206 BONES

straight-edged rib fractures that I knew were caused by blunt trauma.”

“True enough. But did any look that clean? Kick up the magnification.”

Corcoran did as I’d suggested, then repositioned the light source.

Several seconds passed. Then, “Are those what I think they are?”

“Striations. Now look at the fresh break on the ulna. Not the old healed fracture.”

Corcoran swapped bones and squinted into the eyepiece.

“Cut marks?” Ryan mouthed over Corcoran’s hunched back.

I nodded.

Fluorescent tubes hummed overhead. Muted footsteps clicked by in the hall.

Finally, Corcoran looked up.

“Chop to the ulna, stab to the rib. Ulna chop’s probably defensive.”

Corcoran referred to trauma caused when knifing victims throw up hands or arms to ward off attack.

“I found knife stab wounds on at least four ribs.”

I held the other rib so Corcoran and Ryan could see the anterior, or chest, portion. A four-inch crack ran longitudinally along its surface.

Ryan whistled softly. “That’s one hell of a weapon.”

“Don’t be fooled by appearances,” I said. “Since fractures propagate with the grain of the bone, the length of a crack doesn’t necessarily reflect the size of the blade that made it. But there is an indicator.”

I pointed to a two-inch stretch within the longer defect. “Under magnification this portion appears very clean-edged. There’s also a subtle squaring at one end. Together, those features suggest a two-inch-wide, single-edged blade.”

Ryan started to speak. I held up a hand.

“When the rib cage is rearticulated, no cut extends between adjacent ribs. However, a cut on R-seven aligns perfectly with a square-edged defect on R-six. That pattern, also, suggests a single-edged blade.”

“Striations mean serration,” Corcoran said.

I nodded. “I’d venture the weapon has a single-edged, serrated, two-inch blade.”

“Like a large steak knife,” Ryan said.

“You think Lassie was dead when he went into the quarry,” Corcoran said.

“In my opinion, the most likely scenario is that he was stabbed to death, then his body was dumped.”

Murdered.

The word rolled in my head like thunder at the beach.

How to tell Cukura Kundze?

11

TICK. TICK. TICK. TICK. TICK.

I awoke disoriented. In my dream I was having sex. The sound was a fan spinning overhead. Too fast.

The man’s face was a blur. Who was he? Was that why I was here?

But the sound wasn’t whirling blades.

I was lying on my side, arms and legs flexed, palms pressed together under my cheek. The ticking was right at my ear.

I lifted my chin and felt something hard scrape my lobe.

A wristwatch?

But my Cyma was soundless. Whose watch was I wearing? Why?

I twisted my left wrist in front of my eyes. Hour and minute hands glowed faintly in the pitch black.

1:40? 8:05? A.m.? P.m.? I had no idea. No sense how long I’d been out.

Trembling, I tucked my hands between my thighs for warmth. My fingers were ice through the denim.

With the watch repositioned, I was again enveloped in complete and utter stillness.

As I lay seeing nothing, hearing nothing, the same questions arose. Where? How long? Who? Why?

I pictured myself as from a skycam, body curled, imprisoned in a very small space.

Google Earth.

Google Tomb.

Oh God.

The unseeable walls and ceiling seemed to shrink inward, to press down from above. My breathing grew ragged.

To block the claustrophobia, I focused inward.

Head: pounding.

Throat: parched.

Digits: numb.

Leg: throbbing.

Bladder: full.

Stomach: empty.

The awareness of hunger triggered thoughts of food. Seared ahi tuna, thick-sliced bacon, Thai soup with lemongrass and coconut milk.

I tried to inventory what I knew of my surroundings. My brain posted no list. Just more chow.

Mussels with garlic, tomatoes, peppers, and wine. Belgian fries dipped in thick mayonnaise. Ryan drinking a Bavik pilsner.

How long since he and I had shared that meal? Hours? Days? Was it the last time I’d eaten? Or had that supper been months ago? Years?

Was Ryan the lover in my dream? If not, was he real, or a construct of my subconscious?

My body was shaking, my teeth clacking in my mouth.

How was I dressed?