Kathy Reichs - Spider Bones

“Yet it was Theresa-Sophia who corresponded with the army concerning Xander’s disappearance.”

“The old man probably viewed letter writing as beneath him.”

“Why do you suppose Xander went to Nam?”

“There were rumors about Lapasa’s involvement in drug trafficking. Maybe he sent his kid to Southeast Asia to scout postwar possibilities. You know, drug sources, transport options.”

“Who did you talk to?” I asked.

“Tricky Nickie. It was like getting through to Obama.”

“How did he react?”

“At first he was skeptical. I told him that the dental ID, though unofficial, was solid, and asked if Xander had ever broken any bones. He said Xander busted his jaw and collarbone in a car wreck the summer after his junior year in high school. I described the healed fractures we’d spotted on the bones and X-rays.”

“Did that convince him?”

“Not totally. I said that, to reassure the family, a DNA comparison could be done if he or one of his siblings would provide a sample. The guy went ballistic, said no way was any government toady sticking a probe into any member of his family. I explained that the process was painless, just a cheek swab. He grew even more agitated, I’ll spare you the verbiage, finally hung up on me.”

“If some of Alex Lapasa’s business dealings were as shady as rumor has it, maybe Nickie’s worried about privacy issues. Felons tend to be protective of their DNA.”

“Maybe. But Nickie’s never been linked to anything illegal. Anyway, an hour later he rang back, irate, ranting about incompetence, stupidity, professional misconduct. He threatened to phone his congressman, his senator, the ACLU, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the president, CNN, Jesse Jackson, Rush Limbaugh, maybe even Nelson Mandela.”

“He didn’t say that.”

“Maybe not Mandela.”

“Why so angry?”

“We kept his brother on our shelves for over four decades.”

Good point, I thought.

“Again, I offered to do comparative testing, said DNA had been successfully sequenced from the remains in two thousand one. He demanded that that information be destroyed, said he didn’t want his family in”—Danny’s voice went gruff—“no bullshit government database.”

“Anything else?”

“He said heads would roll.”

“First Plato Lowery, now Nickie Lapasa. Weird.”

“I’ve dealt with weirder.”

Changing gears, I shared my theory concerning the gold duck-mushroom thing buried in Lumberton with 2010-37, and described my conversation with Sheriff Beasley.

“He’d never heard of dental sparkles?”

“No.”

“You’d think Beasley would have encountered at least one if they occurred with any frequency in his jurisdiction,” Danny said.

“The sparkle craze may have bypassed Robeson County.” I thought a moment. “It may go nowhere, but we could try locating Reggie Cumbo.”

“The cousin,” Danny said.

“Yes.”

“The guy you exhumed in Lumberton has to be Luis Alvarez,” Danny said. “Alvarez is still missing. His bioprofile is identical to Lowery’s and fits the remains. Alvarez is Mexican-American. Sparkles are big with Mexican-Americans.”

“Now,” I said. “But was that the case back in the sixties?”

“I’m not sure, but I think so.” Danny was silent a beat. “We should recheck the photos in Alvarez’s file.”

“We should,” I agreed.

“First thing tomorrow.”

“First thing.”

We had another date.

SUNDAY EVENING WE ENJOYED, OR ENDURED, A “BATTLE OF THE ringtones.” Our musical choices were the stuff of psych dissertations.

Lily’s current pick was “Super Freak” by Rick James. Katy was using Cab Calloway’s “Minnie the Moocher.” Ever the optimist, I’d switched to the Happy Days theme. Ryan was still featuring Big Bird and his pals.

Dinner was once again cooked on the grill. While we were clearing the dishes, Cab announced an incoming call. Katy excused herself, returned minutes later, pensive, but face basically arranged in a grin.

One query from me brought full disclosure.

Katy’s caller had been Coop’s older brother, Jed. Jed had been exceedingly apologetic about the manner in which Katy had been treated. Because Coop’s death had received so much publicity, the Cooperton home had been inundated with contact from journalists, well-wishing strangers, and citizen wackos opposed to the war. As self-appointed protector of the family’s privacy, Jed’s uncle Abner had assumed phone responsibility. His strategy: rebuff any caller unknown to himself personally.

Jed told Katy that he had something he believed Coop would want her to have. Though perplexed, Katy clearly was pleased. And more relaxed than I’d seen her since Coop’s murder.

Ryan was next. Despite the sunny ringtone, his news came from the other end of the spectrum. His voice was grim as he updated me later, alone in the kitchen.

Lutetia was leaving Montreal for her home in Nova Scotia. Until further notice Lily would be Ryan’s responsibility. Bye-bye. Adios.

My reaction was mixed. While I knew Lutetia’s departure would hurt Lily and cause Ryan untold complications, I can’t say I was sorry to bid Ryan’s ex adieu. Metaphorically, of course. We’d never once spoken.

My first caller was Hadley Perry. She told me three things.

One, she’d gotten no hits with the MP families. Two, Honolulu PD Detectives Lô and Hung would begin canvassing hospitals first thing in the morning. Three, she was taking heat from the mayor and city council for closing Halona Cove.

Again in hushed tones, I shared Perry’s report with Ryan, this time on the lanai.

Ryan’s mouth corners twitched as his mind performed the same transposal mine had.

“Lô is Vietnamese, puts a little cap over the o. Hung is Chinese. The two have partnered for nine years, and are no longer receptive to comments concerning their names.”

Anticipating the usual reaction, Perry had diverted any witticism I might have offered. I did the same with Ryan.

“I thought you were here for some dude who died in the sixties,” Katy said.

Ryan and I swiveled in surprise. Neither of us had heard Katy come through the sliding door.

“I am. Several dudes, actually,” I said. “And the local ME asked my advice on a recent local case. I assumed you wouldn’t want to hear about it.” Given Coop’s death. I didn’t say that.

Katy looked from me to Ryan then back again. “Sure I do.”

Ryan rose. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I haven’t checked my e-mail in days.” Lame, but Ryan sensed Katy was feeling excluded.

Katy settled into the lounge chair Ryan had vacated. I told her about Hadley Perry, the body parts, the tooth marks, the surgical pin, and the partial tattoo.

“Live every week like Shark Week.”

Huh?

“Tracy Jordan? 30 Rock ?”

Still, I was lost.

“The NBC sitcom? Tracy Morgan’s character was referring to a series on the Discovery Channel? Lampooning motivational quotes? Never mind. My remark was stupid. It’s wrong to joke about victims.”

I patted her hand.

“No offense taken.”

For a moment we both listened to the tick of palm fronds and the shush of gently breaking waves. Katy spoke first.

“I’ve been spending a lot of time on my blog.”

“Commenting on what?”

“The stupidity of war.”

“Sounds worthwhile.”

“I’m going to write about the insensitivity of what I just said.” She thought a moment. “About how we sometimes lose sight of the fact that every death is tragic.”