“I’m neither a cop nor a scientist. To keep my work accurate I must rely on those actually involved in the investigations-”
“No.”
“I know you shut me down last time we talked, but I was hoping I could persuade you to change your position.”
I did?
“What did I tell you?”
“Is this a test?” Chuckling.
“No.” Definitely not laughing.
She hesitated, perhaps confused, perhaps searching for the best spin.
“When I asked for your help, you said no and hung up. Then you called back and reamed me out for showing up at your crime scenes. Frankly, I found it a bit of an overreaction. When I dialed you an hour later, to see if you’d cooled off, you refused to pick up.”
“Did you phone the chief medical examiner in Chapel Hill?”
“Yes.” Wary. “Dr. Tyrell was less than cooperative.”
“What did you tell him concerning our conversation?”
Again, she hesitated, choosing her words.
“I may have implied that you were cooperating.”
The little snake had lied to Tyrell.
“How did you get this number?” I was squeezing the phone so hard it was making small popping noises.
“Takeela Freeman.”
“You tricked her, too.”
Stallings neither acknowledged nor denied the accusation.
“Did you
“The kid’s not the sharpest tack in the drawer.”
Anger made my voice sound high and stretched.
“Never call me again.”
When I turned Ryan was staring at me through the partially open swinging door.
“I heard a noise.”
The handheld lay on its convex back, wobbling like an upended turtle. Unconsciously, I’d slammed it to the table again.
“You’re hard on equipment,” Ryan said.
I didn’t answer.
Ryan’s mouth turned up at the corners. “But easy on the eyes.”
“Jesus, Ryan. Is that all you think about?”
“Incoming.” Hunching his shoulders, Ryan ducked from the room.
I sat a moment, wondering. Call Tyrell? Explain that Stallings had lied about our conversation?
Not now. Now, fired though I might be, Jimmy Klapec deserved my full attention. And his father.
And Asa Finney.
I spent another ten minutes puzzling over the SEM scans.
And came up empty.
Frustrated, I decided on a gambit that occasionally worked. When stumped, start over at the beginning.
Opening my briefcase, I pulled out the entire file on Jimmy Klapec.
First I reviewed the scene photos. The body was as I remembered it, flesh ghostly pale, shoulders to the earth, rump to the sky.
I viewed close-ups of the anus, the truncated neck, the carvings in the chest and belly. Nothing but fly eggs.
I shifted to the autopsy shots. Y incision. Organs. Empty chest cavity. Strange striated bruise on the back.
I noted the atypical decay pattern, with more aerobic decomposition than anaerobic putrefaction. As though the body was rotting from the outside in rather than the inside out.
Spreading my bone photos, I reexamined the cut mark in the fourth cervical vertebra. Concave bending. Fixed radius curvature sweeping from, not around, the breakaway point.
The fifth vertebra had one false start. I checked my notes: 0.09 inch in width.
Both neck bones exhibited polish on the cut surfaces. Neither showed entrance or exit chipping.
I slumped back in my chair. The entire exercise had triggered no epiphany with regard to cracking in Haversian canals.
Discouraged, I got up and paced the kitchen.
Why wasn’t Slidell calling back? Had further questioning of Klapec, senior verified or disproved his story? Had they found the gun in the Dumpster? Had they talked to Mrs. Klapec?
I felt genuine sorrow for Jimmy’s mother. First her son, now her husband. The future held no rainbows for Eva Klapec.
I paced some more. Why not? Nothing else was working.
Ryan chose that moment to test the waters.
“All clear?” he asked from the safety of the dining-room side of the door.
“Yes.”
“Permission to come aboard?”
“Granted.”
Ryan came into the kitchen, followed by Birdie.
“Got it all figured out?”
“No.”
“Chocolate.” Ryan turned to Birdie and repeated the pronouncement. “Chocolate.”
The cat raised a skeptical brow. If a cat can be said to do so.
Turning back to me, Ryan tapped a finger to one temple. “Brain food.”
“There may be a Dove bar in the freezer.”
“What’s a Dove bar?”
“Only the best ice cream treat on the planet.” Then I remembered. “That’s right. They’re not available in Canada.”
“Admittedly, we have some holes in our culture.” Ryan began rummaging in the freezer.
I recalled Tuesday’s morning-after mess in my sink. Maybe not, I thought.
“Yes!” Ryan slammed the door, turned, and flourished two bars. “Two frozen delights.”
I took one and began peeling the wrapper.
Frost cascaded onto my hand.
I stared at it, remembering Ryan’s flip answer.
Water.
Expansion.
Cracking.
I flew to the phone.
34
THIS TIME, SLIDELL TOOK MY CALL. HOT DAMN. I WAS AVERAGING two for four.
“Klapec was frozen.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know how I could have been so dense. It explains everything. The distorted decomp. The lack of scavenging. The paucity of insect activity. The cracking within the Haversian systems.”
“Whoa.”
