for later. For now the detectives wanted only the ID profile: sex, age, and race.
Race was pretty straightforward. The hair was red, what skin remained appeared fair. Decomposition, however, could do strange things. I?d check the skeletal details after cleaning. For now Caucasoid seemed a safe bet.
I already suspected the victim was female. The facial features were delicate, the overall body build slight. The long hair meant nothing.
I looked at the pelvis. Turning it to the side I noted that the notch below the hip blade was broad and shallow. I repositioned it so that I could see the pubic bones, the region in front where the right and left halves of the pelvis meet. The curve formed by their lower borders was a wide arch. Delicate raised ridges cut across the front of each pubic bone, creating distinct triangles in the lower corners. Typical female features. Later I?d take measurements and run discriminant function analyses on the computer, but I had no doubt these were the remains of a woman.
I was wrapping the pubic area in a wet rag when the sound of the phone startled me. I hadn?t realized how quiet it was. Or how tense I was. I walked to the desk, zigzagging through maggots like a child playing jacks.
?Dr. Brennan,? I answered, pushing the goggles to the top of my head and dropping into the chair. Using my pen, I flicked a maggot from the desktop.
?Claudel,? a voice said. One of the two CUM detectives assigned to the case. I looked at the wall clock-ten- forty. Later than I realized. He didn?t go on. Obviously he assumed his name was message enough.
?I?m working on her right now,? I said. I could hear a metallic grating sound. ?I shou-?
?
?Yes.? I watched another maggot contract into a crescent, then double back on itself and repeat the maneuver in the opposite direction. Not bad.
?White??
?Yes.?
?Age??
?I should be able to give you a range within an hour.?
I could picture him looking at his watch.
?Okay. I?ll be there after lunch.? Click. It was a statement, not a request. Apparently it didn?t matter if it was okay with me.
I hung up and returned to the lady on the table. Picking up the clipboard, I flipped to the next page on the report form. Age. This was an adult. Earlier, I?d checked her mouth. The wisdom teeth were fully erupted.
I examined the arms where they?d been detached at the shoulders. The end of each humerus was fully formed. I could see no line demarcating a separate cap on either side. The other ends were useless-they had been cleanly severed just above the wrists. I?d have to find those fragments later. I looked at the legs. The head of the femur was also completely formed on both right and left.
Something about those severed joints disturbed me. It was a feeling apart from the normal reaction to depravity, but it was vague, ill-formed. As I allowed the left leg to settle back onto the table my guts felt like ice. The cloud of dread that first touched me in the woods returned. I shook it off and forced myself to focus on the question at hand. Age. Fix the age. A correct age estimate can lead to a name. Nothing else will matter until she has a name.
I used a scalpel to peel back the flesh around the knee and elbow joints. It came away easily. Here, too, the long bones were fully mature. I?d verify this on X ray, but knew it meant bone growth had been completed. I saw no lipping or arthritic change in the joints. Adult, but young. It was consistent with the lack of wear I?d observed on the teeth.
But I wanted more precision. Claudel would expect it. I looked at each collarbone where it met the sternum at the base of the throat. Though the one on the right was detached, the joint surface was encased in a hard knot of dried cartilage and ligament. Using a scissors, I snipped away as much of the leathery tissue as I could, then wrapped the bone in another wet rag. I returned my attention to the pelvis.
I removed that rag and, again using a scalpel, began gently sawing through the cartilage connecting the two halves in front. Wetting it down had made it more pliable, easier to cut, but still the process was slow and tedious. I didn?t want to risk damaging the underlying surfaces. When the pubic bones were finally separate, I cut the few strips of dried muscle uniting the pelvis to the lower end of the spine in back, freed it, carried it to the sink, and submerged the pubic portion in water.
Next I returned to the body and unwrapped the collarbone. Again, I teased off as much tissue as possible. Then I filled a plastic specimen container with water, positioned it against the rib cage, and stuck the end of the clavicle in it.
I glanced at the wall clock-12:25 P.M. Stepping back from the table, I peeled off my gloves and straightened. Slowly. My back felt like a Pop Warner league had been practicing on it. I placed my hands on my hips and stretched, arching backward and rotating my upper body. It didn?t really relieve the pain, but it didn?t hurt either. My spine seemed to hurt a lot lately, and bending over an autopsy table for three hours tended to aggravate it. I refused to believe or admit it was age-related. My newly discovered need for reading glasses and the seemingly permanent upgrade from 115 to 120 in my weight were likewise not the result of aging. Nothing was.
I turned to see Daniel, one of the autopsy technicians, watching from the outer office. A tic pulled his upper lip, and his eyes pinched shut momentarily. With a jerk he shifted, placing all his weight on one leg and cocking the other. He looked like a sandpiper waiting out a wave.
?When would you like me to do the radiography?? he asked. His glasses rode low on his nose and he seemed to peer over rather than through them.
?I should finish up by three,? I said, tossing my gloves into the biological waste receptacle. I suddenly realized how hungry I was. My morning coffee sat on the counter, cold and untouched. I?d completely forgotten it.
?Okay.? He hopped backward, pivoted, and disappeared down the hall.
I flipped the goggles onto the counter, withdrew a white paper sheet from a drawer below the side counter, unfolded it, and covered the body. After washing my hands I returned to my office on the fifth floor, changed into street clothes, and went out for lunch. This was rare for me, but today I needed the sunshine.
Claudel was true to his word. When I returned at one-thirty he was already in my office. He sat opposite my desk, his attention focused on the reconstructed skull on my worktable. He turned his head when he heard me, but said nothing. I hung my coat on the back of the door and moved past him and into my chair.
?
?
A folder lay on the desk in front of him. He placed his hand on it and looked at me. His face brought to mind a parrot. The features angled sharply from his ears to the midline, plunging forward into a beaklike nose. Along this apex his chin, his mouth, and the tip of his nose pointed downward in a series of V?s. When he smiled, which was rare, the V of his mouth sharpened, and the lips drew in, rather than back.
He sighed. He was being very patient with me. I hadn?t worked with Claudel before, but knew his reputation. He thought himself an exceptionally intelligent man.
?I have several names,? he said. ?Possibles. They all disappeared within the last six months.?
We?d already discussed the question of time since death. My morning?s work hadn?t changed my mind. I was certain she?d been dead less than three months. That would place the murder in March or later. Winters are cold in Quebec, hard on the living but kind to the dead. Frozen bodies do not decay. Nor do they attract bugs. Had she been dumped last fall, before the onset of winter, there would?ve been signs of insect infestation. The presence of casings or larvae would?ve indicated an aborted fall invasion. There were none. Given that it had been a warm spring, the abundance of maggots and the degree of deterioration were consistent with an interval of three months or less. The presence of connective tissue along with the virtual absence of viscera and brain matter also suggested a late winter, early spring death.
I leaned back and looked at him expectantly. I could be cagey too. He opened the folder and thumbed through its contents. I waited.
Selecting one of the forms, he read, ?Myriam Weider.? There was a pause as he sifted through the
