Make No Bones

Among these cronies, there were predictable exclamations of wonderment at the number of new faces to be seen this year, along with fond talk of the old days when forensic anthropology was new and all of its practitioners could have fit—indeed, had fit—around a single medium-sized table in a Shakey's Pizza Parlor in Los Angeles. Now you had a hard time finding a familiar face in the mob. Who, went the refrain, were all these people?

In Gideon's case, as in many of the others', it was more than talk. For Gideon, forensic anthropology—the application of knowledge of the human skeleton to situations, homicidal and other, in which bones were all there was to go on—was a sideline; interesting enough on its own merits, but definitely secondary to his interest in hominid evolution, which alone took him to five or six meetings a year. As a result, he'd managed to make only two of the biennial WAFA conferences: the second, with twelve participants, and the third, with twenty. There had been no graduate students attending, and no family members.

This year, sixty-two had signed up, including twenty-one students, and at least a third had brought spouses/ lovers/friends/whatever. They had filled most of the aging lodge.

When Gideon came back with his registration packet the cottage was empty. He found Julie outside, sitting peacefully under a couple of pine trees beside the pond. She was in a bulky wooden lawn chair, her feet up on a second chair and crossed at the ankles, with a paperback Anne Tyler novel on her lap. Swaying branches broke the light that fell on her into shifting, watery shards, as it, an artfully out-of-focus Victorian photograph—all glowing, indistinct highlights and soft outlines; a sweet, sad memory of something loved and lost. His throat suddenly constricted.

She closed the book and looked lazily up at him. “Boy, do I feel relaxed.'

He cleared his throat. “Boy, do you look pretty.” She smiled. “Kiss,” she said, “please.'

He knelt and kissed her gently on the mouth. When he moved back, she tipped his head to her again, kissed him again, softly nibbled his lip. “I love you.'

'You know,” he said huskily, “we have time to—'

'No, we don't. We have to be at a museum reception at five.'

'We have time if we hurry.'

'Who wants to hurry? I'm free this evening after the reception. How about you?'

'Well, I'm pretty busy, but I'll try and work you in.” He kissed her once more, stood up, and took the remaining chair. “Good book?'

'Uh-huh.” She stretched, put the book on the table, and pointed at the registration packet. “Anything interesting in there?'

'I doubt it.'

But the topmost item proved him wrong: a letter from Nelson Hobert, anthropology chairman at Northern New Mexico and president of the National Society of Forensic Anthropology, WAFA's parent organization. He scanned it silently.

Dear Colleague:

As many of you know, Albert Evan Jasper's prodigious contributions to our field did not end with his death. Dr. Jasper's will provided for the donation of his remains to NSFA, the organization over which he presided for so many years, with the provision that they be used “for the furtherance of knowledge and/or education in the science of human skeletal identification.'

Ironically, the particulars of his tragic death made such application problematical, and for ten years his remains were stored while awaiting appropriate disposition. Recently, however, an opportunity to fulfill his wishes presented itself, viz, the installation of a major forensic anthropology exhibit by the Central Oregon Museum of Natural History in Bend.

Contacts with Miranda Glass determined that the exhibit included no material on identification from burned skeletal remains, and that she would welcome those of Dr. Jasper for that purpose. While this would appear to have happily resolved the matter, you will understand that it raised issues of delicacy and taste, particularly in regard to Dr. Jasper's family. Therefore, family approval was requested before taking the matter further.

I am pleased to report that Dr. Jasper's son and executor, Dr. Casper Jasper, has wholeheartedly approved the disposition of his father's remains in this manner, and they were transferred to Bend some two weeks ago. Miranda assures me that they will be permanently installed in time for Sunday's preview reception for WAFA members. As a longtime associate of Albert Evan Jasper, I can assure you that this final outcome of his bequest is fully in line with his wishes.

On behalf of NSFA, welcome to the fifth biennial WAFA conference. I regret that personal business will prevent my arriving until Monday evening, but I look forward to greeting you all then.

'Well, I guess you'd have to say this is pretty interesting,” Gideon said, handing it to her.

She had hardly begun to read it when she looked up, frowning. “'Ironically, the particulars of his tragic death made such application problematical...’ What does that mean? Didn't you tell me he was killed in a bus crash down here?'

'It means there wasn't much of him left, and what there was was in pretty bad shape. Burned to a crisp, in fact. Him and thirty or forty other people. The bus ran into some kind of fuel truck and pretty much exploded into flames. It was really horrible, I understand. There wasn't much left of anybody.'

'How do they know which one was Jasper, then?'

'It wasn't easy. Nellie and the others worked on the victims for days, and they never did positively identify everyone. In Jasper's case, the jawbone and some of the teeth were still left, and they were able to match them up with his old dental charts.'