Bones

Bingle was rubbing his face against the grass, biting at it.

“?Buscalo, Bingle!” David said. “Find it!”

The breeze came up again and the dog stopped, held his head high, and sniffed with a slight bobbing motion of his nose, as if trying to draw in more of a specific scent.

“Whatcha got?” David asked again. “Whatcha got, Bingle? Show me! ?Muestramelo! ?Adelante!”

Bingle sang a high little note, then rushed on ahead of us. He stopped about twenty yards away — I could see him circling anxiously in one area, heard him making chuffing noises. Suddenly, he sat down on his haunches, lifted his head back so that his nose was straight up in the air, and began crooning.

“That’s his way of giving a hard alert,” David said, rushing forward.

Bingle met him halfway, and nudged at a pouch on David’s belt. “?Donde esta? Where is it?” David said, and the dog loped back to where he had alerted and barked.

David reached the dog before I did. “Bingle,” he suddenly said, “you beautiful son of a bitch!”

Bingle gave a loud bark of agreement.

8

WEDNESDAY MORNING, MAY 17

Southern Sierra Nevada Mountains

If I hadn’t talked to Andy before following Bingle, I might not have understood why David was now enthusiastically praising his dog, pulling out a floppy toss-toy that was apparently the dog’s all-time favorite. On the ground where Bingle had indicated his find, I could clearly see the burial signs Andy had mentioned. There, in a long patch, the soil contrasted slightly in color with other nearby soil — it appeared to be less compact and there were more rocks and pebbles in it. The plants growing over it were not as tall or sturdy as their neighbors.

It was not a clearly defined grave-size rectangle with nice, neat edges. But it was not much bigger than a grave might be, and was obviously unlike the area immediately around it.

“Let’s move back from this site,” David said. “We don’t want to disturb evidence.”

We moved over to a level spot nearer to the tree, where David continued to play with Bingle and praise him. The other members of our group must have been watching us, because before David beckoned, Ben and Andy donned packs and headed our way, with Thompson and Flash Burden not far behind. Duke and Earl moved more slowly from the campsite, bringing Parrish; Merrick and Manton managed to sleep through the commotion.

“A hard alert?” Ben called as he came within earshot.

David smiled. “Yes, and my dog doesn’t lie.”

“Where?”

But Andy had already noticed the plants near the place where Bingle had alerted. “Wow. Right there.” Drawing closer, he pointed out several wildflowers and said, “You see? Most of them are shorter than others of the same species, growing right next to them. That might be happening because something’s preventing their roots from developing — the roots may be running into some type of barrier underground.”

David commanded Bingle to stay and we walked with the others to where Andy stood.

David conferred briefly with Bob Thompson and Ben, then said to me, “Would you mind keeping Bingle company while we check this out? You can watch from the shade over there — best spot in the house. You’ll be able to see and hear everything.”

“Look, I’m fond of the dog, but I have a job here, too. I don’t want to be shut out—”

“This is a crime scene—” Bob Thompson began, but Ben interrupted.

“Oh, I think Ms. Kelly should be allowed to stand as close as possible,” he said, and although he wasn’t smiling, I could hear some amusement in his voice.

“Ben—” David protested, in a way that made me all the more unsure of Ben’s motives for suddenly being so cooperative.

Ben ignored him. In quiet, considerate tones, he said to me, “Allow me to explain that we don’t just bring out our shovels and dig, Ms. Kelly. We start slowly and carefully, systematically surveying the burial area, setting up a grid system and so on. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind staying with Bingle while we do the preliminary work. I’ll let you know when we’re about to actually see the body — if there is a body here.”

“She’s there,” I heard a voice say. I turned to see Parrish looking straight at me, smiling. “Yes,” he drawled slowly, “her lovely body is right there.”

“Tranquilo,” David said to Bingle, who was standing between us. The dog had not growled or barked at Parrish’s approach, but I could see what had caused David to give the command to take it easy — Bingle’s stance was rigid.

“I’ll watch Bingle,” I said.

Parrish laughed. “Better let him watch you.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Earl said, pulling Parrish back from the group.

“Ve con ella,” David said to Bingle, and gave me a tennis ball. As he said this, he made a motion with his hand that evidently told Bingle that I was to receive all of his attention. Bingle stared at the ball with the kind of intense concentration that might have been used by a psychic to bend a fork. We played for a while, then sat together and watched as Flash videotaped and photographed the site, Thompson talked to Parrish, and David, Andy, and Ben hovered over maps and studied the ground, defining an outer perimeter several feet beyond the loosened soil.

Our place was, as David had said, the best spot in the house. We were only a few yards from the patch, we were in the shade, and the breeze had shifted toward us — both shade and breeze provided relief to Bingle, who lay panting softly, eyes closed in contentment.

Ben bent over a duffel bag, and handed out gloves. He next removed a set of metal rods, each about half an