Make No Bones

'Albert Jasper was awful,” she said. “Cynical, condescending, ruthless, uptight, paternalistic in the worst sense of the term...” John thought she had run out of words, but she was only pausing for breath. “Arrogant, inauthentic, self-centered...all in all, a horrible person. You don't have to take my word for it either; the others will tell you exactly the same thing.'

So they had, so far. “And yet you put on a big party for him when he retired.'

'Nellie put it on. He did the organizing, and I think most of us came to please him, not Jasper. And, well, to tell the truth, in my case I was flattered to be invited. I wasn't a very big fish at the time. And I was excited about the idea of a forensic anthropology conference. But the whole retirement-party bit was Nellie's concoction; no one else's.'

'And yet you all came.'

Callie laughed shortly. “A big mistake.'

Especially for Jasper, John thought.

Callie drew herself up. “Are we done? There's a session I'd like to attend.'

'Just one more thing,” John said. “I'd like you to take a look at this.” He removed a sheet of paper from the folder at his elbow and passed it to her. On it was a copy of Albert Jasper's telephone bill for June 1981—more of Julian Minor's work, obtained by Telefax a couple of hours earlier.

'Look at the circled number, the call to Nevada.” She looked. “Yes?'

'Do you know that number?'

'Well, it's the university's prefix—'

'I know that, but the extension isn't in use anymore, and so far no one's been able to tell us what it was. You don't recognize it?'

'No. Wait, yes. It's the old anthropology department extension. We haven't used it since 1989.'

'So it would have been a call to the department switchboard?'

'The department secretary. There were only six or seven faculty offices back then, and a secretary could handle it.'

'The call was made just two weeks before the meeting—two weeks before Jasper was killed. You wouldn't happen to know what he was calling about?'

'No.'

'He wasn't calling you?'

She laughed. “Jasper wouldn't call me.'

'All right, who would he call?'

'Well, Harlow, probably. I mean, I don't think he knew any of the others. They were all cultural, or linguistics, or archaeology. But I'm just guessing.'

'What would he be calling Harlow about?'

'I have no idea. They weren't exactly in close contact, so it's a bit of a surprise, actually.'

John looked up as a head poked through the open doorway of the lounge.

'Manager said you wanted to see me.” It was one of the lodge staff, a sleepy-looking teenager with a bad complexion and long, stringy blond hair under a turned-around baseball cap. He took an unwilling step into the room.

'Thanks, be with you in a second.'

'I can come back later.'

'No, I'm just leaving,” Callie called to him. She ground out her cigarette and stood up. “I really think I would have heard about that phone call if it were anything significant,” she said to John. “I can't imagine it was anything important.'

Maybe not, John thought, but it was the only call listed on Jasper's bill to any of the people John was now concerned with. And they had talked for thirty-nine minutes. That was a long time for a long-distance call. Especially for people who weren't exactly in close contact.

John pulled out his small notebook as the kid eased warily into Callie's chair. “What's your name?'

'Vinnie.'

John looked up.

'Stoller.'

John wrote it down. “And you're the one who changed the sheets and towels Wednesday?'

'Not all of ‘em. I did Cottage 18.'

Harlow's cottage. “Do you remember what time that was?'

'About 4:57.'

John put down the pad. 'About 4:57?'

'I remember because it was the last one in the row, and I was like back for my dinner break at 5:00.'

John wrote down 4:57p. “Tell me exactly what you saw at the cottage, exactly what you did.'