Devil Bones

Ryan was listening while eating his ice cream.

“Of course Klapec decomposed from the outside in. The pattern makes sense if he was frozen. His outer surfaces would have warmed faster than his core.”

“What’s this Haversham thing?”

“Haversian. With the SEM zoomed to a magnification of one thousand, I could see cracks in the tiny tunnels in Klapec’s bones. I couldn’t understand what had caused them.”

“Now you do.”

“What happens when water cools?”

“You get out of the shower.”

I ignored that.

“Most liquids shrink. So does water, until it reaches approximately four degrees Celsius. After that, it expands. When frozen it has expanded roughly nine percent.”

“And this is relevant why?”

“The microfracturing in Klapec’s bone is due to pressure created by ice crystal formation deep in his Haversian canals.”

“You’re saying Klapec was a Popsicle when he was dumped.”

“The killer must have stored his body in a freezer.”

Slidell made the link.

“Meaning Klapec could have died long before Funderburke spotted him at Lake Wylie.”

“Maybe in September, when Gunther saw him arguing with Rick Nelson. Where was Finney around that time?”

“Home alone. And Lingo was ping-ponging all over the state.”

“Did Finney have a freezer in his home?”

“You can bet your ass I’ll find out.”

“It doesn’t confirm that either Lingo or Finney’s our guy.”

“It stretches our window for time of death. That’s something.”

I heard choked inhalation, then a sort of growl.

“I hope that was a yawn.”

“I got zero shut-eye last night. I’m going ten-oh-two for a couple hours. You gonna be at your lab later today?”

“Tyrell fired me.”

“No way.”

I told him about the call from Allison Stallings.

“That should clear the air.”

“Maybe. Tyrell’s still peeved about my on-camera spat with Lingo. For now I’d better lay low.”

“I knew that opportunistic bitch was trouble. Anyway, good one, doc.”

I hung up and, you guessed it, began pacing. I felt frustrated with the investigation, guilty over Finney’s death, and unsettled by the presence of my unexpected houseguest.

I was checking containers in the fridge for unwanted life forms when that houseguest reappeared wearing running shoes, shorts, and the green lizard T.

“Going for a run?”

Idiot. Of course he was going for a run.

“I’m glad you found your workout gear.”

“I’m glad I left it here.”

There was an awkward beat.

“When do you fly back to Montreal?” I asked.

“As things stand, Sunday.”

“Will you be returning to the Sheraton?”

“I can.” Sad face.

I hesitated. Why not? You’d do the same for any old friend.

“You’re welcome to stay here.”

Big Ryan smile. “I can cook.”

I smiled, too. “I like that in a” – I started to say man – “friend.”

Ryan asked if I’d like to join him on his run. I declined.

Through the kitchen window, I watched him fall into in an easy, loping stride, long, ropy legs barely straining.

I remembered those legs intertwined with mine.

My stomach did a handspring.

Oh boy.

I had to do something. But what? I didn’t want to antagonize Tyrell further by going to the MCME. Slidell was power napping.

I tried grading student lab exercises from my forensics class.

Couldn’t concentrate.

I tried outlining my next lecture.

No go on that either.

Phone Katy?

There was a call I’d been putting off.

I dialed. Got voice mail. Had she not taken her phone to Buncombe County? Was it not working up in the mountains? Was she still mad?

I was gathering hand washables when I spotted Ryan walking up the drive, shirt pasted to his chest, face flushed with exertion. He was speaking into his mobile. I could tell he was agitated.

Ryan rounded the corner of the Annex, out of my sight line.

Without thinking, I moved toward the back door.

“I know, sweetheart.”

Ryan was speaking English, not French. Lutetia?

Cold bloomed in my chest.

“That’s the way it’s got to be.”

Breath frozen, I leaned closer to the door.

Pause.

“No.”

There was another, longer pause. Then the knob turned.

Skittering backward, I gathered the abandoned laundry into my arms.

Ryan came through the door. Met my eyes. Waggled his free hand in irritation.

“Not a chance,” he said into the phone.

Lily, he mouthed to me.

“We’ll talk later.”

Snapping the lid, Ryan reclipped the mobile to his waistband.

“Problem?” I asked, casual as hell.

“Lily wants to go to Banff. The terms of her probation restrict her to Quebec.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He smiled at the bras and teddies pressed to my chest. “Planning a garage sale?”

“I don’t do garage sales.”

“Keep the leopard-skin thong. It was always my favorite.”

I felt my face color.

“Mind if I use your bathroom?”

“Please. Do you want anything?”

Ryan flashed lascivious brows.

My innards went for a full double flip.

I looked at the clock. Two thirty. Dear God. What would we do all afternoon?