Skeleton Dance

'But why bring the Cobra? An air rifle, even a super high-powered one like this one, still makes a lousy weapon. Even your cheapo Saturday night special would beat it for killing power. Besides that, it's awkward. It's big, and hard to hide, and I think you need air from a diving tank or something to charge it . . . and anyway, he didn't shoot Jacques, he hit him with a hand-axe. I'm telling you, something's off. We're being had.'

'I remember when I first met you, before you were the Skeleton Detective,” Julie said wistfully, “you were such a nice, innocent, mild-mannered professor. You trusted everyone, you didn't see trickery and deception everywhere you looked.'

'You're right. That was before I learned the First Rule of Forensic Analysis.'

'Which is?'

'When in doubt, think dirty,” he said, laughing. “Look, I'd better get going. They want me in Perigueux, at the morgue. For the autopsy, I'm sorry to say. I should be back in three or four hours.'

'Lucky you,” Julie said, getting up. “Well, I'll drive you. It's starting to rain again.'

'No, don't bother. I'm fine, really.'

'No, you're not fine.'

'Yes, I am fine. Anyway, I want to think this stuff through on the way.'

'That, my darling absent-minded professor, is what I'm worried about. I've seen you drive while you were thinking something through and it's a terrifying sight; no one on the road is safe. I'll drive; you think. And anyway,” she added, reaching into the leather purse on the floor beside her, “I have the keys.'

* * * *

Once in Perigueux, with the rain tapering off and the sun beginning to peek through, they left the car in a parking garage near the Arenes, the public gardens on the site of the Gallo-Roman arena, and found a sidewalk cafe overlooking some of the ancient, tumbled blocks of stone, where they agreed to meet again in two hours. In the meantime, Gideon suggested, it might be nice to have an afternoon espresso, and perhaps even a bite, before he reported to the police commissariat.

'Not that I don't enjoy your company,” Julie said, stirring sugar into her coffee at an awninged table, “but I thought you were in a hurry. Aren't they waiting for you?'

'Oh, I don't think another half-hour's going to make any difference. Besides, the longer I take to get there, the further along Roussillot's going to be on the autopsy, which suits me fine.'

'It does? I would have thought that the further it goes the worse it gets.'

'Not to me, it doesn't. The longer the cutting goes on, the less the thing on the table resembles a human being. It's just a pile—well, separate piles, really—of intestines, liver, spleen . . . the lungs and heart come out early, you see—'

'Whup-whup.” Julie held up her hand, traffic-cop style. “I get the idea; thank you so much for explaining. Here, you're welcome to my tart, if you like. I can't imagine what happened to my appetite.'

'I'm sorry, honey,” he said sincerely, then sighed. “Well, I've probably procrastinated about as much as I can get away with; I'd better be on my way.” He tossed off the last of his coffee, stood up, and bent to kiss her. “See you in a couple of hours. Have fun.'

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “You have fun too.'

At the commissariat, he was met at the front desk by Joly, who led him downstairs to the autopsy room. (Like most autopsy rooms, it was in the basement, where there were no windows to distract the technicians on the inside or to spoil the day of any innocents who might happen to look in from the outside.)

On the way, he succinctly filled Gideon in on what had been learned so far. That the corpse was Bousquet's had been confirmed with visual identifications, by his landlady, by Emile Grize, and by Audrey Godwin-Pope. That the weapon found under his body was the same one that had killed Ely Carpenter had also been established: the ballistics section had compared the rifling of the Cobra's barrel to the rifling marks on the pellet found under Carpenter's body in the abri and determined that they matched.

'What about Bousquet?” Gideon asked. “Did you find the bullet—I mean the pellet?'

'It's still in his body, unless Roussillot has removed it in the last few minutes. But X-rays have been taken, and it shows up quite clearly—a wasp-waisted pellet of the same approximate size as the one that killed Carpenter. We'll know for certain later, but I think that for now we can assume that the same weapon was used in both cases.'

'Lucien,” Gideon asked, stopping him on the landing between floors, “how positive are you that it is a suicide?'

Joly looked down his long nose at him. “Do you doubt it?'

'I'm just asking.'

Joly shrugged. “Well . . . fairly positive, I'd say. No, quite positive, but I'll leave it to Roussillot to explain the medical details to you; as you'll see, the trajectory of the projectile, the nature of the wound itself—oh, all sorts of things point to suicide, along with certain psychological tendencies . . . you seem a little doubtful, Gideon, or am I mistaken?'

'Frankly, you seem a little doubtful, Lucien.'

'I? No, not at all,” Joly said doubtfully. “Roussillot makes an excellent case.'

'Then what's bothering you?'

'Nothing is bothering me.” Irritably, he produced and lit a cigarette. “All right, to tell you the truth, it's only that everything . . . all these events . . . they come together so, so—'

'Neatly?'