“The illegal trade in black bear galls in California alone is estimated at one hundred million a year. Think about that, Ryan. Ounce for ounce, bear gall is worth more than cocaine, and hairbags like Dorton and Park know that. They also know they’ll get a slap on the wrist if they get caught.”
I shook my head in disgust.
“Deer are killed for their antler velvet. Siberian tigers are hunted for their bones and penises. Sea horses are killed to help men grow hair.”
“Sea horses?”
“Rhinos are shot, electrocuted, and driven into pits lined with sharpened bamboo stakes so men in Yemen can make dagger handles. There are only a few thousand rhinos left in the world, Ryan. Jesus, you can go on the Web and buy smoked gorilla paws.”
Ryan got up, squatted by my chair.
“You feel very strongly about this.”
“It sickens me.” I let my eyes travel to Ryan’s. “A cache of six metric tons of elephant ivory was seized in Singapore last June. Now a group of South African countries is talking about reversing the ban on ivory trading. Why? So people can make ornaments out of elephant tusks. Every year the Japanese take hundreds of whales for research. Yeah. Right. Research that ends up in the seafood market. Do you have any idea of the length of the evolutionary process that created the animals we have today, and the shortness of the time needed to kill them off?”
Ryan took my face in both his hands.
“We helped do something about it, Tempe. Park and Tyree are going down. No more bears or birds will be dying because of them. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”
“It’s a start,” I agreed.
“Let’s keep at it.” Ryan’s eyes were blue as the Atlantic and steady on mine. “You and me.”
“Do you mean that, Ryan?”
“I do.”
I kissed him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pressed my cheek to his.
Pulling free, I wiped sand from his forehead and settled back to my reading, eager to find a place to begin.
Ryan took Boyd for a run on the beach.
That night we ate shrimp and crab on the docks at Shem Creek. We walked in the surf, made love, then fell asleep listening to Ryan’s eternal ocean.
From the Forensic Files
of Dr. Kathy Reichs
For legal and ethical reasons I cannot discuss any of the real-life cases that may have inspired
Monsieur Orignal
Shakespeare spoke of “murder most foul” (
A variety of bones find their way to my lab: trophy skulls smuggled from foreign lands; teaching skeletons spirited from classrooms to fraternity houses; Confederate soldiers buried in unmarked graves; pets laid to rest in backyards or crawl spaces.
It happens all the time. Bones or body parts are discovered. Local authorities, unfamiliar with anatomy, send them to the coroner or medical examiner. Occasionally the “vic” turns out to be a reptile or bird, but most are members of the class
The skeletal remains that found their way into
Wasting no time, I skimmed for critical information: case number, morgue number, coroner, pathologist. I was being asked to examine cut marks on leg and pelvic bones to determine the type of saw used for dismemberment. The summary of known facts included one French word unfamiliar to me:
Throwing on a lab coat, I crossed to the counter reserved for new cases. When I unzipped the pouch, my jaw dropped. Either this victim had a colossal pituitary disorder, or I was looking at Goliath himself.
About-face. Dictionary.
My dismemberment victim was a moose.
On more careful reading of the request-for-expertise form, I discovered that the analysis had been requested by the Societe de la faune et des parcs, the Quebec equivalent of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. A poacher had
