Final Grave (9 page)

“Be grateful. It could be so much worse than that, but I’ve got an extra four thousand in the budget for a private lab. The technology’s exploded. The FBI lab’s backed up for two years. Every convicted felon in America wants a new trial based on DNA.” He gave her a sympathetic nod. “What can you do? Mitochondria are minuscule little buggers and contaminate at the drop of a dust mite. It’d be different if we could use nuclear DNA, but after ten, fifteen years it deteriorates. The basic test takes a minimum of six weeks, start to finish, and you’re not at the top of the list.”

She put the heavy sweater back on, straightened her collar. “I suppose I’d better resign myself to the wait or go nuts.”

He patted her back, like her basketball coach used to do after they’d lost the game. But she wasn’t through.

“If it’s all right, I’d like to see the bones. Are they here?”

Uberuaga ruffled his mustache with his forefinger, a thoughtful, slow ruffling. “Don’t see a problem with that. How about you, Jack? Got a problem?”

“Nope.” He checked his watch. “I’ll be out by the soda machine.”

The doctor led her into an adjacent room.

Windows stretched along one wall, the panorama like a mural. A jagged blade of distant mountains divided the sky from earth. The sun hid behind clouds, and a somber gray light filled the room. The chemical smell was here, too, but laced with a scent of older decay, like the pervasive odor in a natural history museum.

Uberuaga motioned her closer to a bank of white Formica cabinets. He placed his hand on a stainless steel drawer handle. “We don’t have a complete skeleton.”

“I know,” she said, moving beside him.

He opened the drawer, revealing a collection of loose bones.

Her heart in her throat, she stared at them. “They’re so brown. Were they buried?”

“Buried or not, bones oxidize.”

“And you know it’s a woman?”

He pointed to the pelvic bone. “That we know. This wide, butterfly shape is female. Men are more narrow in the pelvis, tighter, almost square.” His heavy brows knitted together. “What interests me is the lack of tissue. I’m running a mass spec.” He explained, “That’s a gas chromatograph, mass spectrometer.”

She knew a little about this testing, very little. “And?”

“These machines can determine the molecular level of anything. Just as an aside, we can pinpoint a person’s residence by the toxins in tissues. Of course, we don’t have tissue in this case.” He paused, as though uncomfortable, then went on. “We’ll look for corrosives and poisons as possible cause of death. We’ve checked for signs of trauma, gun shots or breaks indicating injury from blunt or sharp objects. But we found nothing indicating that.”

The infinite possibilities overwhelmed her. She felt exhausted. “Is there a backlog on these tests, too?”

“Nope. Two or three days and I’ll have them and maybe some answers for all of us.”

“I hope. There’s so little to go on at this point.”

She studied the bones in the drawer, lured to the mystery they held, one that belonged to the victim and could never be fully revealed to her or anyone else. “Can you give me a moment alone?”

He twisted his mouth sideways, slanting his mustache. “I’m not supposed to leave evidence unattended,” he said without much commitment. “But what the hell, I think I hear the phone.”

The minute he stepped outside, she reached into the drawer and laid her hand on the femur. A strange electrical sensation riveted through her palms. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Are you my mother?”

Her index finger trailed along the smooth pelvis, the embryonic cradle where she’d rested as a child—if this was her mother.
If
, but there was no
if
. She felt her mother’s presence. The day’s sad discoveries faded. Nothing mattered, not Wheatley, not his wife, not Aunt Pauline.

She lowered her head, let the bone touch her face, the same way she had her mom’s sweater. It might be a freaky thing to do, but she did it. Then she stood back, touched the spot on her cheek.

Her knees trembled as she closed the drawer.

She went to the window, stood with her hands on the sill, searching beyond the expanse of the parking lot to a barren field. A dust devil spun. The mini-cyclone whipped dirt and fast-food wrappers the same way her mind whipped questions.

Who did this? Who killed her mother? What indignities had she suffered before this final indignity of being shuffled through an indifferent bureaucracy and shoved in a drawer as evidence? Meri Ann’s hands tightened on the sill. A chill slid down her back, a cold epiphany. Until she buried these bones, she couldn’t say goodbye.

