Bones to Ashes

“I’m not sure.” My mind was already rifling through possibilities. Contact with acid or some other caustic chemical? Microorganism? Localized infection? Systemic disease process?

“Was she sick?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s postmortem. There’s still too much impacted dirt to be sure.” Taking the metacarpal from the scope, I moved toward the skeleton. “We’ll have to clean and examine every bone.”

Lisa looked at her watch. Politely.

“What a dope I am. Already I’ve kept you too late.” It was five-twenty. Most lab workers left at four-thirty. “Go.”

“Shall I lock up?”

“Thanks, but I’ll stay a bit longer.”

That “bit” turned into two and a half hours. I might have worked through the night had my mobile not sounded.

Setting aside a calcaneus, I lowered my mask, pulled the phone from my pocket, and checked the screen. Unknown number.

I clicked on. “Brennan.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m great, thank you. And yourself?”

“I’ve been calling your condo since six.” Was Ryan actually sounding annoyed?

“I’m not at home.”

“There’s a news flash.”

“Guess I slipped out of my ankle monitor.”

A moment of silence. Then, “You didn’t mention you had plans.”

“I do have a life, Ryan.” Right. Teasing dirt from bones at 8 P.M.

I heard the sound of a match, then a deep inhalation of breath. After quitting for two years, Ryan was back on cigarettes. A sign of stress.

“You can be a pain in the ass, Brennan.” No rancor.

“I work on it.” My standard reply.

“You coming down with a cold?”

“My nose is irritated from breathing through a mask.” I ran my dental pick through the cone of dry soil that had collected on the tabletop in front of me.

“You’re in your lab?”

“Hippo Gallant’s skeleton arrived from Rimouski. It’s female, probably thirteen or fourteen years old. There’s something odd about her bones.”

Tobacco hit, then release.

“I’m downstairs.”

“So who’s the loser working after hours?”

“These MP and DOA cases are getting to me.”

“Want to come up?”

“Be there in ten.”

I was back at the scope when Ryan appeared, face tense, hair bunched into ragged clumps. My mind shot a stored image: Ryan hunched over a printout, restless fingers raking his scalp. So familiar.

I felt sick. I didn’t want Ryan to be angry. Or hurt. Or whatever the hell he was.

I started to reach out and stroke his hair.

Nor did I want Ryan controlling my life. I had to take steps when I decided steps needed taking. I kept both hands on the scope.

“You shouldn’t work alone here at night.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s a secure building and I’m on the twelfth floor.”

“This neighborhood’s not safe.”

“I’m a big girl.”

“Suit yourself.” Ryan’s voice wasn’t cold or unfriendly. Just neutral.

When Katy was young, certain cases at the lab caused me to rein in her personal life. Transference of caution. It wasn’t her fault. Or mine, really. Working a child homicide was like taking a step into my own worst nightmare. Maybe these missing and dead girls were making Ryan overly protective. I let the paternalism go.

“Take a look.” I shifted sideways so Ryan could see the screen. When he stepped close I could smell Acqua di Parma cologne, male sweat, and a hint of the cigarettes he’d been smoking.

“New setup?”

I nodded. “She’s a pip.”

“What are we seeing?”

“Metatarsal.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Foot bone.”

“Looks funny. Pointy.”

“Good eye. The distal end should be knobby, not tapered.”

“What’s that hole in the middle of the shaft?”

“A foramen.”

“Uh-huh.”

“For the passage of an artery supplying nutrients to the bone’s interior. Its presence is normal. What may be unusual is the size. It’s huge.”

“The vic took a shot to the foot?”

“Enlarged nutrient foramina can result from repetitive microtrauma. But I don’t think that’s it.”

I exchanged the first metatarsal for another.

“That one looks scooped out on the end.”

“Exactly.”

“Any ideas?”

“Lots. But most of her foot bones are missing so it’s hard to choose.”

“Give me some ‘for instances.’”

“Rodent scavenging, with subsequent erosion of the surrounding bone surfaces. Or maybe the feet lay in contact with something caustic. Or rapidly running water.”

“Doesn’t explain the big holes.”

“Destruction of the toe bones accompanied by enlargement of the nutrient foramina could result from frostbite. Or rheumatoid arthritis. But that’s unlikely, since the joints aren’t affected.”

“Maybe she just has really big holes.”

“That’s possible. But it’s not just her feet.”

I placed Lisa’s oddball metacarpal under the scope. “This is a finger bone.”

Ryan regarded the pockmarked surface in silence.

I switched the metacarpal for one of the two surviving hand phalanges. “So is this.”

“That hole looks large enough to accommodate the Red Line metro.”

“Foramina show a range of variation in size. As you say, it could be that huge was normal for her.” Even to me, I didn’t sound convinced.

“What about the rest of the skeleton?” Ryan asked.

“I haven’t gotten past the hands and feet. And there isn’t much left.”

“Preliminary diagnosis?”