Bare Bones

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

It took a couple of hours to sort, inventory, and photograph the contents of the first sack

Conclusion: Bag one contains the partial remains of three Ursus americanus. Black bear. Species verification using Gilbert’s Mammalian Osteology and Olsen’s Mammal Remains from Archaeological Sites. Two adults and one juvenile represented. No heads, claws, distal phalanges, teeth, or outer integument present. No indicators of cause of death. Cut marks suggest skinning with a nonserrated double-edged blade, probably a hunting knife.

Between bags I took a break to phone US Airways.

Of course the flight was on time. Airlines operate to the nanosecond when the passenger or pickup is running late.

I looked at my watch. Eleven-twenty. If bag two held no surprises I could still make it to the airport on time.

I popped a can of Diet Coke and took a Quaker caramel-nut granola bar from a box I’d stashed in a kitchen cabinet. As I chewed I studied the Quaker pilgrim. He beamed at me with such a kindly smile. What could possibly go wrong?

Returning to the autopsy room, I glanced again at the X rays of bag two. Seeing nothing suspicious, I untied the knotted ends and upended the sack.

A soupy conglomerate of bone, sediment, and decomposing flesh oozed onto the stainless steel. A stench filled the air.

Readjusting my mask, I began poking through the mess.

More bear.

I lifted a smaller long bone that was clearly not bear. It felt light in my hand. I noted that the outer envelope of bone was thin, the marrow cavity disproportionately large.

Bird.

I began a triage.

Ursus.

Aves.

Time passed. My shoulders began to ache. At one point I heard a phone. Three rings, then silence. Either Hawkins had answered or the service had picked up.

When I’d separated by taxonomic affiliation, I started an inventory of the new bear bones. Again, there were no heads, claws, skin, or fur.

An hour later the bear count had risen to six.

I rolled that around in my head.

Was it legal to hunt black bears in North Carolina? Six seemed like a lot. Were there limits? Did these remains represent one slaughter, or were they the accumulation of multiple outings? The unevenness in decomposition supported that hypothesis.

Why had six headless carcasses been bundled in trash bags and buried in the woods? Had the bears been killed for their skins? Were their heads kept as trophies?

Was there a bear season? Had the hunting taken place during a legally approved period? When? It was hard to tell how long the animals had been dead. Until Boyd came along, the plastic had acted as an effective barrier to insects and other scavengers that hasten decomposition.

I was turning to the bird bones when voices floated in from the corridor. I stopped to listen.

Joe Hawkins. A male voice. Hawkins again.

Holding gloved hands in the air, I pushed the door with my bum and peeked out.

Hawkins and Tim Larabee were engaged in conversation outside the histology room. The ME looked agitated.

I was retreating when Larabee spotted me.

“Tempe. I’m glad to see you. I’ve been phoning your cell.” He was wearing jeans and a tweedy golf shirt with black collar and trim. His hair was wet, as though he’d just showered.

“I don’t bring my purse to an autopsy.”

He looked past me to the table.

“That the stuff from out near Cowans Ford?”

“Yes.”

“Animal?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. I need your help on something else.”

Oh, no.

“I got a call from the Davidson PD about an hour ago. A small plane went down just past one.”

“Where?”

“East of Davidson, that spot where Mecklenburg County corners out to meet Cabarrus and Iredell.”