Dying on the Vine

“Well, that didn’t take you long,” John said casually, transferring a hip bone to the zinc work table. “So, what’d you find?”

Gideon gave him the rib. “Anything about it catch your eye? Any difference from what we found with Nola?”

“Not really. It’s kind of chewed up.”

“Bingo. It’s very chewed up. Animals have been all over it. All those scratches and these conical indentations—gnaw marks, mostly from canid teeth.”

“Okay, if you say so, but what’s the big deal? Nola’s bones were plenty chewed up too. Why wouldn’t they be? There’d be plenty of forest critters up there. Ferrets, weasels, wolves—”

“John, would you do me a favor, please? Get Rocco on the phone?”

He took Rocco’s card out of his wallet and handed it over. While John made the call, Gideon did a quick examination of the rest of the skeleton. He was puzzled by the absence of cranial fragments, which Rocco said had been recovered from the top of the cliff and along the route the bodies had taken down it, but then under the pillow he found a red velvet sack tied with a golden cord, like some top-of-the-line old cognac, except for the tape label, which read Frammenti di calotta cranica—skull fragments. He began to untie the cord but was interrupted by John’s proffering the telephone.

“Got him. Here he is.”

“Thanks, John. Rocco? Hi. Listen, you told me they were both—”

“Who were both?”

“Nola and Pietro, of course.”

“What do you mean, of course? What do you think, I’m a TV detective or something? I only work one case at a time? Hell, I’m not working that case at all, remember? That case is over and done. And I’m sitting here looking at a goddamn desk full of—”

“Not having such a good morning, huh?”

Rocco laughed, and Gideon heard some rustling that suggested he was settling back in his chair. “Sorry. Okay, I told you they were both what?”

“Both wearing leather jackets.”

“Umm . . . yeah, they were. Matching ones. Good ones. From Forzieri. I wish I could afford one.”

“What kind of condition were they in, the jackets?”

“Condition? They were fine.”

“Not torn up at all?”

“No. I mean, they didn’t look like anything you’d want to slip into, but no, no holes, no rips. Their pants had some holes in ’em. Not too surprising, after all that time outside. But the jackets, they were good, thick leather; they held up. I mean, there might have been some pinprick or crack that I missed somewhere or other, but—”

“They must have been wearing shirts or something under the jackets. What about them?”

“Uh, that I don’t know. I don’t really think anybody paid attention. Everything was pretty ratty and moldy and all. They just cut the clothes off them for the autopsy, and as far as I knew they just threw them away. Is that bad?”

“Rocco, could you possibly get away for a while? We’re down here in Figline, at your cousin’s funeral home, and we’re looking at Pietro’s remains.”

“You’re looking at his ashes?”

“No, his bones.”

“But I thought he was—”

“Well, he wasn’t. He’s lying here right in front of me.”

“Huh. I thought . . . I guess I just assumed . . . So you’re asking me to come there? Right now?”

“I am, yes. I think I’m onto something.”

“Gid, how important is this? Because I got a lot of stuff that needs doing, and Captain Conforti is breathing down my neck.”

“It’s important. I think.”

A hesitation, a sigh, and then: “Half an hour. Ciao.”

“What’s up?” John asked. “What’s so special about this rib? Why shouldn’t it be chewed up?”

“John, it’s not that I want to keep you in suspense—”

“No, of course not. Why would I think that?”

“—but Rocco’s on his way, and I want to get my act together before he gets here, so give me a few minutes, okay?”

“Sure. Far be it from me to interrupt the Skeleton Detective when he’s communing with a skeleton.” He pulled up a stool and leaned over to watch, his elbows on the table.

“And no offense, but maybe you could give me a little breathing room?”

“Jeez, talk about prima donnas. Okay, I can take a hint. There was a cafe up the block. How about I go away and come back in a little while with a couple of cappuccinos?”

“Good, great, thank you. I’ll have a latte, though. Give me ten minutes. Make that twenty,” he yelled as John went through the door.

Left alone, Gideon went back to his examination of the bones, most of which were still in the casket. Opening the velvet sack that held the cranial fragments, he separated one that was actually a curved chunk of scapula, spread the rest out on the table, and fitted some of them together. They represented much of the right half of the cranium, and they held no surprises. Entrance wound in the left temple, much larger exit wound in the right temple, exactly as described in the autopsy report.

Overall, the postcranial trauma were also as reported: fractures of most of the ribs on the left side, the left scapula and left arm bones, the sacrum, and many of the thoracic and lumbar vertebrae. But while Dr. Bosco had done an accurate enough job of listing them, that was where he’d stopped. No detailed descriptions, no analyses, no conclusions derived from them. But for Gideon, when it came to bones, the devil lay in the details, and ten minutes spent examining them and comparing them in his mind to Nola’s injuries made him even more certain he was onto something.

His excitement building, he took a break to refresh his thinking. Going out to the rear parking lot, he put two one-euro coins into the vending machine for a nougat candy bar, sat down on one of the nearby benches, leaned against the wall, and—slowly, thoughtfully chewing—gazed eastward across the valley to the gentle, green foothills of the Apennines and the pretty little puffballs of clouds that clustered around their tops.

“Whew,” he said aloud. “It’s going to take me a while to get my head around this.”

• • •

HE was finishing the candy bar when he heard the front door to the workroom open and close. “I’m out in back, John,” he called, and a second later, out came John with Rocco trailing a couple of steps behind. “Hey, Doc, look who I found loitering on the street out there.”

“Hey, Gid,” Rocco said. Again, he was in his splendid, tailored uniform, billed cap and all.

John handed Gideon a typically capacious bowl-shaped cup, kept one for himself, and sat down on the other bench. Rocco, with an espresso cup of his own, sat beside him. “I ran into him right outside the cafe,” John said. “Lucky for us. They don’t do takeaway, but when the generalissimo here walked in, they decided to make an exception. Anyway, don’t let me forget, we gotta bring the cups back.”

Rocco looked harried. “So, what have you got?” he asked, with an unsaid This better be good in its wake.

Gideon smiled and reached for his latte. “It’s going to knock your socks off. Let’s go inside.”

FIFTEEN

“TO start with,” he said, “take a look at the bones of the torso and the arms as a whole. Anything strike you?”

Rocco tossed his cap onto a chair and studied the bones for a minute, hands clasped behind him. “Well, as far as fracturing goes—”