Kathy Reichs - Bones Are Forever

“On several points. Fast says Tyne killed Skipper and Beck, then torched the house. Tyne lays the shootings and fire on Fast.”

“Honor among thieves.”

“Here’s a question.” Ollie placed his elbows on his knees and leaned his weight on them. “How did McLeod score those claims in the first place?”

I’d thought about that. “Ever hear of Charles Fipke?”

“The guy who discovered diamonds in Canada.”

“In the early days, Fipke was desperate for money, sometimes paid his employees in odd ways. In addition to trucking, McLeod piloted for Fipke. Maybe that was their deal. Or maybe McLeod recognized the value of the sites on his own. We may never know the answer.”

“Think McLeod really found a kimberlite pipe?”

“Snook has experts working on that.”

“She have good advisers now?”

“Rainwater and his uncle have hooked her up.”

I didn’t doubt the pipe’s existence. Rainwater’s uncle had gone gaga over Snook’s fishbowl liner. I was sure the contents of Ruben’s little sack would also ring his chimes. McLeod knew. And had told his daughters to safeguard the proof.

“OK, genius girl. Explain how you linked Fast to Tyne?”

“Remember Ralph ‘Rocky’ Trees?”

“The guy banging Ruben back in Saint-Hyacinthe.”

I told him about the advert flyer for Fast Moving. The photo in the Yellowknifer . “Annaliese Ruben linked to Trees. Trees is Fast’s brother-in-law. The photo tied Fast to McLeod and Tyne.”

“Nice work.”

I thought of another question. “Did you ask Fast if he’s the john Ruben met on the night she left Edmonton?”

“The elusive Mr. Smith.” Ollie snorted in disgust. “Fast admits driving Ruben to Montreal and setting her up in Saint-Hyacinthe. Says she wanted to go. God knows what the slimeball promised her.”

“Who paid her bills?”

“Fast encouraged Ruben to do, shall we say, in-home entertaining. Sent tricks her way. If the income fell short, he and Tyne picked up the slack. Saw it as a business expense. Once Ruben’s claim passed to Snook and Snook signed over the claims to Tyne’s foundation, Ruben was out on her ass. Or worse.”

“Those heartless bastards.”

“Any word on paternity?” Ollie asked.

“Yes.” I’d gotten the call during my discharge from the hospital that morning. “Rocky fathered the infant hidden under the bathroom sink. Because the others are mummified or skeletal, their DNA is degraded, so analysis will take longer. And may never be conclusive.”

“You know what Fast told her?”

I gave a tight shake of my head.

“Apparently, the first kid was stillborn. He’s fingering Tyne for that one, by the way. Not wanting to deal with the inconvenience of doctors or birth control, Fast told Ruben she had a genetic defect so all her babies would die. Said if she ever had another one, she should ignore it, then hide the body where it wouldn’t be found.”

A chaos of emotions short-circuited my tongue. Anger. Sorrow. Guilt. Others I couldn’t label.

I swallowed.

“Ryan and I are going to grab some lunch. You want to join us?”

“Are you and Detective Douchebag—?” He shrugged. “You know.”

“No,” I said.

For a moment Ollie’s eyes sought to reach inside my head. Then he palm-smacked his knees and stood. “I’ll pass.”

I walked him to the door. “Thanks for staying, Ollie. Really. It means a lot to me.”

“Couldn’t have Detective Douchebag blowing the takedown.”

“You and Detective Douchebag make a damn fine team.”

“Fill in the name. I hear that a lot.”

I rose up on my toes and kissed Ollie’s cheek. He tried for a bear hug, but I dodged.

“You know I’d give my left nut for an invite to Charlotte.”

“Sergeant Hasty, I assure you, your nut is safe.”

When Ollie had gone, I finished packing, rolled my suitcase downstairs and out to the Camry, then turned in my room key.

Ryan was at our usual table by the window.

I ordered a club sandwich. Ryan went with a cheeseburger.

We ate in silence. Good silence. Comfortable. Now and then I took one of Ryan’s fries. He snagged my pickle.

I didn’t ask about Lily. Ryan would set the agenda there, share when he wanted. I would listen.

During his visits to the hospital, Ryan and I had dissected every aspect of the past week’s events. Neither of us felt the need to rehash that.

I gazed out the window. So much had happened. Had it really been a week ago yesterday that we’d gathered in Saint-Hyacinthe?

I was dipping a pirated fry in ketchup when movement in the garden caught my attention.

A trash can toppled. Garbage winged out.

I watched idly, expecting an appearance by Rocky Raccoon.

Spindly legs backpedaled from the upended can, dragging a prize I couldn’t see.

I felt a buzz that sent blood rushing to my face.

“Meet you at the Camry!”

Before Ryan could respond, I snatched the bacon from my sandwich and bolted.

* * *

The sole survivor of an odd family stood alone under the sun on a gently sloping hill. Insects boiled around her. Four cavities gaped black and raw at her feet.

Maureen King had told me where to look for Nellie Snook. And of Snook’s plan to bury her kin.

Daryl Beck. Alice Ruben. Ronald Scarborough. I wondered what inscription would mark the common grave of the unnamed infants.

As Ryan and I crossed the cemetery, the smell of grass and turned earth triggered memories of my prior visit to Lakeview.

Snook turned at the sound of our approach. Watched in stoic silence as we drew near.

“How are you, Nellie?”

“OK.”

“Detective Ryan and I want to tell you how truly sorry we are for your loss.”

Snook regarded me, expression resigned. Once again life had not met her expectations. Or had.

“This is a very generous gesture.” I tipped a hand at the graves.

“Blood takes care of blood.”

“When will you be able to hold the funerals?”

“Ms. King will tell me.”

“Please let me know if I can help in any way. You have my number.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean that.”

She nodded. We both knew she would never punch those digits.

“Nellie,” I said softly. “I have something for you.”

I unzipped my windbreaker.

A head poked free, fur tufted and matted with grime.

Snook’s eyes went wide. “Tank?”

The dog’s snout whipped toward Snook. With a yip, he pushed from my chest, landed, and wagged the entire back half of his body.

“Here, boy.” Snook spread her arms.

Tank scampered to her and sprang.

Snook caught the dog and buried her nose in his coat.

A soft pink tongue lapped Snook’s face.

A long moment passed.

Snook looked at me, cheeks moist with saliva and tears. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.”

Snook smiled. It was the first time I’d seen her do it.

A heaviness wrapped my heart as we set out for the car.

I felt Ryan’s arm drape my shoulders. My eyes met his.

“Ms. Snook is going to be a very wealthy woman,” he said gently.

“Can any amount of money mend her perception of the world?”

“It can mend its reality.”

I looked a question at him.

“She can spend it to save her beloved caribou.”

I slipped a hand around Ryan’s waist.

“To the caribou,” I said.

Together we walked arm in arm, under that flawless blue sky, on that sunny spring day.

FROM THE FORENSIC FILES OF DR. KATHY REICHS

HYPOTHESES, PLOTS, AND VEGETABLE SOUP

I am a scientist. I am a writer. I tease secrets from the dead. I tease stories from my mind. At first glance the two endeavors seem worlds apart. In many ways they are. Yet I approach a forensic case and a work of fiction in a similar fashion.