Kathy Reichs - Bare Bones

I nodded.

“Baby didn’t belong to Darryl and I don’t, like, belong to him, know what I’m sayin’?”

“Tell me what happened to your baby.”

“I was staying at Darryl’s place—well, it weren’t his place but he was living there, like, in one of the rooms. So, one day, like, I start having pains and I figure my time come. But the pain just keeps getting worse and worse, and nothing happens. I knew something was wrong.”

“No one got you medical care?”

She laughed, looked at me like I’d suggested she apply to Yale.

“After that night and the next day, finally the baby came out, but it was messed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was blue and it wouldn’t take no breath.”

Her eyes glistened. Looking away, she swiped the heel of a palm across each cheek.

A steel shaft entered my chest. I believed her story. I felt pain for this young woman and for her unbearable loss. Pain for all the Tamelas of this world and their babies.

I reached out and laid my hand on hers. She pulled back, dropped both hands to her lap.

“You put the baby’s body in the woodstove?” I asked gently.

She nodded.

“Darryl told you to do that?”

“No. Don’t know why I did it, I jus’ did it. Darryl still believin’ it’s his baby, getting off on the fatherhood trip.”

“I see.”

“Nobody did nothin’ to that baby.” Tears glistened on her face, and her bony chest heaved below the red halter top. “It was just born wantin’ to be dead.”

Tamela wiped her cheeks again, anger and sorrow betrayed by the roughness of the gesture. Then she curled her fingers and rested her forehead on her fists.

“You couldn’t revive it?”

Tamela could only shake her head.

“Why did you go into hiding?”

Tamela looked over her knuckles at Geneva.

“Go on,” Geneva said. “We’re here. Now you tell her.”

Tamela drew several unsteady breaths.

“One day Darryl gets to fighting with Buck. Buck tells him I been playin’ him the fool and the baby was his. Darryl goes batshit, decides I killed my own baby to dis him. He say he gonna find me and mess me up bad.”

“Where did you go?”

“Cousin’s basement.”

“Your father is there now?”

Two head shakes.

“Daddy’s went over to his sister in Sumter. She drove up and got him, but she won’t have nothin’ to do with us. Say we the devil’s own offspring, and we gonna burn in hell.”

“Why have you come to see me?”

Neither sister would raise her eyes to mine.

“Geneva?”

Geneva kept her gaze on the fingers curled around her Coke.

“We gonna tell her,” she said, her voice flat.

Tamela gave a suit-yourself shrug.

“This mornin’ my cousin is poundin’ on the door, yellin’ her man looking at my sister too much, yellin’ at us to get out. Daddy’s mad at us, our own kin’s mad at us, and Darryl’s wantin’ to kill us.”

Geneva’s head was down so I couldn’t see her face, but the trembling in her ponytail revealed her desperation.

“We gotta leave where we was, we can’t go home, case Darryl get out and come looking for us.” Her voice trailed off. “We run out of places.”

“I ain’t—” Tamela started, but couldn’t finish.

I reached over and placed one hand on each of theirs. This time she didn’t pull away.

“You will stay with me until it’s safe to go home.”

“We won’t take nothin’.” Tamela’s words were hushed. The voice of a frightened child.

I took Boyd for a five-minute walk. Then we spent half an hour digging out towels and bedding for the sleeper sofa. By the time the Banks sisters were settled, Boyd having been granted a place in the den over Geneva’s objection, it was well past eleven.

Too agitated to sleep, I took my laptop to my bedroom, logged on, and resumed my Klinefelter’s research. I’d been at it ten minutes when my cell phone rang.

“What’s wrong?” Ryan sounded alarmed at the tenor of my voice.

I told him about Geneva and Tamela.

“You sure it’s legit?”

“I think so.”

“Well, be careful. They could be fronting for this mope Tyree.”

“I’m always careful.” No need to mention that moment of uncertainty concerning the lock. Or the unset alarm.

“You must be relieved that the Bankses are safe.”

“Yes. And I think I’ve discovered something else.”

“Does it have to do with fractals?”

“Ever heard of Klinefelter’s syndrome?”

“No.”

“How are you fixed for chromosomes?”

“Twenty-three pairs. Should hold me.”

“That would suggest that something about you is normal.”

“I have a feeling I’m about to learn about chromosomes.”

I let him listen to the sound of me saying nothing.

“OK.” I heard a match strike, then a deep inhalation. “Please?”

“As you so astutely point out, genetically normal individuals have twenty-three pairs of chromosomes, one per set coming from each parent. Twenty-two pairs are called autosomes, the other pair is made up of the sex chromosomes.”

“XX gets you the pink booties, XY gets you the blue.”

“You’re a whiz, Ryan. Occasionally, something goes awry in the formation of an egg or sperm, and an individual is born with one chromosome too many or one chromosome too few.”

“Down’s syndrome.”

“Exactly. People with mongolism, or Down’s syndrome, have an extra chromosome in the twenty-first pair of autosomes. The condition is also called trisomy 21.”

“I think we’re getting to Mr. Klinefelter.”

“Sometimes the abnormality involves a missing or an extra sex chromosome. XO women have a condition called Turner’s syndrome. XXY men have Klinefelter’s syndrome.”

“What about YO men?”

“Not possible. No X, no survival.”

“Tell me about Klinefelter’s.”

“Since there’s a Y chromosome in the genome, XXY, Klinefelter’s syndrome individuals are male. But they have small testes, and suffer from testosterone deficiency and infertility.”

“Are they physically distinct?”

“KS men tend to be tall, with disproportionately long legs and little body or facial hair. Some are pear-shaped. Some exhibit breast development.”

“How common is the condition?”

“I’ve read figures ranging from one in five hundred to one in eight hundred male conceptions. That makes KS the most common of the sex chromosome abnormalities.”

“Any behavioral implications?”

“KS individuals have a high incidence of learning disabilities, sometimes decreased verbal IQ, but usually normal intelligence. Some studies report increased levels of aggression or antisocial behavior.”

“I don’t imagine these kids feel really good about themselves growing up.”

“No,” I agreed.

“Why are we interested in Klinefelter’s syndrome?”

I told him about Brian Aiker, and recounted my conversations with Springer and Zamzow. Then I shared my boxless idea.

“So you think the privy skull goes with the Lancaster skeleton, and that the person could be Charlotte Grant Cobb.”

“Yes.” I told him why. “It’s a long shot.”

“Zamzow told you Cobb wasn’t that tall,” Ryan said.

“He said she wasn’t an Amazon; if the leg bones were disproportionately long, that would have skewed the height estimate.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“Track down Cobb’s family, ask a few questions.”

“Can’t hurt,” Ryan said.

I updated him on what I’d learned from Slidell and Woolsey.

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Ryan liked saying that.

I hesitated.

What the hell.

“See you soon?” I asked.