Kathy Reichs - Bones Are Forever

“We’ve been looking for your ass all over town.”

“You found it.”

“You never think rules apply to you, do you, Tempe?”

“I don’t cheat at Scrabble.”

Ollie hip-planted both hands. “What is it with you people? You got to always be riding some kind of high? That what keeps you off the bottle? Taking risks?”

When irritated, I fire back clever retorts. When angry, truly white-hot furious, I go glacially calm. “You had no right to discuss my past.” Cold.

“Is it?”

“Is it what?”

“Past?”

“Ask Ryan what happened.”

“He told me about the Scotch.”

“So we’re clear on that.”

“We’re not clear on why you’re out here when I ordered you to stay in your room.”

“Ordered me?” Through gritted molars.

“Last I checked, you don’t carry a badge.”

I took a breath. Listened to it move in and out of my nose. “I just informed Nellie Snook that her sister is dead.”

“You had no authority to do that.”

He had me on that.

“I saw it, Ollie. Saw her brains fly out and her body go down.”

His glare held.

“You believe me, right?”

He studied my face for so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then, “I believe you.”

“You will investigate, right? Ruben was on the KARE list.”

“Erroneously.”

“Regardless, she’s now one of your stats.”

Ollie spread his feet and hooked his thumbs in his belt.

“The locals are totally focused on Castain,” I said. “I don’t want Ruben to fall through the cracks.”

“It’s all related.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Ollie gave me a what-else-could-it-be blink.

“Snook thought Ruben was running away from something in Edmonton,” I said.

“What?”

“She didn’t know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Snook confirmed that Ruben was mentally challenged,” I said.

“How come no one mentioned her being retarded?”

“People just thought she was slow.”

“And her being knocked up at least four times: no one noticed that?”

“Ruben was obese and wore baggy clothes. It happens all the time.”

“And she was clueless when kids just popped into her toilet?”

“Same answer.”

“Why’d she go to the ER?”

“I’m guessing the blood scared her.”

“She lied to the doctor.”

“ He probably scared her.” Flashbulb image. “In the woods, Ruben said the babies died because she put something bad inside them.”

“You found tissue shoved down one kid’s throat.”

“Maybe that was it.”

“Why would she do that?”

“If she did it.”

More static burst from the unit’s radio.

“Snook swears Scar didn’t kill Ruben.”

“The scumbag’s got no problem setting the kid up as one of his pavement princesses, but he draws the line at shooting her ass?”

“Scar is Snook’s adoptive brother.”

Ollie’s brows shot up in surprise. “Snook is Ruben’s half sister. What the fuck does that make Scar to Ruben?”

“I don’t know. But Snook swears Scar was trying to keep her out of the life.”

Ryan’s door opened.

“So Scar learns Ruben’s in Yellowknife and comes north to protect her,” Ollie said.

“That’s Snook’s story.”

Ryan climbed out and strode toward us.

“So it’s not a wasted trip, Scar kills Castain to facilitate his move into slinging dope up here. In revenge, Unka caps Ruben.”

It was a scenario I’d considered.

“What else did Snook say?” Ollie asked.

I told him about Daryl Beck.

“What the hell’s that got to do with anything?”

“Probably nothing. But I don’t like inconsistencies. Would there be a police report on Beck’s death?”

“House fire with a fatality? Maybe. More likely, the case rolled straight to the coroner.”

Ryan joined us, his face as tense as I’d ever seen it. “They’ve got Scarborough.”

“Where?” Ollie asked.

“Stanton Territorial Health Authority. DOA with two slugs in his brain.”

OLLIE WENT REALLY FAST, USING HIS SIREN. RYAN AND I DROVE at a more sedate speed in the Camry.

We agreed there was little point in going to Stanton. But it wasn’t far. And we had nothing else to do.

On the way, I told Ryan about Katy.

“That’s terrific,” he said.

“She could be deployed to a war zone,” I said.

“She’ll be fine,” he said.

I updated him on everything I’d learned from Snook. Then we rode in silence. I was getting used to it.

We were right about the uselessness of our going to the hospital.

Entering the ER, we passed Rainwater on his way out. He told us that Scar’s body was already en route to Edmonton and that Ollie had left for the scene. As he filled us in on details, I kept thinking he might as well be describing the Castain hit.

Scar was nailed while leaving the apartment of a woman named Dorothea Slider. She saw zip. The neighbors saw zip. The only difference was the level of boldness. Scar’s drive-by took place in broad daylight.

Pointedly ignoring me, Rainwater asked Ryan if he wanted to help run down a tip on Unka. Ryan gave me the courtesy of a raised-eyebrow query.

I held out my hand.

Ryan dropped the keys onto my palm. Behind him, across a tiled lobby, I noticed Maureen King from the Coroners Service talking on a cell phone. She was smaller than my perception of her standing over Castain, maybe five-two, 110 pounds.

She had her back to us. She wore black jeans, a white turtleneck, and the same windbreaker as the night before.

King switched ears and hiked a large black purse onto her other shoulder. As her body turned, she noticed me. Face registering surprise, she gestured me over. I crossed to her.

King kept talking but raised one finger in a “hold on” gesture. A few more words, then she disconnected and dropped the phone into her purse.

I held out a hand. “Temperance Brennan.”

“I know who you are.” Maybe smiling.

We shook.

King was also older than I’d thought, probably late forties. Her hair was muddy blond and started too far back on her head. She tried to hide her expansive brow with long bangs, a mistake given their limpness and paucity.

“You’re the anthropologist.”

“You’re the coroner.”

“Deputy chief.”

“Forensic.”

We exchanged a grin. Then King’s face went serious. “You fall off, you get back on.”

“Excuse me?” I had no idea her meaning.

“You feel the need, I could find us a meeting.”

Heat geysered up the front of my throat and spread across my cheeks. “I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard, Ms. King, but—”

“Maureen. And don’t bullshit me. I’m the empress of bullshit. Can spot it coming from three miles out.”

I said nothing.

“I’m eight years dry. But still I have those days when I want to drive to another town, find a dark little bar where no one knows me, and erase the whole freakazoid world for a while.”

Her words hit me like a Zamboni. Not because they weren’t true. They were. I knew exactly what she meant. But this time I wasn’t guilty. I hadn’t sought escape, had downed the Scotch only at Ryan’s insistence.

“Does the whole freakazoid world think I was drunk?”

“Some do.”

“I saw Annaliese Ruben murdered. She was standing six feet from me. Afterward I took a shot of Scotch to calm myself.”

“That’s another reason we do it.”

“Yes.”

We locked eyes. Hers were as green as mine.