Kathy Reichs - Bare Bones

Avoiding eye contact, Tyree shifted his weight, shifted back, then back again, as though he wasn’t sure what to do with his feet.

Slidell and Rinaldi crossed their arms and regarded Tyree. Neither detective spoke. Neither moved.

Tyree kept his eyes on the ground.

Slidell dug out and tapped his Camels, extracted one with his lips, and offered the pack to Tyree.

“Smoke?” Slidell’s face looked scalded, his eyes furious.

Tyree gave a tight head shake, wiggling the tiny pigtails at his neckline.

Slidell lit up, inhaled, placed hands on hips, and exhaled.

“Rock and E-bombs. Planning a two-for-one sale?”

“I don’ deal.” Mumbled.

“I’m sorry, Darryl. I didn’t hear that.” Slidell turned to his partner. “You get that, Eddie?”

Rinaldi wagged his head.

“What’d you say, Darryl?”

Tyree slid his eyes to Slidell, but what little sunlight entered the alley was at the detective’s back. Squinting, Tyree turned his face to one side.

“Shit’s not mine.”

“I got just one problem with that, Darryl. The product was traveling in your pants.”

“I been set up.”

“Now who would do a thing like that?”

“I been around. Man makes enemies, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yeah, I know. You’re a tough guy, Darryl.”

“You got nothin’ on me. I’m jus’ goin’ ’bout my bidness.”

“What business would that be?” Slidell.

Tyree shrugged and kicked a heel at the gravel.

Slidell took a drag, dropped the butt, and gave it a twist with the ball of one foot.

“Who you serving for, Darryl?”

Another shrug.

“Know what I think, Darryl? I think you’re into some double-breasted dealing.”

Tyree wagged his head on his long, goose neck.

Slidell let loose a sigh, disappointed.

“These questions too tough for you, Darryl?”

Slidell turned to his partner. “What do you think, Eddie. Think maybe we’re going over Darryl’s head?”

“Could try a different approach,” Rinaldi said. “Learned that in my interrogation workshop. Vary the approach.”

Slidell nodded.

“How’s this?” Slidell turned back to Tyree. “Why’d you do Tamela Banks and her little baby?”

Tyree’s eyes showed the first hint of fear.

“I didn’t do nothin’ to Tamela. We was together.”

“Together?”

“Axe anyone. Tamela and me, we was together. Why I gonna do her?”

“That’s nice, isn’t it, Eddie. I mean, being together’s a great thing, don’t you think?”

“All you need is love,” Rinaldi agreed.

Slidell turned back to Tyree.

“But you know, Darryl, sometimes a woman gets wandering eyes, know what I mean?” Slidell gave an exaggerated boys’ club wink. “My way of thinking, being together means being together. Sometimes a man’s gotta bring his gal back into line. Hell, we’ve all been down that road.”

Tyree flopped his head to one side. “Beatin’ on a woman is messed up.”

“Maybe one little slap? A punch to the kidneys?”

“No, man. I ain’t into that shit.”

“How about beating on a baby?”

Tyree kicked out with one heel, his head flopped to the other side, and his eyes dropped to the ground.

“Shi-i-t.”

Slidell’s brows shot up in mock surprise.

“We say something to offend you, Darryl?”

Slidell turned to his partner.

“Eddie, you think we offended Darryl? Or do you think Mr. Tough Guy’s got a secret he don’t want to share?”

“We all have skeletons,” Rinaldi played along.

“Yeah. But Darryl’s was a tiny one in a great big nasty woodstove.” Directed at Tyree.

“I didn’t do nothin’ to Tamela.”

“What happened to the baby?”

“Baby jus’ dead.”

“And the woodstove seemed like a touching memorial?”

Another heel kick.

“Man. Why you tryin’ to do me like this?”

“We’re real sorry, Darryl. We realize this little setback might delay your making Eagle Scout.”

Tyree shifted his feet.

“Maybe I do a little bidness. That don’t mean I know nothin’ ’bout Tamela.”

“A little business? We just nailed you with enough blow and E to send my three nephews through Harvard.”

Slidell took two steps forward and put his face inches from Tyree’s.

“You’re going down hard, Tyree.”

Tyree tried to back up but the Chevy kept him trapped within breath range of Slidell.

“Know how long baby killers last in the joint?”

Tyree twisted his face as far to the side as his neck would allow.

“I’d say about three months.” Over his shoulder to Rinaldi. “That sound about right to you, Eddie?”

“Yeah. Maybe four if you’re tough.”

“Like Darryl.”

“Like Darryl.”

I could take it no longer.

“Please,” I said. “Do you know where Tamela is?”

Tyree tipped his head and glanced over Slidell’s shoulder. For a moment his eyes fixed on mine. It was only a moment, but it was enough. I felt like I was looking into the dark, empty void of hell.

Wordlessly, Tyree turned away.

“Please,” I said to the side of his face. “It’s not too late to help yourself.”

Snorting air through his nose, Tyree shifted his feet and gave a who-gives-a-shit shrug.

A terrible thought kept recycling through my brain. Tamela and her family are dead. This man knows.

This man knows a lot.

As I watched Tyree being led off, a cold, sick feeling overcame me.

At the MCME, Tim Larabee’s office door was open. I suspected he’d been lying in wait for me. He called out as I passed.

“Hear you’re bucking for a spot on NYPD Blue.”

I stepped into his office.

“Word is you wanted to do an orifice search on Tyree. Slidell had to restrain you.”

“Slidell was in no shape to restrain anybody. I thought I’d have to do CPR on him.”

“Tyree tell you anything useful?”

“He’s innocent as the Little Flower.”

“That the kid saw the Virgin at Lourdes?”

I nodded.

“Cute analogy.”

“I was taught by nuns.”

“Hard to break the habit.”

Eye roll.

“Now what?” Larabee asked.

“Once they’ve completed intake, Rinaldi and Slidell are going to grill Tyree, play him off against Sonny Pounder. One or the other will roll over.”

“My money’s on Pounder.”

“Good bet. The question is, how much does Sonny know?”

Larabee’s face got the look of a kid bursting with a secret.

“Guess who’s in storage?”

Larabee’s way of referring to a decedent’s sojourn to the morgue. Temporary storage.

“Ricky Don Dorton.”

“Old news.”

“Osama bin Laden.”

“Better than that.”

I gave him a come-on gesture with my fingers.

The name was the last I expected to hear.

30

“BRIAN AIKER.”

I felt a plunging sensation like you get just before screaming downward toward terra firma on a roller coaster. One of my toothpick towers was collapsing.

“Are you sure?”

“Body was found in Aiker’s car. Lots of ID on the body. A perfect match on the dentals.”

“But the skull, the Lancaster bones…,” I sputtered.

“Not your boy. You already knew the skull wasn’t his. Turns out the bones aren’t either.”

“How? Where?” I was too taken aback to ask meaningful questions.

“Hauled his car out of a small lake at Crowder’s Mountain State Park.”

“What was Aiker doing at Crowder’s Mountain?”