Uberuaga tapped on the open door. “How you doing in there?”

She turned to face him, her shoulders squared with purpose. “Much better.”

Chapter Eleven
 

D
usk lasts forever in the northwest. Meri Ann had forgotten that, but it now came back to her. Like magic, the sky hung on in luminous pale shades and the deep purple shadows exaggerated the folds in the mountains. Mendiola had dropped her at her car, and she watched him pull out of the lot, heading toward town, the direction she should be going. But before she went to Becky’s, she needed fifteen minutes alone. She steered the Miata east toward the perfect place.

The sleek corporate office buildings lining Park Center Boulevard bordered the Boise River on the south side of town. She drove past one edifice after another until she came to Albertson’s corporate headquarters. She swung into the parking lot.

At six o’clock, half a dozen cars dotted the spaces allotted to the executives. Lights on in the buildings made it easy to see silhouettes of several office junkies in a corner suite. The way they milled about, it appeared a meeting was breaking up. She parked in the back row under the trees bordering the greenbelt and made her way toward the sound of rushing water.

A steep path zigzagged seven feet down to the trail. The river itself was five feet below that. The earthy scent of the fresh water somehow made her problems seem farther away—at least for the moment. She found strength in being alone. Of course, she’d warned the rape victims in her self-defense classes to avoid such dark or, in this case dusky, secluded areas. But rules for other women didn’t apply to her, not this evening, especially not when she needed to revisit an old haunt.

She strolled, stopping every few feet. The greenbelt was thick with poplars, sumac and scrub oak. Housing developments had sprung up east of the corporate offices, but not right on the river. No man-made building or private lawns came within fifty yards of the wooded banks.

The iron scented air filled her head. It was rich with the hint of decaying leaves, and the temperature felt a few degrees warmer than the rest of Boise, which she attributed to the humidity from the water. The constant surge mesmerized her, and she took a seat on a smooth tree stump just to listen to it.

She’d come here with Becky once when they had cut school, and several times with her mother to pick cattails. Her mother said she found peace by the river. Meri Ann hadn’t recalled that until now, but the memory might have subconsciously led her here. She briefly closed her eyes and relaxed her neck muscles. Then her shoulders. She lolled her head in slow circles, trying not to think of anything but her breathing.

A branch snapped behind her. It startled her. She glanced about, expecting to see a person or an animal. Nothing appeared. Nothing moved in the scrub. She waited a good ten seconds before she rose from the stump.

She considered sitting back down, but the spell was broken. Annoyed, she started back the way she’d come. She hadn’t gone six feet when she heard a rustling deep in the trees. She paused, again, unnerved by the sound of crunching leaves no more than ten feet away from her. It could be a dog or a walker who had strayed off the trail.

She moved forward, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. The noises occurred only when she moved. They stopped when she stopped, a pattern she could not ignore. It might be a coincidence, but her gut told her someone or some thing was following her; and she had to act accordingly. The river was to her right, dense scrub to her left. If she had to she’d jump in the river. But that was not her first choice for defense, not this time of year. She spotted a fallen oak branch about the size of a baseball bat, a sturdy one that fit her grip.

She took a stance, put both hands around it and swung it in slow circles. “Who’s there?” she said in a loud voice. No one answered. In a louder voice, she said. “You want to tangle with a black belt? That what you want?”

Again, no one replied. She took a few steps, listening. When nothing moved, she figured the black belt exaggeration had worked.

Regardless, her heart thumped in her chest as she continued along the trail. It seemed forever until she reached the steep path leading to the parking lot. Once again she turned and looked over her shoulder before she jogged up it. One minute she was in a forest and the next in civilization, feeling ten degrees calmer on high ground and in the open lot. She drew in a deep breath to clear her head and settle her racing pulse. She tossed the limb into the brush and dusted her hands on her slacks. It was then that she heard the faintest whisper.

It sounded like her name.

# # #

Meri Ann pulled behind River House, more annoyed with herself than shaken. Steam circled the windowpanes, framing a picture-postcard of an old-fashioned, white-enameled kitchen at the mercy of her short redheaded friend. She hurried up the back stairs.

Becky took one look at her and dropped the wooden spoon into the pan. “Good God, what’s wrong?”

