Kathy Reichs - Spider Bones

I agreed. “Probably not.”

“Nothing excludes Alvarez from being your Lumberton guy.”

I agreed again. “No. Or he could be 1968-979.”

I thought a moment.

“Think it would be worthwhile trying to track down the witnesses? Maybe one saw something that never made the files.”

Danny returned to the statements. Read.

“The maintenance worker was a guy named Harlan Kramer from Abilene, Texas. Kramer was regular army. If he stayed in, it would be fairly easy to find him.”

Danny made a note.

“Ready to hit it?” he asked.

I nodded.

Danny and I moved to the lab.

Though some bones were damaged by erosion, trauma, or animal scavenging, most of 1968-979’s skeleton was in pretty good shape. While Danny opened an anthropology update file, I laid out my usual stick figure man.

Skull. Jaw. Arms. Legs. Sternum. Clavicles. Ribs. Vertebrae. Only the kneecaps and some hand and foot parts were missing.

Didn’t matter. I knew straight off that 1968-979 was neither Spider Lowery nor Luis Alvarez. So did Danny.

“This dude was a tree-topper.”

I nodded agreement. “Lowery and Alvarez were both five-nine. This man was much taller.”

“What the hell is he doing with Spider Lowery’s tag?”

I had no explanation.

“We’ve got dentition.” Danny checked the jaw. “Two molars and a second bicuspid on the right. Two molars on the left.” He rotated the skull to sit palate up. “Two molars on the right, two on the left, and a second bicuspid. Ten teeth. I’ll get X-rays.”

Feeling a vibration at my hip, I checked my BlackBerry.

“It’s Katy.”

“Take it. I’ll do inventory.”

“Hi, sweetie.”

“I am so outta here. First flight I can get.”

Great.

“Lily is a complete wack job.”

“Where are you?” Anticipating a less than pleasant exchange, I put distance between myself and Danny.

“Pearl Harbor.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Where should I start? First, there’s the trip into town. Ms. Head Case has to ride in front so she won’t get sick. Guess who ends up stuffed in back? Then we get to the park and at least a million people are waiting in line. Guess who has to sit on a bench so her feet won’t hurt? Big surprise, island girl! You’re wearing heels that would kill the average pole dancer. Then—”

“Katy.”

“—we have to eat at this totally gross ptomaine haven because Lily can’t handle—”

“Katy.”

“What?” Snapped.

“She’s going through a rough patch.”

“I’m not?”

“Is Lily really so bad?”

“She’s a freak show. This was supposed to be our time together.”

“I thought you’d enjoy Lily’s company.”

“Oh, yeah. The bitch is so cool I may vomit from sheer envy.”

“I’m sorry. I should have asked your opinion before inviting them to join us.”

“You think?”

Danny passed me holding the skull and jaw. I assumed he was going for X-rays.

“Where is Ryan?” I asked.

“Paying the bill.”

“I’ll call him.”

I was answered by the silence of unspoken anger.

* * *

After a quick lunch, Danny and I constructed a biological profile for 1968-979.

Gender: male.

Race: white.

Age: twenty-seven to thirty-five years.

Height: six-one, plus or minus two inches.

Unique skeletal identifiers: possible healed fractures of the right mandibular ramus, right clavicle, and right scapula.

Unique dental identifiers: fragment of a restoration in the first upper left molar.

By three we’d taken X-rays and confirmed the dental work and the old jaw and shoulder trauma.

Danny was on the phone with J-2 when my BlackBerry buzzed again.

Hadley Perry.

The ME skipped all preliminaries.

“Divers found another hunk of leg.”

“Where?”

“Halona Cove, lying on a coral ledge about twenty feet down.”

I checked the time. Five thirty. I was living the movie Groundhog Day. New day, same scene.

“Have Tuesday’s remains been cleaned?”

“Down to nice shiny bone.”

“Have you contacted a shark expert?”

“The National Marine Fisheries Service has an office on Oahu. I called a guy I know over there. He’s off-island, but a Dr. Dorcas Gearhart is coming by tomorrow at nine.”

“I’ll be there. But—”

“I know. You can’t stay long.”

THAT NIGHT WE OPTED FOR AN EVENING AT HOME. AT LEAST Ryan and I did. Lily and Katy added little but tension to the decision-making process.

Ryan purchased New York strips and tuna fillets, which he grilled to perfection. Amazingly, all dietary obstacles vanished. Both daughters downed bounty of land and sea, along with fingerling potatoes and spinach salad.

To describe the conversation as stiff would be like calling Ahmadinejad’s reelection in Iran a tad contentious. Lily’s favorite group was Cake. Katy found their music sophomoric. Katy loved classic blues, Etta James, Billie Holiday, T-Bone Walker. Lily said that crap put her to sleep. Lily wore Sung by Alfred Sung. Katy found the perfume overly sweet. Katy favored L’eau d’Issey by Issey Miyake. It made Lily sneeze. iPhone. BlackBerry. PC. Mac.

You get the picture.

Ryan and I insisted on courtesy. But one thing was apparent. Not only did our offspring have differing tastes and opinions, they were becoming masters at refining their expressions of contempt for each other.

After dinner I served fresh pineapple wedges. Ryan proposed another outing for the following afternoon. The Punchbowl or, perhaps inspired by my dessert, the Dole Plantation.

Katy said she preferred a day at Waikiki Beach. Lily wanted to go to Ala Moana. Katy said it was stupid to cross the whole frickin’ Pacific just to go shopping. Lily said it was dumb to lie around getting sand up your butt. At that point open battle erupted.

Fortunately, I’d paid the extra insurance and listed Katy as a driver on my rental Cobalt. After much discussion, a compromise was reached. Katy would drop Lily at the mall, spend the afternoon at Waikiki, then collect Lily at a mutually agreed time and location.

When the dishes were cleared, the combatants retreated to their rooms. Ryan and I went for a walk on the beach. I updated him on my two cases at the CIL, and on the one I was doing for the Honolulu ME.

“Hadley Perry?” he asked.

“You know her?”

“I do.”

That surprised me. I didn’t pursue it.

“Perry’s got a shark expert lined up for tomorrow morning,” I said.

“That should be different.”

“From what?”

“Bones. Bugs.”

“Quantum physics.”

“That, too.” Ryan paused. “Heard from Sheriff Beasley today.”

“And?”

“Sometimes you impress me.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Some times more than others.”

“What did Beasley say?”

“You slipped in under the wire.”

I waited for Ryan to elaborate. He didn’t.

“Do you get perverse pleasure from messing with my mind?” I asked.

“I definitely get pleasure from messing with your—”

“Beasley?”

“Southeastern Regional Medical Center. Normally patient slides are kept five years.”

“The hospital had something?” I couldn’t believe it.

“ Oui, madame. From Harriet Lowery’s last admission. The material is winging its way to AFDIL as we speak.” The Armed Forces DNA Identification Laboratory. “Or maybe it’s already there. And I think a sample may have also gone to our DNA boys in Montreal.”