The Dark Place

'I don't play games like that, John, you know that.'

'No,” said John, “you don't.” He wrote some more on his pad.

'Was he muscular, five-ten or six feet, a hundred and ninety pounds?” Gideon asked.

John scrambled through the file. “Height five-eleven,” he said with something uncharacteristically like awe in his voice, “weight one eighty-five. I didn't think even you could tell that from a single bone, let alone a shoulder blade.'

Gideon shrugged offhandedly but glanced at Julie. She seemed, he was gratified to see, as impressed as John. “Just educated guesses,” he said. “We can apply some height formulas to the vertebrae and see if we come up with the same thing.” He picked up a vertebra. “There's a shadow of osteophytosis here; bears out the age estimate of around thirty. What the heck is this?” he said, fingering the strange protuberance.

'Fenster wasn't sure. He thought maybe'—John flipped through his notes—'some sort of bone disease...exostosis...'

'I don't think so,” Gideon said, excitement rising in his voice. He held the bone in his hand and leaned over it, the magnifying glass practically touching it, his eye an inch behind the glass.

'You look like Sherlock Holmes,” Julie said.

'Hmm,” Gideon said after a while. “Definitely.'

'You sound like Sherlock Holmes,” she said. “I'm dying of suspense. What is it?'

'It's not a growth,” Gideon said, handing the bone to her. “I think it's an arrow point that penetrated the vertebra and broke off, so the tip is still embedded, and that rough projection is the surface of the broken part.'

'An arrow point?” John cried, rocking forward in his chair and extending his hand for the vertebra. He picked gently at the projection with his fingertips. “It sure looks like bone to me.'

'It is bone,” Gideon said. “Eckert—if that's who it was—was shot by a bone arrow.'

'But people haven't used bone arrows for centuries,” Julie said. “Even the most primitive groups in the world use metal points now.'

'Yes,” said Gideon quietly, “astounding, isn't it? But I really think there isn't any doubt. There's no periosteum.'

'Doc—” John began exasperatedly.

Gideon smiled. “All right, I'll speak English.” He slid the magnifying glass along the table to John. “The outer layer of bone is the periosteum. It stays on the bone even when it's been buried for hundreds of years; thousands, for that matter. But when you make a bone implement, and shape and smooth it, you invariably scrape it off. If you look carefully, you'll see that outer layer all over the vertebra, except for that projection.'

John held the glass and bone out in front of him like a farsighted man trying to read a menu. “I don't—'

'Okay, never mind that,” said Gideon. “Look at the bone around the base of the projection. You can see it's crushed inward, obviously by the force of the arrow entering the—'

'I see!” John cried. “It's as if...it's all...'

Julie had risen and looked over his shoulder through the glass. “All mushed in,” she said.

'Right,” Gideon said. “All mushed in.” He took back the bone, grasped the projecting part tightly, and wiggled it.

The point came out at once, noiselessly, without disturbing the crushed rim of bone surrounding it. A faint odor of decay came from the hole in the vertebra. Julie moved back, wrinkling her nose.

'It's a projectile point, all right,” Gideon said.

'It sure is,” John said. “Goddamn.'

Gideon laid the point on the table. It was a triangular piece of ivory-colored bone a little over an inch long, its base rough and jagged. “It was in there deeper than I thought,” he said, “about an inch. It almost went clean through.'

He placed the point on a white sheet of paper and traced its outline with a pen. Then with dotted lines he extended the shape. “It's hard to say, but I'd guess this is what it must have looked like complete.” He had drawn a tapering form about three inches long and an inch and a half wide at its base.

Julie moved closer to the table, squeezing between the two men. Gideon was aware of the nearness of her hip and of her faint, fresh fragrance as she bent over the drawing.

'I've read a lot of Northwest Coast ethnology and archaeology, Dr. Oliver,” she said, “and this doesn't look like an arrow. It looks a lot like the kind of spear point they've turned up at the Marmes Rockshelter in eastern Washington.'

'Does it?” said Gideon, interested. “Yes, it could be a spear. He changed the drawing a little, sketching in a few lines. “That does look better. The wooden shaft would attach there.'

'Hold it now,” John said. “Are we saying this guy was killed by a spear—a wooden spear with a bone point? That's just a little bizarre, to say the least.'

Gideon leaned back in his chair and shrugged.

'So what does that add up to?” John asked. “Was he killed by an Indian?'

'With a bone spear?” Julie said. “You're kidding. The point I was talking about is ten thousand years old. And the local Indians are tribes like the Quileute and the Quinault. They're busy managing their fish hatcheries and motels. With computers. They don't go running around with bone spears.'

'Do you know anybody who does?” John asked with a shade of temper. He looked at Gideon. “All right, what's