“I stopped at the river and an animal or someone followed me. Don’t know which.”

“You went down to Park Center, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“A cougar was sighted down there early spring. Another near Barber Dam. Forget the murder two years ago.” Becky scowled. “What were you doing down there in the dark? Are you nuts?”

“I went to get my head straight. It was sunset, a little dusky when I got there. Anyway, nothing happened.” Meri Ann took off her jacket and washed her hands. She decided not to mention that someone had whispered her name. That seemed incredible, since no one knew she’d be at the river.

“Do I smell cheddar cheese?”

“It’s health food, homemade macaroni and cheese. No butter, or margarine. Just Wesson Oil. How about that for a healthy choice?”

A box of Kraft’s macaroni and cheese sat on the counter next to a sack of frozen vegetables. Even if Meri Ann had had the energy, she wouldn’t have lectured Becky on the evils of saturated fat. “Sounds great. Did you finish your project?”

“No. But I worked like a bat outta hell in-between phone calls. Hey, kid, you want to ride up to Sun Valley tomorrow and help me install two major silk trees?”

“Wish I could. But I’ve got to see Mom’s friend. And maybe read the case file.”

“When are we gonna visit?”

“We’ve got tonight, tomorrow night. We’ll talk while you work. I’ll help you after I call Florida. Mind if I use your phone?”

“Use it all you want. I can call anywhere in the States for free—well not free, exactly, but cheap. It’s great. Meg wants me to get a cellular, but I hate ’em, kid. Disgusting, all these people walking around with little black squares glued to their ears.”

“It’s the millennium, Becky. Embrace it, don’t fight it, and for God’s sake don’t look down your nose at it. Computers, especially cell phones are conveniences, and sometimes a matter of safety.”

Becky set two Blue Willow plates out with flatware beside them. She took a chair facing her. “So you’ve had a hell of a day and Pauline topped it off.”

“Yes. No. I mean Pauline’s just, well, Pauline.”

Becky scrutinized her. “Then what?”

She paused, hand to her breast, reluctant to share what she’d found in the love letter to her mother. She lowered her head, feeling a shadow of shame pass over her. “Mom cheated on Dad.”

The look on Becky’s face said preposterous, and yet there was a glimmer of curiosity.

“The clues were there,” Meri Ann said. “Mom’s working late, her preoccupation, her forgetfulness, her excuses to get away from the house.” She went ahead and summarized the letter from Wheatley.

“Would it be so awful?” Becky said. “People get divorced.”

“Sure, look at me.” Meri Ann smiled sadly. “It’s a shock, that’s all, and I feel awful for Dad. It’s possible to accept almost anything except a lie.”

Becky nodded knowingly. “Yeah, kid. Betrayal hurts like a bitch.”

Meri Ann glanced away from Becky. Maybe she had never broken her marriage vows, but she was not without guilt when it came to lying.

“How about a glass of wine to take the edge off?” Becky produced an open bottle of merlot, filled two glasses brimful and offered one to her.

“I saw the bones,” she said.

Becky reached for her hand, gave it a soft squeeze. “Are you okay?”

“The most relief I’ve found in fifteen years was stepping into the Meridian lab and seeing those bones in the drawer. I think they’re hers. But until the DNA tests are back, I won’t really know.”

“One of these days you will.” Becky took a long drink of wine, then topped off her glass. “By the way, you got a phone call from some woman who didn’t leave her name.”

“Probably Aunt Pauline,” Meri Ann said. “We argued.”

“Nope. I know her voice.”

“A woman? Lt. Dillon at the sheriff’s office?”

“I dunno, kid. Whoever it was hung up on me. The sheriff’s office wouldn’t hang up.”

An image of Wheatley’s wife hovered like an evil hologram. “It could be Tina Wheatley. She practically tore me apart in Wheatley’s office. She’s one scary woman.”

Becky chewed on her thumbnail. “Tina’s a big woman, long hair, right?” She answered herself. “Right. I saw her at Chez Jay’s a couple of months ago. Small world.”

“And?”

“There was a woman with long dark hair this afternoon, hanging around a house down the street. Struck me as odd. The couple winter in southern California and they’ve already closed up their house.”