“Fake paper is one of his specialties. It wouldn’t have taken him long. Hell, he probably kept extra documents in his underwear drawer. I’ve issued alerts here and nationwide with CPIC. I also notified the boys at the border. They’ll nail him. You going to the lab tomorrow?”
“Oh, yeah. Hubert will be on me like green on Kermit.”
“First wowzer, now a frog metaphor. You must have your strength back.”
“Simile.”
“What?”
“A simile uses words such as ‘like’ or ‘as’ to compare two ideas. A metaphor directly compares seemingly unrelated subjects.”
“Yep. She’s back.”
“The Lac Saint-Jean bones have been sitting since Wednesday when I got sick.”
“Aren’t they the Gouvrards?”
“Probably.”
“You have other possibilities?”
“No.”
I heard a female voice in the background. There was a muffled sound, as though the phone had been covered or pressed to a chest. In seconds, Ryan was back.
“I’ve got to take Lily home.”
“You two had a good day?”
“As good as they get.”
“She’s still angry?”
“As a bee in a bottle. Simile.”
“Keep me up to speed on Adamski?”
“Roger that. Lady in the loop.”
Monday, I fired from bed feeling like I could reforest the Amazon solo. Laszlo’s killers were behind bars in Chicago. Adamski would soon be netted. I was cured. Life was good.
So was the weather. The sky was azure, the sun blinding. The temperature was expected to climb to a balmy 2 degrees Celsius.
Since the streets were clear, I decided to drive. That went well, my arrival did not. Due to the tonnage of snow taking up curb space, street parking around Wilfrid-Derome remained a nightmare.
After circling for twenty minutes, I forked over the cash and pulled into the lot. Big deal. It’s only money.
I rode the day to twelve with cops and LSJML staff exchanging gossip and news of their weekend lives. Briel was in her office. Morin and Ayers had not yet arrived. Neither had Joe.
In my lab, the Lac Saint-Jean vics lay on the counter and tabletops. The Gouvrard file waited on my desk. In my office, the phone was doing some serious flashing.
I decided on a course of action. Phone messages first. Then little Valentin’s antemorts. Then the younger child’s bones.
No caller had left a plea or query requiring my immediate attention. Setting my scribbled list aside, I crossed to the lab and opened the Gouvrard file.
It took only minutes to spot an entry that sent my hopes soaring.
Tetracycline is a powerful antibiotic capable of killing a wide array of bacteria. Unfortunately, if taken during the period of dental formation, the drug becomes calcified in the enamel. The result is permanent overall gray or brown discoloration of the crown, or patterns of horizontal stripes of varying intensity.
In the 1950s, tetracycline was so commonly prescribed this type of staining was widespread. As recently as 1980, the drug was still given to kids and pregnant women.
Bad news for your smile. Good news for a forensic ID.
According to his record, Valentin Gouvrard contracted a streptococcal infection at age seven months. The baby took tetracycline for three weeks.
I flew to my bookcase, yanked down a reference manual, and checked a chart.
The deciduous second molars begin calcification between sixteen and twenty- four weeks in utero for the maxilla, between seventeen and twenty weeks in utero for the mandible. Crown completion occurs at around eleven months for the maxilla, ten months for the mandible.
Quick deductive reasoning.
Observation: Valentin Gouvrard took tetracycline when his baby second molars were forming.
Observation: Adult premolars replace baby second molars around age eleven or twelve. The child on my table died between ages six and eight, and, therefore, had his second baby molars at death.
Deduction: If the child on my table was Valentin, those molars would be discolored.
I checked my inventory. One adult first and two baby second molars had been recovered. Though I’d glanced only briefly at the baby teeth, once when doing inventory, once when laying them out for X-rays, I’d noted nothing but a possible dot of dullness in the enamel of the upper-second kid molar.
I was hurrying to check the remains when the phone rang.
“Dr. Brennan.”
“Monsieur Hubert.”
“I understand you’ve been unwell.”
“I’m tip-top now.”
“Good. Come down to my office.”
“I’ve just found something which may be important in resolving the Lac Saint- Jean case. Perhaps-”
“Get down here, please.” Sharp. “Now.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Yeah.” The coroner’s tone could have crisped lettuce. “My whole fucking staff is inept.”
33
HUBERT WAS IN HIS CHAIR, LOOKING LIKE DECADES OF WAY TOO much bakery.
“Have a seat, Dr. Brennan.”
I sat, expecting a reprimand, clueless as to why.
“Let me ask you something.” The coroner’s expression was one of perplexed disappointment. “Do you enjoy working here?”
“What?”
