Kathy Reichs - Spider Bones

“I’d very much like to read your thoughts.”

“You have to say that.” Shooting to her feet, she buzzed my cheek. “You’re my mother.”

Before I could protest, she hurried inside.

My second caller was Tim Larabee, the ME in Charlotte. A decomposed body had been found in a sandpit off a rural highway in Cabarrus County. He’d been on-scene since midnight, suspected the remains were those of a housewife missing since the previous fall. An anthropology consult would be needed. He wondered, no pressure, when I’d return.

Happy Days.

Lily’s phone rang at half past ten. Having finished Stephen King, I was on to a Grisham novel. Ryan was watching CNN. Katy was in her room blogging or tweeting or whatever it was she’d said.

After checking caller ID, Lily clicked on and hurried upstairs.

I looked over at Ryan, recognized the changed jawline, the tensed shoulders. Understood. Suspecting Lily’s caller was Lutetia, he was steeling himself for his daughter’s tears.

A half hour later Lily returned. She was calm, almost smiling. Curling on the sofa, she offered no explanation.

My eyes met Ryan’s. He raised questioning brows.

I nodded toward Lily.

Ryan didn’t grimace, but he came close.

I nodded again, harder.

“That your mom?” Ryan asked his daughter, casual as hell.

“No.”

I feigned total absorption in my book.

Seconds passed. A full minute.

“Anderson Cooper’s got really great hair.” Lily’s eyes stayed glued to the TV. “But I hear he’s short.”

Monday, Ryan agreed to drive Lily up to the North Shore. She wanted to visit the Turtle Bay resort where scenes from Forgetting Sarah Marshall were shot. He wanted time alone with his daughter.

Katy stayed home to work on her blog.

Traffic in the city was one giant snarl. By the time I reached Hickam it was almost eight.

No problem. Danny entered the JPAC lot two cars ahead of me. He waited as I parked and climbed from my Cobalt.

“Aloha.”

“Aloha.”

“Primo wheels,” he needled.

“Very funny.”

“You could call Avis, try to upgrade.”

“It’s not worth the effort. I’ve got a case back in North Carolina, so I’ll probably head out in a day or two.”

“You just arrived.”

“I’ve been here ten days.”

“What about the case you’re working with Perry?”

“Cases.”

While we walked, I told him about the second shark vic, the traction pinhole, and the partial ankle tattoo.

“Perry should get a hit on one or the other,” Danny said.

“I think so. And with no more remains, there’s nothing else I can do.”

“Your work here is done.”

“My work here is done. After we look at Luis Alvarez’s photos.”

I noticed Danny was sprouting one of those jawline crawlers so inexplicably popular with the male demographic.

“Growing a beard?” I asked.

“Giving it a shot.” His chin hitched up and twisted from side to side. “What do you think?”

“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

The chin dropped.

We were in the corridor leading to the CIL wing when Gus Dimitriadus appeared in the lobby on the far side of the glass, arms hugging a cardboard box to his chest. A potted palm projected from one side, a trophy of some sort from the other.

Dimitriadus was frowning. Shocker.

Danny opened and held the door wide.

Dimitriadus’s head came up. His frown morphed to a full-blown scowl.

“Need help?” Danny offered.

“You’ve done enough.”

“Look, this doesn’t have to be pers—”

“Really? Doesn’t it?”

What a prick, I thought, and immediately felt bad. After all, the guy had just gotten canned from what he’d undoubtedly thought was a career job.

“If you have more boxes, we’d be happy to—”

“I’ll bet you would.” Dimitriadus cut me off.

I looked into his eyes.

And saw pure hatred directed my way.

Wordlessly, Danny and I stepped aside.

As he moved through the door, Dimitriadus put out one elbow and jabbed my chest. Hard.

Taken off guard, I stumbled backward.

“Jackass,” Danny said to Dimitriadus’s retreating back. To me, “You OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“The jerk did that on purpose.”

“He’s venting,” I said. “I’m an easy target.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“The man just lost his job.”

“He’ll lose his nuts if he tries another move like that.”

Sir Danny, Avenger of Damsels Bashed in the Boobs.

While Danny went for coffee, I settled in his office with the Alvarez file.

The old black-and-whites were as I recalled.

I glanced only briefly at the head and shoulders portrait of Private Alvarez in uniform. No smile. No use.

I picked up the shot of nine sweaty soldiers dressed in sleeve-rolled fatigues and studied the man with the name Alvarez scrawled in ink across his chest.

Excitement fizzed through me.

Alvarez’s face was turned from the lens, as though he’d been distracted just as the shutter clicked. He wasn’t smiling, but, surprised, perhaps curious or frightened, had unconsciously drawn back his lips.

Revealing most of his upper front teeth.

I was searching for a magnifier when Danny appeared.

“Any luck?” He set two steaming mugs on his desk.

“Maybe. Where’s your hand lens?”

“Let’s use one of the Luxos.”

We hurried into the lab.

Danny lit the fluorescent bulb on a round, table-mounted magnifier. I positioned the photo, then manipulated the arm until Alvarez’s mouth came into focus under the lens. We both leaned in, Danny’s head so close I could feel his ear next to mine.

And there it was. A bunny-shaped shadow on Alvarez’s right central incisor. A minute point of light sparked from the bunny’s bow tie.

“Hee-haw!”

“Hee-haw!”

We bumped hips like jocks bump chests in an end zone.

“Our computer geeks will magnify the image so that the tooth is one-to-one with the fragment of sparkle you found. Then they can do a superimposition. Given the circumstances of the Huey crash, the fact that the biological profile fits Alvarez perfectly, and the dental evidence, the ID should be solid.”

“And you can try sequencing mitochondrial DNA, assuming a maternal relative can be found.”

“We can indeed.”

Beyond the glass wall that sealed off the lab I noticed Dimitriadus cross the lobby carrying another cardboard box. This one appeared heavy, probably books. When he’d disappeared from sight, Danny and I returned to his office.

The coffee was now tepid. We sipped it anyway.

“So Alvarez was found shortly after the crash and buried in North Carolina as Spider Lowery,” I said. “Lapasa was found eight months later, in the same general area, with Spider Lowery’s dog tag. Since Lowery was already ID’ed, Lapasa went to Tan Son Nhut as an unknown, then to CIL-THAI, finally here.”

“And, thanks to us, Luis and Xander are both going home.”

“As is Spider,” I said.

“Well-done.” Danny beamed.

We clinked mugs.

Sipped.

But was it? The loose ends bugged me.

“I can understand the mix-up with Alvarez and Lowery. But why was Lapasa wearing Spider’s dog tag?”

“Good question.”

“And was Lapasa on that chopper? If so, why?”

“Technically that’s two questions.”

“And how did Spider end up in Quebec?”

“We’ve got a foursome! But you forget the most intriguing question of all.”

I gave Danny a “go on” look.

“How did we let each other slip away?”

“Come on, Danny. This is serious.”

“Perhaps I am too.”