Bones

“I don’t want to be up there with him, either, but I can’t get out of this one, Frank.”

“Refuse the assignment. Goddamn it, Irene, those amputations were antemortem. You know what that means?”

“Stop it,” I said.

“It means,” he went on ruthlessly, “that those women were alive when he began mutilating them, Irene. Alive.”

“But you’re here anyway,” Andy was saying.

“Yes. I know Julia Sayre’s family—” I began.

“Sayre’s the victim he claims he’ll lead us to?”

“Yes.”

I’m here to put an end to the last remnants of their hope, I thought. That small, impossible burden of hope that would ride in back of their minds like a stone in a shoe.

Years as a reporter had taught me that families would hold fiercely to whatever little hope they could find, whatever possibility they could imagine. If their son was on a plane that crashed, they wondered if perhaps he had missed the flight, pictured him giving his ticket to a friend.

The Sayres would have such hopes, I knew, although Gillian would never betray their existence to me.

Parrish’s announcement would have nearly put an end to that sort of fantasy. What a blow it must have been to Gillian. Still, the Sayres would wonder if Parrish was bluffing, or mistaken about the identity of his victim.

And so now there was only this, this final identification. We would unbury Julia Sayre’s remains and leave the last of her family’s hope in their place.

“Good of you to go to this much trouble for them,” Andy said, bringing me out of my reverie.

“No, it’s not,” I said. “I’m here because my boss insisted on it, and I wasn’t exactly pleased with the assignment. I got caught in police politics. The Las Piernas Police got a black eye recently—”

“When they tried to hide mistakes made in an Internal Affairs investigation,” he said, nodding. “But one of the reporters on the Express learned about it and made them look twice as bad.”

“Yes. So to prove to the public that they’re doing a great job, and everything’s aboveboard, the brass decided to let a local reporter get in on a success story — the resolution of an old case that has been given big play in the paper. The Express was already leaning on them to let me come along. I never dreamed they’d say yes, or I would have tried to head those plans off before they got this far.”

“I’d think this would be a reporter’s dream.”

“I’m not too fond of the mountains.”

“Not fond of the mountains?” he said, aghast. This, clearly, he considered to be sacrilege.

I swallowed hard. “I used to love them. But — I had a bad experience in the mountains once.”

“Backpacking?”

“No. In a cabin.” My mouth was dry. I could feel my tongue slowing, clacking over the simple little word, cabin.

Andy seemed not to notice. “But you’ve been backpacking before,” he said, puzzled.

“Yes. The gear give me away?”

“Yep. Not novice style — not like that lawyer’s bullshit outfit. Most of yours is broken in — like your boots. The attorney’s boots are brand new, and I’ll bet you he’s going to have blisters in no time. You’ve got a few new items, but they aren’t just for show.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve used my gear.” I didn’t want to think about why.

“Then separate this from whatever happened in that cabin,” he said, with the easy logic of youth.

Before I could answer, a deep voice called from the other side of the meadow. “Your botanist is upsetting Ms. Kelly.”

Parrish.

I felt my face color under the sudden attention that came from almost everyone else — from all but his guards, one of whom was telling him to shut up.

“Am I?” Andy asked me.

“No. No, you aren’t. You’re making me feel much more comfortable about being here.”

He grinned again.

To some extent, I had told him the truth. At least he was speaking to me, being friendlier than the others. Maybe he was right about backpacking; maybe my fears wouldn’t be triggered in the same way they might be if I were driving to the mountains, staying in a cabin.

“I used to know a little about wildflowers,” I said, trying to keep my thoughts away from cabins and glove compartments and Nicholas Parrish. “Perhaps you can help me remember the names of some of the varieties in this meadow?”

4

MONDAY AFTERNOON, MAY 15

Southern Sierra Nevada Mountains

We ended up postponing our botany lesson; there was simply too much to be done to set up camp before nightfall.