Twenty Blue Devils

'You honestly think all those things were accidents?'

He hesitated. “Let's just say I think Therese's alternative hypothesis makes as much sense as anything else.'

John frowned at him. “What's Therese's alternative hypothesis?'

'Pele's Revenge,” Gideon said.

'Ah, you're probably right,” John said with a smile, “but I just can't let go of it. Look, would you at least take a look at the death report? There are pictures.'

'Brian's death report? Sure, I'd love to see it, but I don't think there's much chance of that.'

John looked highly pleased with himself. “I've got it in my cottage.'

'You—how did you manage that?'

'Easy. I stopped in at Bertaud's office on my way back and got on his case again.'

'I bet he loved that.'

'That's his problem. Anyway, I bugged him until he finally broke down and let me see it. I made copies of it all.'

'He let you make copies? I'm amazed.'

'He didn't exactly let me make them, he just left me in the records room with the folder, and there was this copier right there...” John spread his palms. “...and he didn't say I couldn't —'

Gideon held up his hand. “Don't tell me any more, John. I don't want to know these things. I'm a law-abiding man.'

'Oh, I get it. But as long as I'm the one who does the dirty work and sticks his neck out, you don't mind looking at what I come up with, right? You just don't want to hear about it.'

Gideon laughed. “I'd say that about sums it up. Let's see what you have. If there's anything there, I'll go back to Bertaud and wave it under his nose myself, how's that?'

'Spoken like a true skeleton detective.'

The clasp-envelope that John brought from his cottage contained two typed sheets and six eight-by-ten-inch, black-and-white photographs of a body on a morgue slab. There were full-length shots from various angles and distances and two gruesome close-ups of the head, all a bit blurry, probably as a result of the photocopying. The corpse was in a relatively late stage of decomposition, beyond what forensic specialists referred to—with good reason—as the “bloated” stage, but not yet to the final or “dry” stage. In other words, while the process of decay was clearly and disagreeably under way, it wasn't far enough along to allow a useful examination of the bones. Add to that the blurriness and it was quickly clear that the pictures weren't going to be of much use.

John watched him expectantly as he leafed through the pictures, but Gideon shook his head. “I'm not going to be able to make anything out of these, John.'

'Sure, you will, Doc,” John said with simple confidence. “You always do.” And then after a moment's reflection: “Almost always.'

'Thanks, I think.” Gideon dropped into one of the lawn chairs beside the hammock and turned to the printed material.

John wandered restlessly back and forth for a while, his hands in his pockets. “I'm gonna go over to the bar and bring back a beer,” he said. “If it's open. God, this place is dead. You want one too?'

'Just something cold. Some juice, maybe.'

John nodded. “Be back in a minute.” But he paused before leaving. “Doc? Try and stay out of that hammock for a change, will you?'

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Chapter 17

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The printed sheets had nothing helpful to offer either. On top was the acte de deces, the certificate of death, filled out by the examining physician. The body of Brian Scott, a white male (American) age thirty-eight, had been found by two hikers from New Zealand on October 28, in rugged terrain near the Maoroa River, one kilometer east of Tehiupa on the island of Raiatea. The decedent, dressed in a sleeveless shirt, walking shorts, and socks, had been judged by Dr. Claude Masson to have been dead for seven to ten days. The manner of death was listed as par hasard—accidental; the cause as multiple internal injuries. These injuries had presumably been the result of a fall of some thirty meters from the path along the edge of the bluff immediately above. The remains had been shipped to Therese Druett of Papara, Tahiti, on October 30.

The other sheet was a brief case summary that took less than half the page. The body had been identified from a wallet in the hip pocket of the shorts and from a wristwatch identified by Therese Druett, common-law wife of the decedent. Decedent had been hiking and camping in the area since October 17. No autopsy had been deemed necessary. The decedent's remains and possessions, including a pair of walking sandals found near the body, had been crated and shipped to Therese Druett at her request. The report was signed by Alphonse Didier, brigadier-chef.

Nothing. Nothing unexpected, nothing unusual, nothing suspicious.

Gideon put the papers aside and returned with reluctance to the photographs for a more thorough examination. For a forensic anthropologist, he was downright squeamish, and a dead human body that had been lying outdoors for seven to ten days in warm, humid conditions is not a sight to appeal even to the strong-stomached.