‘Well, I remember interviewing his folks. They didn’t mention that he had a bullet in his head.’ She turned to Steelie. ‘Are you thinking war wound or something?’
‘Too young for Vietnam, AWOL for Afghanistan and Iraq.’
‘What about Desert Storm?’
Steelie swung back to the X-ray, pulling herself closer to the counter and pointing at the film with the eraser end of a pencil. ‘Actually, here’s what I’m thinking: from the angle of the bullet I’d say he shot himself through the roof of the mouth but he didn’t count on the ol’ sphenoid being there, let alone being so convoluted, and the bullet lodges. Pain associated with shot is numbed by shock at still being alive. Never even tells his family he tried it.’
‘Is there a shot of the maxillae?’
‘Not in this batch. I reckon the doc took these to see where the bullet was and determine if they were going to dig it out.’
Jayne’s eyes widened. ‘They
‘Probably.’
‘And it would make him identifiable as hell.’
‘Yep.’ Steelie was warming to the subject. ‘According to the file, Cullen’s parents only referred to a dentist, not a doctor, when they put in the missing person report. It wasn’t until they came to see us that they started to look for medical X-rays. Didn’t even think they’d find any. So . . . since the dental hasn’t made the match yet, I think we should put out an ACB.’
An ACB was an All Coroners Bulletin. 32/1 had developed it to notify coroners with unidentified bodies when there was new information about highly identifiable characteristics on missing persons; details that couldn’t have been included in the original police report and therefore wouldn’t be in the FBI’s national database, NCIC. The ACB was in its pilot phase, with strict usage guidelines the Agency had established in concert with coroners nationwide.
‘This’ll be the first one. We’ll have to follow protocol to the letter, Steelie.’
‘I know the rules. Unknown or suspicious circumstances only.’ She indicated a manila folder on the counter. ‘I’ve got the Cullen file right here. I’ll check it out.’
The lights suddenly dimmed and the lab computer behind them turned off, then restarted itself.
‘Shit. Brownout,’ they said simultaneously.
‘We’ve got to get a generator, Jayne.’
‘I know. They say it’s going to be a long, hot summer.’
‘It’s LA. It’s always a long, hot summer,’ Steelie dead-panned. ‘You said our budget’s strapped?’
Jayne pushed off the counter. ‘We’d have to raise the cash separately unless I’m reading the charity rules incorrectly. Maybe you can have a look also.’
When Carol announced Scott Houston on Line 1 later, Jayne answered the phone at her desk before she took her eyes off the sentence she was reading, which made her sound distracted.
‘Scott. How are you?’
‘Good, but you sound tired. We get you up too early this morning?’
‘Very funny. What’s up?’
‘Well, when was the last time you ate?’
‘What are you, my mother? I’m not
‘Actually, I was trying to ask you to lunch.’
‘Oh.’ Jayne looked at her watch but couldn’t take anything in. ‘Is it lunchtime already?’
‘Is that a ladylike way of saying, “No, thanks”?’
‘Only a more gentlemanly invitation would get you a ladylike response.’ Jayne was focusing now.
‘Oh ho! I’ll send round an embossed card with gold edging next time.’
‘Yeah, I’d like to see the words “In-N-Out Burger” in calligraphy.’
‘I can do better than that. Cal Plaza.’
‘Downtown?’
‘Why not? It’s only ten minutes from your shop.’
‘I know. I mean, Cal Plaza’s great but you moved to LA, like, a week ago. I’m surprised you’ve even heard of it.’
‘Hey, I get out,’ he protested.
She wondered with whom.
He spoke into her silence. ‘Is that a yes?’
‘Yeah.’
‘OK, I’ll be by around noon.’
‘With Eric?’
‘Nope, Eric will be eating with the Critters at the site.’
‘They’re still there, then?’
‘You fishing, Jayne?’
‘No. I’m not asking you to divulge—’
‘Relax! I’ll tell you all about it at lunch.’
When Jayne returned to the lab, Steelie was just hitting the
‘Cool. When?’
‘Noon.’
‘A lunch date,’ Steelie chirped.
‘No one used that word.’
‘Wait, “lunch” or “date”?’
Jayne gave her a quelling look.
Steelie relented. ‘I’ve got something more interesting than Agent Houston right here.’ She whipped the paper out of the printer tray and handed it to Jayne.
It was the ACB. It looked serious and official:
* * ALL CORONERS BULLETIN * *
Dear Coroner/Medical Examiner,
In the matter of CULLEN, Thomas
DOB 03-01-1959, NCIC# M-004517592
Please be informed that the aforementioned individual sustained GSW to palate and sphenoid with projectile remaining lodged in sphenoid and visible on attached LEFT radiograph dated 04-15-1992. For further information, contact:
Steelie Lander
Agency 32/1
‘That looks good,’ Jayne said. ‘What were Cullen’s circs in the end?’
‘The cops logged him in as unknown. He had asked for a few days off work, didn’t return, car found at John Wayne Airport. I think he went to do the same thing as in ’ninety-two but with something more reliable than a handgun. Pills, maybe.’
‘Go on.’
‘He flies up to Alaska, to see the ex.’
‘What ex?’
‘It’s in your interview transcript: the girlfriend who left him in ’ninety-one and the reason I think he tried this number.’ Steelie tapped the X-ray image of the bullet.
‘OK.’
‘He tootles up there, says goodbye or what-have-you, takes his pills, and suddenly he’s Alaska’s problem.’
‘Could be.’
‘Well, whatever happened to him, if he’s been found and they’ve done a craniotomy – or even if an Anthro pulled the maxillae to X-ray the teeth – they would’ve been clued into the old bullet. Even if he’s alive and has amnesia, this X-ray is key. The fact that the police didn’t know he had a bullet in his head when they did his misper report warrants the ACB.’
