“Yes.” There was a long pause. “Tell me how you got the skeleton.”
I told him about Morissonneau and my visit to the monastery.
“Holy shit.”
“That’s what Ryan said.”
When Jake spoke again his voice was almost a whisper.
“What are you going to do?”
“First off, tell my boss. These are human remains. They were found in Quebec. They’re the coroner’s responsibility. Also, the bones may be evidence in a homicide investigation.”
“Ferris?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Undoubtedly my boss will tell me to contact the appropriate authorities in Israel.”
There was another pause. Sleet plopped against the window above my desk and ran in rivulets down the glass. Twelve floors below, traffic clogged the streets and crawled the Jacques Cartier Bridge. Taillights drew glistening red ribbons on the pavement.
“You’re sure this is the skeleton in the Kessler photo?”
Good question. One I hadn’t considered.
“I saw nothing to rule that out,” I said.
“Anything to rule it in?”
“No.” Lame.
“Is it worth another look?”
“I’ll do it now.”
“Will you talk to me before you contact Israel?”
“Why?”
“Please promise you’ll ring me first?”
Why not. Jake had initiated this whole thing.
“Sure, Jake.”
When we hung up, I sat a moment, hand resting on the receiver. Jake sounded uneasy about my notifying the Israeli authorities. Why?
He wanted first claim on rights to publish concerning the discovery and analysis of the skeleton? He feared losing control of the skeleton? He distrusted his Israeli colleagues? He distrusted the Israeli authorities?
I had no idea. Why hadn’t I asked?
I was hungry. My back hurt. I wanted to go home, have dinner with Birdie and Charlie, and curl up with my book.
Instead I dug out Kessler’s photo and placed it under the scope. Slowly, I moved from the top of the skull south over the face.
The forehead showed no unique identifier.
Eyes. Nothing.
Nose. Nothing.
Cheekbones. Nothing.
I twisted my head right, then left to relieve the pain in my neck.
Back to the scope.
When the mouth came into view, I stared through the eyepiece. I looked up and across my worktable at the skull.
Something wasn’t right.
Returning my eyes to the scope, I increased magnification. The teeth ballooned.
I brought the central incisor into focus, then inched from the midline toward the back of the jaw.
My stomach knotted.
I got up, retrieved my magnifying glass, and picked up the skull. Rotating the palate upward, I examined the dentition.
The knot tightened.
I closed my eyes.
What the hell could this mean?
13
ICARRIED THE PHOTO FROM THE SCOPE TO THE SKULL. USING THEhand lens, I counted from the midline of the palate to a gap on the right.
Two incisors, one canine, two premolars. Gap. Two molars.
The skeleton in Kessler’s print was missing its first upper molar on the right.
The skull on my worktable was not.
Was this not the skeleton pictured in the photo?
I returned to the scope, raised it, and positioned the skull. Then I directed the fiber-optic light onto the right maxillary molars.
Under magnification, I could see that the molar roots were exposed more than normal. The socket edges were pitted and porous.
Periodontal disease. No big deal.
Whatwas a big deal was the condition of the right first upper molar’s chewing surface. The cusps were high and rounded, while the cusps on the adjacent molars were completely ground down.
What the hell was that all about?
I articulated the jaw and noted occlusion. The first molar made contact before any other molar in the row. If anything, the first molar should have exhibited greater wear than its neighbors, not less.
I leaned back and considered.
There were two possibilities. A. This was a different skeleton from that in the Kessler photo. B. This was the same skeleton, but with a molar inserted into the gap.
If a molar had been inserted, there were two possibilities. A. It was the actual tooth that had been lost from the jaw. Teeth often fall out once the soft tissue decomposes. B. It was the tooth of another, mistakenly inserted into the jaw. This possibility would explain the differential cusp wear.
When had the tooth been reinserted? Three possibilities seemed reasonable. A. At the time of burial. B. During Yadin’s excavation. C. During the skeleton’s stay at the Musee de l’Homme.
My instincts said B.
Okay. If the tooth was replaced during the Masada dig, who had done it? Many possibilities. A. Yadin. B. Tsafrir. C. Haas. D. An excavator.
My gut feeling?
An excavator found the tooth beside the skeleton, tried the jaw, it seemed to fit, he stuck it in. The Cave 2001 bones were jumbled. Good records weren’t kept. Mistakes happen all the time with students and unskilled volunteers.
So. Funerary act? Simple error? Neither of the above, different skeleton than that in Kessler’s photo?
I was in over my head. I needed an odontologist.
It was now ten past seven on a Saturday night. I knew what Marc Bergeron, our lab’s dental expert, would say.
Get apical X-rays.
I couldn’t do that until Monday.
Frustrated, I spent the next hour studying Kessler’s print under magnification.
I spotted no anatomical quirk or detail that could tie the skeleton in the photo unequivocally to the bones on my table.
For the rest of the evening I sat around feeling agitated and blocked. Birdie and I watched an NCAA basketball
