We all stood.
I asked one last question.
“Why would a grown man call himself Ricky Don?” It sounded like one of Harry’s Texas saloons.
“Perhaps he doesn’t want to appear pretentious.”
“I see,” I said.
I didn’t.
It was four-thirty by the time Jansen left. I wanted to go home, take another long shower, tap into the Victoria’s Secret knockoff reserve, and spend the evening with Ryan.
But I also wanted to split for the beach first thing in the morning.
And I had bear bones in the cooler.
If annoying tasks are avoidable, I am a world-class procrastinator. I advance mail from pile to pile, then chuck it when the deadline or opportunity has passed. I wait out snow until it melts. I coexist with dandelions and weeds. My garden relies on rain.
Conversely, unfinished but ultimately unavoidable chores hang over my head like guillotine blades. All through school I submitted papers in advance of due dates. I never pulled an all-nighter. I pay bills on time. I can’t rest until the inescapable is put to bed.
I phoned Ryan’s cell. Four rings, then his voice requested a message in French then in English.
“Get cooking, slick. I’ll be home by seven.”
Hanging up, I questioned the wisdom of my phrasing. I was referring to steak and potatoes. Ryan might take it to mean something else.
I tried Geneva Banks. Still no answer.
I considered Skinny Slidell.
Avoidable.
Returning to the autopsy room, I tied on a new paper apron, changed the soaking solution for the pubes and ribs, and packed up the remains of the passenger’s skull. Then I went to the cooler, reunited the tubs with their headless owner, and rolled out The Three Bears.
Only a portion of one bag remained unexamined. How long could it take?
Untwisting the plastic, I dumped the contents onto the table.
The large bones took ten minutes. All bear.
I was laying down the last tibia when something crawled into my peripheral vision. I turned to the mound of smaller material I’d scooped into a pile by my left elbow.
My eyes went to an object that had rolled free.
My heart plunged.
I poked through the pile, teased free another.
My fingers curled into fists and my head flopped forward like a Dali clock.
9
I DREW A DEEP BREATH, OPENED MY EYES, AND REEXAMINED THE two small bones. One was cuboid with a hooklike process. The other resembled a miniature, half-carved bust.
Neither had anything to do with
Damn!
My heart was in free fall.
Scooping the carpals onto my glove, I sought out Larabee. He was in his office.
I held out the bones.
He glanced at them, then up at me.
“A hamate and a capitate,” I said.
“From the Goldilocks gang?”
I nodded.
“Paw?”
“Hand.”
His face skewed into a frown.
“Human?”
“Very.”
“You’re sure?”
I did not reply.
