?Honey, we?ve gone over this. If you don?t like the University of Virginia, you could try McGill. Why don?t you take a couple of weeks, come up here, check it out?? Talk fast, Mom. ?We could make a vacation of it. I?ll take some time off. Maybe we could drive out to the Maritimes, bum around Nova Scotia for a few days.? God. What was I saying? How could I work that? No matter. My daughter comes first.
She didn?t answer.
?It?s not grades, is it??
?No, no. They were fine.?
?Then your credits should transfer. We coul-?
?I want to go to Europe.?
?Europe??
?Italy.?
?Italy??
I didn?t have to think that one through.
?Is that where Max is playing??
?Yes.? Defensive. ?So??
?So??
?They?re giving him a lot more money than the Hornets.?
I said nothing.
?And a house.?
Nothing.
?And a car. A Ferrari.?
Nothing.
?Tax free.? Her tone was becoming more defiant.
?That?s great for Max, Katy. He gets to play a sport he loves and gets paid for it. But what about you??
?Max wants me to come.?
?Max is twenty-four and has a degree. You?re nineteen and have one year of college.?
She heard the irritation in my voice.
?You got married when you were nineteen.?
?Married?? My stomach did a triple gainer.
?Well, you did.?
She had a point. I held my tongue, anxious with concern for her but knowing I was helpless to do anything.
?I just said that. We?re not getting married.?
We sat and listened to the air between Montreal and Charlotte for what seemed like forever.
?Katy, will you think about coming up here??
?Okay.?
?Promise you won?t do anything without talking to me??
More silence.
?Katy??
?Yes, Mom.?
?I love you, sweetheart.?
?I love you, too.?
?Say hi to your dad for me.?
?Okay.?
?I?ll leave something on your e-mail tomorrow, okay??
?Okay.?
I hung up with an unsteady hand. What next? Bones were easier to read than kids. I got a cup of coffee, then dialed.
?Dr. Calvert, please.?
?May I ask who?s calling?? I told her. ?Just a minute, please.? Put on hold.
?Tempe, how are you? You spend more time on the phone than an MCI salesman. You surely are hard to reach.? He out-twanged both the day and night shifts.
?I?m sorry, Aaron. My daughter wants to drop out of school and run off with a basketball player,? I blurted.
?Can he go to his left or shoot the three??
?I guess.?
?Let her go.?
?Very funny.?
?Nothing funny about someone who can go left or shoot from outside the arc. Money in the bank.?
?Aaron, I?ve got another dismemberment.? I?d called Aaron about cases past. We often bounced ideas off each other.
I heard him chuckle. ?You may not have guns up there, but you sure do like to cut.?
?Yes. I think this sicko has cut several. They?re all women, otherwise there doesn?t seem to be much linking them. Except the cut marks. They?re going to be critical.?
?Serial or mass??
?Serial.?
He digested that for a second. ?So. Tell me.?
I described the kerfs and the cut ends of the arm bones. He interrupted occasionally to ask a question, or to slow me down. I could picture him taking notes, his tall, gaunt frame bent over some scrap of discarded paper, finding every usable millimeter of blank space. Though Aaron was forty-two, his somber face and dark, Cherokee eyes made him look about ninety. Always had. His wit was as dry as the Gobi, and his heart about that size.
?Any really deep false starts?? he asked, all business.
?No. They?re pretty superficial.?
?Harmonics are clear??
?Very.?
?You said blade drift in the kerf??
?Uh. Huh. Yes.?
?Are you confident in the tooth distance measures??
?Yeah. The scratches were distinct in several places. So were some of the islands.?
?Otherwise you got pretty flat floors??
?Yeah. It?s really obvious on the impressions.?
?And exit chipping,? he mumbled, more to himself than me.
?Lots.?
A long pause while his mind picked its way through the information I?d given him, sorting the possibilities. I watched people drift past my door. Phones rang. Printers clicked to life, whirred, then rested. I swiveled and gazed out. Traffic rolled across the Jacques-Cartier Bridge, Lilliputian Toyotas and Fords. Minutes ticked by. Finally.
?I?m kinda workin? blind here, Tempe. I?m not sure how you get me to do this. But here goes.?
I swiveled back and leaned my elbows on the desk.
?I?d bet the farm this isn?t a power saw. Sounds like some kinda specialty handsaw. Probably a kitchen saw of some type.?
Yes! I slapped my hand on the desktop, raised a clenched fist, and lowered it sharply, like an engineer pulling the whistle cord. Pink slips sailed up, then fluttered down.
Aaron went on, oblivious to my theatrics. ?Kerfs?re too big to be any kinda fine-toothed bow saw, or a serrated knife. Besides, sounds like there?s too much set to the teeth. With those floor shapes I doubt you?re talking about any kinda cross cut. Got to be chisel. All that, ?thout seein? ?em, of course, tells me chef?s saw or meat saw.?
?What?s it look like??
?Kinda like a big hacksaw. Teeth set pretty wide, so as not to bind. That?s why sometimes you get the islands you?re describing in the false starts. Usually there?s a lotta drift, but the blade chisels through bone just fine and
