‘‘Wouldja look at the way he’s staring right at us,’’ the kid said, pointing to the child on the boulder.
‘‘Each scene has one figure making eye contact with the visitor,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I like that,’’ said Henry. ‘‘It makes them look so alive, like they’re watching you.’’
‘‘The artists have just finished a Cro-Magnon,’’ said Diane, ‘‘one of the oldest modern humans. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye as he stands side ways to you. It’s an odd sensation, but fun.’’ Diane smiled at Henry before she turned back to the sheriff, glad to see that the new exhibit was getting a good review.
‘‘What can I do for you?’’ She eyed the box sitting on the table.
Henry, who was leaning rather far into the di orama, spoke up before the sheriff had a chance to answer.
‘‘Tell me, what do you think happened to them? Did we kill them off, or did they marry with us and disappear, or did the weather get them?’’
‘‘I didn’t know you’re interested in Neanderthals, Henry.’’ The sheriff chuckled.
‘‘We watch a lot of those shows,’’ said his grandfa ther. ‘‘The ones on PBS and the Discovery Channel.’’
‘‘I don’t know what caused their extinction,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Right now it looks like they did not inter breed with us. So far, scientists haven’t found any Ne anderthal DNA in our gene pool.’’
‘‘Those scientists need to come to my jailhouse on a Saturday night,’’ said the sheriff.
They laughed, and Diane made a move to address the box.
She reached out to touch the lid.
‘‘What’s in the box?’’ she asked the sheriff.
‘‘It’s probably nothing, just pieces of animal bone... but you never know. Henry may have a point,’’ said the sheriff.
Diane raised her eyebrows, looked at Henry, and started to open her mouth. Arlen Wilson spoke first.
‘‘The land next to mine is owned by a man from Detroit. He sometimes asks me to tend it for him. He got the idea he wanted to plant ryegrass and put some cattle on it this winter. I guess he was gonna ask me to tend to them too. I’ll have to tell him to hire some body else. I’m not a cattleman.’’ Arlen shook his head. ‘‘Anyways, I was plowing it before planting the rye grass, and my grandson Henry likes to look over freshplowed ground.’’
‘‘I find the neatest stuff,’’ said Henry. ‘‘I’ve got a whole collection of arrowheads. I once found an Indian-head penny.’’
‘‘This time he found some bones—pieces of bones. I thought it was nothing, just the bones of some ani mal. But Henry thought we should call the sheriff.’’
‘‘I figured it like this,’’ said Henry. ‘‘The pieces are all about the same size. Mostly. And they look chopped up. Well, you don’t get rid of animals that way. If an animal dies, you either bury it or haul it out into the woods for the buzzards and coyotes—you don’t chop it up in small pieces.’’
‘‘He thought they might have gone through a wood chipper,’’ said Arlen. He and the sheriff chuckled.
‘‘We just thought it was worth a look,’’ said the sheriff, still appearing a little embarrassed. ‘‘You know, just in case.’’
‘‘Then, let’s have a look. We’ll use the lab through here,’’ said Diane.
She led them through double doors into a room with cabinets and counter space, sinks, and work islands—all metal and shiny. One end was stacked with materials that had overflowed from the exhibit preparations.
Diane donned a pair of gloves she pulled from a box on the wall, tore a sheet of brown paper from a roll mounted on the wall, and spread it out on one of the shiny tables. She set the box down and opened it to find wadded-up newspaper. She gently removed the paper. The box was filled with pieces of bone with moist dirt clinging to their surface.
‘‘We didn’t want to wash them up,’’ said Henry. ‘‘I don’t think you’re supposed to do that, are you?’’
‘‘You did right,’’ said Diane.
She picked out several pieces of bone, put them on the table, teased the dirt away from them with her fingers, and set them aside. The pieces were all of similar size, but not so small that she couldn’t recog nize them.
‘‘I’m afraid that Henry is right,’’ said Diane. ‘‘They are human, they’re fairly fresh, and they show definite tool markings as a result of being chopped up, proba bly in a wood chipper.’’
‘‘I knew it,’’ said Henry. ‘‘I knew it.’’
Chapter 2
‘‘Well, damn. Well, damn. Are you sure? Of course you’re sure. Well, damn.’’ The sheriff slapped his hat against his thigh and looked up at the ceiling. ‘‘All I need is a maniac running loose in the county. You’re sure, aren’t you?’’ he asked again. ‘‘Could it be a pig? I understand pigs are like humans.’’
Both Arlen and Henry looked at Sheriff Canfield with identical bewildered expressions.
Diane grinned at him. ‘‘The tissue is similar. That’s why pig valves can be used in heart surgery and why pigs are sometimes used in forensic research. But the shapes of the bones are very different.’’ She picked up several pieces of the broken bone. ‘‘This is the distal end of a phalange, this is a piece sliced off a greater trochanter, this is the petrous portion of the temporal bone, this is a piece of occipital—all of it is human.’’
‘‘Okay, I was just hoping that you were having an off day,’’ he said. ‘‘I don’t suppose you can ID the victim?’’
Diane cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘‘Right now I can’t even tell you if it’s one individual or more than one. If we get lucky—’’
