”

“You think Ronnie can control every lowlife with a dollar and a dick? Excuse my French.”

“Where is Scar now?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“He was at the Gold Range yesterday. That’s why you went there.”

She nodded. “But I’m certain Ronnie would never hurt Annaliese.”

“Why is your brother in Yellowknife?”

“I called to tell him Annaliese was at my house. He was furious, said she wasn’t safe here.”

“Why not?”

“I think it had something to do with his business. But like I said—”

“I know. You don’t ask.”

* * *

Back in the Camry, I sat staring at nothing, my emotions a jumble of guilt, confusion, annoyance, and frustration.

Snook’s father had abandoned her, then perished in a plane crash. Her brother had died in a fire, her sister in a shooting. All in a short five years. Had showing her pictures of her dead nieces and nephews been too cruel?

Was Snook being honest about Scar? Daryl Beck? Her version was at odds with that of Horace Tyne. Tyne said Beck was a junkie. Was he mistaken? Or was Snook bending the truth, trying to paint both brothers in the best light possible?

I believed Snook knew nothing of Ruben’s pregnancies. Her shock at seeing the pictures had been real. As had her pain at hearing of Ruben’s murder. I doubted she’d protect her sister’s killer.

Even if the gunman was her brother?

Whatever. For me, the hunt was over. I’d come to Yellowknife at the request of the RCMP. At Ollie’s insistence. Ruben had been our quarry; now she was dead. At best, I would return to testify one day at the trial of her killer.

Would that ever happen? Would Ruben’s murder be given the attention it deserved? Did the cops even believe she was dead? Did they think she’d eventually reappear? If not, that she was just another hooker who’d decided to move on?

I met my own eyes in the rearview mirror. They looked tormented. I’d been obsessed with finding a woman who slaughtered babies. Now I knew that woman was a victim herself. A child victim. Had my obsession refocused on finding her killer?

If Snook was right about Scarborough, then who shot Ruben? Unka? One of his henchmen? Would Ruben’s body turn up mutilated in some horrible way? What motive would Unka have? To get at Scar? Did Unka know Ruben was related to Scar?

Was Scar bent on a massacre that would accomplish two things—avenge Ruben’s death and wrest control of the local drug trade from Unka?

Every loop circled to the same mortifying point. My past had followed me to Yellowknife. The cops thought I’d been drunk and imagined a bogeyman scene in the woods. I was closed out of the investigation.

Had Ollie sabotaged my reputation? Surely not Ryan.

I remembered Ollie’s cocky smirk as he pressed me to his chest in the Edmonton Burger Express. His frown as I slammed my hotel room door in his face.

I also recalled Ollie’s voice as he talked of his work with Project KARE. His compassion for the women being slaughtered in Alberta.

Ruben had been on the Project KARE list.

No matter how much he resented me, Ollie would care about a child-woman gunned down in cold blood.

I threw the car into gear. The tires spit gravel as I roared up Ragged Ass.

And practically T-boned an RCMP unit.

I braked so fast my newly scabbed chin hit the wheel.

Ollie flew out of the driver’s side of the cruiser. A figure I assumed to be Ryan stayed in the passenger seat.

Static spit from the unit’s radio as Ollie pounded my way.

I got out of my car.

“I told you to stay the fuck in your room.” A vein pumped in Ollie’s forehead. His cheeks flamed red.

“That shade of angry goes well with your hair.”