Ryan straightened. “How do you want to play this?” he asked Lo.
“Let me question him,” I said.
“No way.”
“I’m an anthropologist,” I pressed. “You’re a cop.”
“You weren’t kidding,” Lo said to Ryan. “The chick is good.”
“I told you.”
“What I mean is, Reggie may view me as less threatening than you.”
“I do have a badge,” Lo said.
“And a gun,” Ryan added.
“And I’m wearing this shirt.” Lo flipped the hem of yet another aloha delight.
“You two are hilarious,” I said. “But Cumbo has been granted limited immunity. Right now, he can walk anytime he wants. I can come at him from the JPAC angle. He claims he wants to die with a clear conscience. I can work that, talk about Plato, talk about getting Spider properly buried.”
“How sure are you on this chimera thing?” Lo asked.
“To be absolutely certain, I’ll need more of Harriet’s DNA. But right now, it’s the only theory that makes sense.”
Lo looked at Cotton.
“I lost Atoa. I’d like to hang something on this guy.”
“I don’t see a downside,” she said. “He’s been Mirandized. He’s got counsel. The army has a legitimate interest. Dr. Brennan’s their rep on this Spider thing.”
Lo hesitated.
Sighed.
“What the hell.”
I started toward the door.
“And, hey,” Lo said.
I turned, hand on the knob.
“Hit him with everything.”
CUMBO DIDN’T GLANCE UP WHEN I ENTERED THE ROOM.
Schoon and Epstein did. The lawyers watched in silence as I walked toward the table.
Up close I could see that Cumbo was sweating big-time. The collar of his hoodie was soaked with perspiration pumping from his face and neck. His eyes were underhung with flabby half-moon plums. His skin was the color of dun.
“I’m Dr. Temperance Brennan.” Taking a seat.
“Doctor?” Epstein looked from me to Schoon.
“ADA Cotton suggested that I participate in this interrogation.”
“Doctor?” Epstein repeated.
“I’m a forensic anthropologist.”
“I don’t see the relevance.”
“I work for JPAC.” I spoke directly to Cumbo. “The Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
Cumbo didn’t raise his head or acknowledge my question.
“JPAC’s mission is to locate American war dead and bring them home. And they do a fine job of it.”
Epstein started to object. I continued to ignore him.
“I’m involved in the case of a soldier who was killed in Vietnam, eventually buried in his home state of North Carolina.”
Nothing.
“That soldier’s friends and family called him Spider.”
The half-moon plums pinched up ever so slightly.
“Recently an odd thing happened. A man died in Canada. Fingerprints identified that man as Spider. But Spider was buried in Lumberton, North Carolina.”
Cumbo began working his thumbnails. I noticed they were yellow and ridged.
“As you can imagine, this situation created considerable confusion. The army doesn’t like confusion. They opened an investigation to determine how the same man could be dead in two places.”
