Bare Bones (36 page)

“Why the snakes?” I asked.

“Your death had to look accidental.” Ryan mimicked a TV newscaster. “While hiking in heavy forest in Lancaster County, an anthropologist was tragical y nailed by a rattler today.” Ryan’s voice returned to normal. “Except Park was the one who got nailed.” I shuddered, remembering the sound of Park’s head cracking on the cement. According to the police report, Park had suffered fatal skul fractures both from a fal ing object and from striking his head against the concrete floor.

Spotting a gul floating toward shore, Boyd charged across the beach. The bird took off. Boyd fol owed its flight path, then returned and shook himself, bombarding us with sand and salt water.

“Heineken?” I asked, covering my face with my arms.

“S’il vous plaît.”

I opened the cooler and dug out a beer for Ryan, bottled water for Boyd, and a Diet Coke for myself.

“Why do you suppose Park sent me the Grim Reaper e-mails?” I asked, handing Ryan his beer. Boyd raised his snout and I dripped water into his mouth.

“Wanted you to back off from the privy skul .”

“Think about your own reasoning, Ryan. The e-mails started on a Wednesday. How could Park have known who I was or what we’d found at that point?”

“Rinaldi sent out his query about the headless skeleton on Tuesday. It probably went to Lancaster and included the coroner. We’l find out eventual y.

Slidel ’s convinced Tyree wil rol over.”

“Slidel ,” I snorted.

“Skinny isn’t so bad,” Ryan said.

I didn’t reply.

“He saved your life.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

Boyd flopped onto his side in the shade of my sand chair. Ryan went back to his Terry Pratchett. I went back to myEmagazine.

I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts kept hopping to Skinny Slidel . Final y, I gave up.

“How did Slidel know where I was?”

Ryan stuck a finger in his book to mark the page.

“Rinaldi’s background check on Dorton turned up the fact that Ricky Don’s Marine Corps smuggling buddy al those years ago was none other than the current Lancaster County coroner. Slidel tried to warn you about Park when he phoned your cel with the news about Aiker’s note.”

“I cut him off.”

“According to Rinaldi, Slidel fumed for a while, then agreed to drop by the annex. You weren’t at home, but Geneva showed them your note.”

“Which said I was going to South Carolina.”

“Slidel put that together with your funeral wisecrack, and he and Rinaldi hauled ass to Lancaster. Got there right about the time the rattler was introducing himself to you. Woolsey was with them and she hauled you to the hospital, practical y drove her patrol car through the ER doors, Skinny said.”

“Hmm.”

“He also phoned me from the hospital to fil me in.”

“Hmm.”

“And he’s admitted he was wrong about Tamela.”

“He has?”

“Took the family a chrysanthemum.”

“Skinny did that?”

“Yel ow one. Made a special trip to Wal-Mart for it.”

Skinny took Gideon Banks a plant.

Hmm.

“I guess I’ve been pretty hard on Skinny. I hate to admit it, but the guy real y is a good cop.” A smile tickled Ryan’s mouth.

“How about Agent Cousins?”

“Al right. Maybe I misjudged Cousins. Anyway, Katy never went to Myrtle Beach with him.”

“Where was she?”

“Spending a few days in Ashevil e with Pete. She didn’t bother to tel me because she was miffed over my pressing her about the Grim Reaper e-mails.

But it doesn’t matter, anyway. Katy cal ed from Charlottesvil e this morning al agog over some premed student named Sheldon Seabourne.”

“Ah, fickle youth.”

Ryan and I settled back to our reading. With each page I was realizing how naïve my faith in the Green Movement had been. At moments my disgust boiled over. One such moment arrived shortly.

“Did you know that more than nine mil ion turtles and snakes were exported from the United States in 1996?” Ryan dropped his book to his chest. “Bet you can think of a couple you wish had been among them.”

“Ever hear of the Captive Bred Wildlife Foundation in Arizona?”

“No.”

“Their slogan is ‘When turtles are outlawed, only outlaws wil have turtles.’”

“That’s idiocy that rings a bel .”

“These kind citizens wil be happy to sel you a pair of Galápagos tortoises for eight to ten thousand bucks. You could take a sparrow, put it on the endangered species list, and some asshole would pay two grand for it.”

“There’s CITES,” Ryan said. “And the Endangered Species Act.”

“Protection on paper,” I said with disdain. “Too many loopholes, too little enforcement. Remember Rachel Mendelson’s tale of the Spix’s macaw?” Ryan nodded.

“Listen to this.” I quoted from the article I’d been reading. “‘In 1996 Hector Ugalde pled guilty to federal conspiracy charges in Brazil for smuggling hyacinth’s macaws.’” I looked up. “Ugalde got three years’ probation and a ten-thousand-dol ar fine. That’l real y stop him.” Boyd came over and put his snout on my knee. I stroked his head.

“Everyone knows about whales, and pandas, and tigers, and rhinos. Those animals are sexy. They have foundations and sweatshirts and posters.” Boyd fol owed a sandpiper with his eyes, considered.

“Fifty thousand plants and animals become extinct each year, Ryan. Within half a century one-quarter of the world’s species could be gone.” I flapped a hand at the ocean. “And it’s not just over there. One-third of al U.S. plants and animals are at risk of extinction.”

“Take a breath.”

I did.

“Listen to this.” I resumed reading, selecting excerpts. “‘At least four hundred and thirty medicines containing eighty endangered and threatened species have been documented in the United States alone. At least one-third of al patented Oriental medicine items available in the United States contain protected species.’”

I looked up.

