'Him and you and plenty of other people. It was a booming resort back then.'
'Yes, but how many of those people are unaccounted for?'
He let this sink in, then moved to the next finger. “From what you say, there are no open missing-person files or unsolved homicides from 1981. So, whoever this is, apparently no one is even aware he's missing. Does it really take such a leap to wonder if it isn't someone we all thought was on the bus?'
Honeyman wasn't ready to give up yet. “But why Salish in particular?” he persisted. “What about some of the other remains? Didn't you say there were other people you couldn't identify for sure?'
Beneath Nellie's eye a muscle jumped. “That's true. In some cases we had to base identifications on a ring, a —a leg brace...'
'Well, then, that means other people could be ‘missing,’ too, without anybody knowing. Why couldn't it be one of them?'
Good question, Gideon thought.
'I'm sorry, Farrell, but I don't think so,” Nellie said. “The possible whereabouts of every person who could conceivably have been on that bus were tracked. Your own department worked on it. So did the state people. IBM lent us a couple of computers. And yes, a few possibles were never run down, at least not to everybody's complete satisfaction—that's hardly surprising in a case like this. But there were only two guests at Whitebark who weren't accounted for, who were not demonstrably alive and kicking...Albert Jasper and Chuck Salish. Albert was identified beyond dispute. That leaves Chuck.'
Good answer, Gideon thought. “Nellie, what about Salish's physical characteristics? What we have here is a male Caucasian, probably in his fifties, about five-nine, give or take an inch or so. Did Salish fit that?'
He thought for a moment, sucking on the pipe. “Oh, yes.'
'So would half the people in Deschutes County,” Honeyman said, but without conviction. However unwillingly, he had come around to Nellie's point of view.
Gideon had too. “If it's Salish,” he said, “it ought to be easy enough to prove. That skeleton's almost whole, with a good set of dentition. A copy of Salish's dental records ought to settle it.'
'That's a fact,” Nellie said. “And unless I'm mistaken, we already have those. They'd be in the medical examiner's file from 1981. I'm sure we got medical and dental records on everyone.'
He sucked on the pipe and blew out a turgid brown cloud. Two people who were in the act of sitting down at the next table wrinkled their noses, looked disbelievingly at each other, and quietly took their sundaes several tables farther away.
Honeyman was crunching ice between his teeth and looking depressed. “All right, let's say it is Salish. I don't suppose you'd have any idea who would want to kill him?” Gideon had the impression he was praying for a no.
Nellie blinked at him. “How on earth would I come to have any idea about that?'
Honeyman shrugged deferentially. “I only meant that you were there. He was one of your party. I just thought you might—'
'Farrell,” Nellie said, “if that question means what I think it means, you're about twenty miles off base. Whoever murdered Chuck Salish, it wasn't somebody from WAFA. We're on your side, or have you forgotten?'
To his credit, Honeyman held his ground. “As far as you know, nobody in the group had any kind of grudge against him?'
'Nobody there even knew him before Albert showed up with him.” Nellie was staring hotly at Honeyman, his bearded chin thrust out. “Now listen, Farrell, this is a respected organization of certified forensic scientists, and I'm privileged to head the national organization. There isn't a one of those people you're asking me about who hasn't had more experience working with law enforcement than you have, dammit, and I resent your implications.'
Honeyman shifted impassively into the stolid copspeak that policemen used at such times. “I'm sorry you feel that way, sir, but I'd still like an answer to my question. To your knowledge, did any person there have a grudge against Mr. Salish?'
Gideon winced. It was probably the first time in Nellie's life that anyone had talked to him in that particular tone.
'No,” Nellie said angrily, “nobody had a grudge against anybody.'
'I see. Everything was sweetness and light,” Honeyman said, continuing to show more backbone than Gideon had given him credit for.
Nellie scowled at him for a moment, then bent his head while he used a paper clip to jab ferociously at some clotted tobacco in the bowl of his pipe. “Yes,” he muttered, “that's right.'
Gideon stared at him. Nellie Hobert, ordinarily about as devious as a duck, was holding something back; he was almost sure of it. There was nobody whose forthrightness Gideon trusted more than Nellie's, and yet—
'Hell,” Nellie mumbled as he got the pipe going again,
'I'm sorry, Farrell. I apologize. It's been quite a day.” “Nothing to apologize for, sir,” Honeyman said, still stiff. Nellie's face split into its familiar Muppet grin. “Then stop calling me ‘sir,’ all right? It makes me nervous.” Honeyman relaxed and smiled back at him. “Me too.” “It's just that I thought you were barking up the wrong tree, that's all.'
'I probably was.” He looked at his watch. “Five o'clock. Look, I better get a deposition from you. Would this be a good time to come on back to the office?'
'I don't see why not. I don't have anything pressing until eight. I've promised to report to the membership on the skeletal analysis.” He smiled wryly. “It appears I'm going to have some interesting things to tell them.” He glanced at Honeyman. “You have no objection to my telling them about Chuck Salish?'
Honeyman hesitated, then shook his head. “Go ahead, they may as well know. Christ, an FBI agent! Dr. Oliver, you're welcome to come on over to the office too. You might be able to add something.'
'I can't see what,” Gideon said. “Besides, I promised my wife I'd have a before-dinner drink with her. I'm
