'Thank you.” Gideon wished intensely that he could say the same thing, but he'd never heard of Kenneth Worriner. He almost said it anyway, but settled for safety's sake on, “It's a pleasure to talk to you, sir.'
'And you say you've found some more skeletal material from the Tirku survey?'
'That's right,” Gideon said, relieved. At least Worriner remembered.
A chair scraped. Worriner grunted as he sat down. “Well, that's very remarkable. What do you have? Where did you find it? Have you been able to make an identification?” His dry voice, vacant and listless a few moments before, was crackling. “Listen, have you seen a copy of my report? Did you find any evidence of—'
Gideon needn't have worried. When, after all, had he ever met an old physical anthropologist who'd lost his enthusiasm for the field? Mention bones and they came alive, whatever shape they were in. Gideon had high hopes of becoming such an old anthropologist himself one day.
'I'd like very much to see a copy of your report,” he said. “That's why I'm calling. Things have gotten more complicated, Professor. It looks as if there was a homicide involved.'
'Please, call me Kenneth, will you? A homicide? Do you mean to say you've found signs of presumptively lethal antemortem trauma not attributable to the avalanche?'
Gideon smiled. That would have been a mouthful even for a man with his dentures in. “That's right, Kenneth; a one-inch perforation along the right squamous suture, at the parietal notch. Definitely lethal, definitely antemortem.'
'Have you identified the skull? As I recall, there were two people involved, weren't there? No, three; two men and a woman. Is that right? It's been a long time.'
'That's exactly right.'
'Ah, you have no idea how much I'd like to come up and see what you have, Gideon. Unfortunately, I don't travel much anymore. I use a walker these days, you see, and people at airports seem to be in such a hurry—well, that's neither here nor there. Why am I nattering on? Of course I'll send you a copy of my report. And would you mind letting me know how things turn out?'
'What I'd really like is to come down to Juneau tomorrow and meet you, if that's possible. You could have a look at the fragments yourself; I'd appreciate your opinion.'
There was a startled pause. “You mean come
'If it's convenient.'
'Convenient? My dear man, I'd be delighted. I may be a bit rusty, you understand.'
'I'll take my chances. I don't suppose there are any photographs in the report? I thought we could try matching the new fragments against them. Maybe there are some pieces of the same bones.'
'Photographs?” Worriner laughed. “Yes, there are photographs, but I'll do better than that.'
'You mean you have casts? That's terrific. We—'
'Gideon, I have the
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Chapter 14
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Gideon's appetite had caught up with him. He swallowed a mouthful of cold poached salmon and mayonnaise, followed it with a hearty helping of coleslaw and half a small boiled potato, and bit into a sourdough roll. Then he pulled over a nearby chair, propped his feet on it, fixed the plate more firmly on his lap, and settled down to serious eating.
On the other side of the small table, in much the same posture, John, whose appetite never needed to do any catching up, was working on his own heaped plate. They had brought their food from the buffet to John's room, preferring to keep their distance from the members of Tremaine's party, who were at lunch in the dining room.
'Food's good here,” John said. On his plate were three pieces of fried chicken, two wedges of salami pizza, and a jelly donut.
'You know Marti's going to ask me if you ate lots of monounsaturates and complex carbohydrates,” Gideon said. “And fiber. What am I supposed to tell her?'
John's wife Marti attacked the hopeless task of reforming her husband's eating habits with a resolute affability that was remarkable in the face of continual defeat. For his part, John resisted with equal good humor.
'Tell her I did,” he said around a mouthful of pizza. “It'll make her feel good.” He washed it down with a swig of Sprite. “So what do you think, Doc? Do scientists really go around knocking each other off over who got which idea first?” He had just finished telling Gideon about his sessions with Walter Judd and Anna Henckel.
Gideon swallowed some grapefruit juice while he thought about it. “When I was within a couple of months of finishing my dissertation, I heard that somebody at the University of Chicago was doing one on the same subject. Believe me, if it'd been true, and if murder had been the only way to keep him from coming out with it first—well, I wouldn't have wanted to put any money on his survival chances.'
'Come on, seriously.'
Gideon eased the edge of his fork through some more of the pale, tender salmon. “I don't know, John. I don't know anything about Henckel, but, generally speaking, scientists take those things pretty seriously.'
'Like Darwin and Wallace,” John said knowingly.
Gideon looked at him, impressed. “Yes. But I can't see her waiting all this time.'