“The il egal trade in black bear gal s in California alone is estimated at one hundred mil ion a year. Think about that, Ryan. Ounce for ounce, bear gal is worth more than cocaine, and hairbags like Dorton and Park know that. They also know they’l get a slap on the wrist if they get caught.” I shook my head in disgust.

“Deer are kil ed for their antler velvet. Siberian tigers are hunted for their bones and penises. Sea horses are kil ed to help men grow hair.”

“Sea horses?”

“Rhinos are shot, electrocuted, and driven into pits lined with sharpened bamboo stakes so men in Yemen can make dagger handles. There are only a few thousand rhinos left in the world, Ryan. Jesus, you can go on the Web and buy smoked goril a paws.” Ryan got up, squatted by my chair.

“You feel very strongly about this.”

“It sickens me.” I let my eyes travel to Ryan’s. “A cache of six metric tons of elephant ivory was seized in Singapore last June. Now a group of South African countries is talking about reversing the ban on ivory trading. Why? So people can make ornaments out of elephant tusks. Every year the Japanese take hundreds of whales for research. Yeah. Right. Research that ends up in the seafood market. Do you have any idea of the length of the evolutionary process that created the animals we have today, and the shortness of the time needed to kil them off?” Ryan took my face in both his hands.

“We helped do something about it, Tempe. Park and Tyree are going down. No more bears or birds wil be dying because of them. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

“It’s a start,” I agreed.

“Let’s keep at it.” Ryan’s eyes were blue as the Atlantic and steady on mine. “You and me.”

“Do you mean that, Ryan?”

“I do.”

I kissed him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pressed my cheek to his.

Pul ing free, I wiped sand from his forehead and settled back to my reading, eager to find a place to begin.

Ryan took Boyd for a run on the beach.

That night we ate shrimp and crab on the docks at Shem Creek. We walked in the surf, made love, then fel asleep listening to Ryan’s eternal ocean.

From the Forensic Files

of Dr. Kathy Reichs

For legal and ethical reasons I cannot discuss any of the real-life cases that may have inspiredBare Bones,but I can share with you some experiences that contributed to the plot.

Monsieur Orignal

Shakespeare spoke of “murder most foul” (Hamlet,1.5), but not al forensic anthropology cases are the result of violence.

A variety of bones find their way to my lab: trophy skul s smuggled from foreign lands; teaching skeletons spirited from classrooms to fraternity houses; Confederate soldiers buried in unmarked graves; pets laid to rest in backyards or crawl spaces.

It happens al the time. Bones or body parts are discovered. Local authorities, unfamiliar with anatomy, send them to the coroner or medical examiner.

Occasional y the “vic” turns out to be a reptile or bird, but most are members of the class Mammalia.I’ve examined spareribs, deer metapodia, ham bones, and elk horns. I’ve gotten kittens in gunnysacks and wood rats mixed in with murder victims. Bear paws, which particularly resemble human hands and feet, also sometimes show up at my lab.

The skeletal remains that found their way intoBare Bonesactual y entered my life during a blizzard in Montreal on a Thursday in November 1997. Driving as a Southerner versed in snowfal panic, edging my speed up to thirty only in the tunnel, I arrived late to the lab and thus missed the morning meeting at which the day’s cases had been discussed and assigned. One document lay on my desk, a Demande d’Expertise en Anthropologie.

Wasting no time, I skimmed for critical information: case number, morgue number, coroner, pathologist. I was being asked to examine cut marks on leg and pelvic bones to determine the type of saw used for dismemberment. The summary of known facts included one French word unfamiliar to me:orignal.Guilty over my tardiness, I headed straight for the bones, opting for a vocabulary check at a later time.

Throwing on a lab coat, I crossed to the counter reserved for new cases. When I unzipped the pouch, my jaw dropped. Either this victim had a colossal pituitary disorder, or I was looking at Goliath himself.

About-face. Dictionary.

Orignal: élan, n. m. Au Canada on l’appel e orignal.

My dismemberment victim was a moose.

On more careful reading of the request-for-expertise form, I discovered that the analysis had been requested by the Société de la faune et des parcs, the Quebec equivalent of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. A poacher had been kil ing moose for years with blatant disregard for the annual quota.

Conservation agents had decided to prosecute and wanted an opinion. Could I tie the cut marks on the moose bones to a saw recovered from the suspect’s garage?

I could.

Big bones. Big animal. Big lesson in proceeding rapidly while not ful y cognizant of the mission.

No need for Shakespeare here.

Thoreau put it wel : “Some circumstantial evidence is strong, as when you find a trout in the milk” (Walden).

Or Bul winkle in a body bag.

Kathy Reichs is forensic anthropologist for the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, State of North Carolina, and for the Laboratoire de Sciences Judiciaires et de Médecine Légale for the province of Quebec. She is one of only fifty forensic anthropologists certified by the American Board of Forensic Anthropology and is on the Executive Committee of the Board of Directors of theAmericanAcademy of Forensic Sciences. A professor of anthropology at the University of North Carolina–Charlotte, Dr. Reichs is a native ofChicago , where she received her Ph.D. at Northwestern. She now divides her time betweenCharlotte andMontreal and is a frequent expert witness at criminal trials. Her first novel,Déjà Dead,brought Dr. Reichs fame when it became aNew York Timesbestsel er and won the 1997 El is Award for Best First Novel.Death du Jour, Deadly Décisions, Fatal Voyage,andGrave Secretsalso became international andNew York Timesbestsel ers.Bare Bonesis her sixth novel featuring Temperance Brennan.