Bones

tender about the gesture. Chance squirmed out of his grip.

“Tell them what you know and let’s finish with this.”

“Like you said, someone called,” said the boy.

Reed said, “Who?”

“Some asshole with a weird voice.”

“Language, Chance,” said Susan Brandt, in a defeated voice.

Moe Reed said, “Weird how?”

“Um… like hissy.”

“Hissy?”

“Whispery. Like one of those grinder movies. Some death-bot, whatever.”

“Someone disguising their voice by hissing.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you imitate this person, let us know what it sounded like?”

Chance laughed.

“Do it,” said his father.

“I’m not in Drama, Dad.”

“You’ve caused plenty of drama in this family.”

Shrug. “Whatever.”

“Do it.”

The boy’s lips formed an “F.” Steve Brandt’s knuckles whitened.

Milo said, “Someone hissed at you, Chance. What did they say?”

“Like… uh… there’s something down in the marsh. Something dead.”

“What else?”

“That’s it.”

“Male or female?”

“Male… probably.”

“You can’t be sure?”

“It was like… hissy. Bogus.”

“Faking,” said Reed.

“Yeah. I thought I was being pranked.”

“By who?”

“Whatever. Friends.”

Milo said, “ Prince Albert in a can.”

Chance’s stare was uncomprehending.

Milo said, “Something dead in the marsh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What else did this hissing person say?”

“Nothing,” said Chance. “It sounded stupid, that’s why I didn’t tell it to the guy who came in right after.”

“What guy?” said Reed.

“Guy who runs the place, real tool. Always checking on me.”

“What’s the tool’s name?” said Reed.

“Duboff. He’s like a hippie you read about in History.”

“Mr. Duboff came into the office right after you took the call.”

“I didn’t take it. I just listened and hung up.”

“How soon after did Duboff come in?”

“Like right.”

“Checking up on you.”

“Yeah.”

“And you told him…”

“Everything’s cool.”

“You made no mention whatsoever of the hissing call.”

“I thought it was bogus,” said Chance. “Ethan or Ben, Sean, whatever.” Peering at us as he dropped the names. Trying to figure out who’d given him away.

Reed said, “What time did this hissy call come in?”

“Um… um, um-like um nine thirty.”

“Like articulate,” said Steve Brandt. His wife looked ready to cry.

Reed said, “Can you give a more precise estimate?”

Chance said, “It was like… oh, yeah, before I looked at my watch and it was like nine twenty something, so it was after that.”

“Nine thirty or so.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Jesus,” said Steve Brandt, “it’s not rocket science.”

Chance’s shoulders bunched. His mother had gnawed her lip scarlet.

His father said, “I think it’s obvious math isn’t his strong suit, that’s how we ended up in this mess in the first place. The indignity of an algebra test that required minimum effort to pass.”

Chance chewed his lip. More genetics? Or would living with Steve Brandt drive anyone to it?

Brandt loosened his tie. “We’re still trying to figure out if he has a strong suit.”

His wife gasped.

“Get real, Suze. If he hadn’t cheated in the first place, we’d never be talking to the cops.” To us: “Maybe as long as you’re here we should set up some tough love for my son. One of those programs you put youthful offenders into? Working at the morgue, getting in touch with reality?”

Susan Brandt got up and hurried out on elegant, bronze legs. Chance’s eyes were fixed on his father’s florid face.

Brandt said, “You bet I’m pissed, kiddo. Work’s piling up and I have to come home in the middle of the day for this. And you’re playing tennis?”

“Mom said I should get some exer-”

Brandt waved the boy silent. To Milo: “Do you still run those morgue tours?”

“I’m not sure, sir. From what I recall they were for juvenile drunk drivers and such.”

“So, once again, he skates completely.”

Chance’s lips moved.

“What did you just say?” his father demanded.

Silence.

Milo said, “Mr. Brandt, we understand that you’re frustrated with whatever acting-out Chance has done in the past. But from our perspective, he’s being cooperative. If all he did was talk about what he perceived to be a gag call, there’s nothing to ‘skate’ on. If he’s somehow involved in this homicide, a tour of the morgue won’t cut it.”

Some of the color left Steve Brandt’s face. “Of course he’s not involved. I’m just trying to prevent any more… complications.”

Chance said, “I’m complications?”

His father smirked. “Oh, you don’t want me to answer that.”

The boy’s turn to flush. “Do your thing, dude-hook me up to one of those fucking lie detectors-”

“Shut your stupid, foul mouth and don’t use that snotty, stupid tone-”

Chance shot to his feet, fists balled. “Don’t call me that! Don’t fucking call me that!”

Steve Brandt’s hands slapped brocade. He panted.

Chance’s respiration rate raced ahead of his father’s.

Milo stepped between them. “Everyone calm down right now. Chance, sit down-over there, where your mom was. Mr. Brandt, let us do our job.”