“No way,” I corrected myself. “This is not a sumo tootsie.”
Primrose leaned back and removed her glasses. Frizzy gray hairs spiraled out at her forehead and temples, escapees from the bun atop her head.
“This event is more dental than DNA, but I've logged quite a few isolated body parts.” She let the glasses drop onto a chain around her neck. “So far we've had few matches. That will improve as more bodies flow through, but you may have to wait for DNA.”
“I know. I hoped we might get lucky.”
“You're sure it's male?”
I explained the discriminant function analysis.
“So the program takes your unknown and compares it to groups for whom measurements have been recorded.”
“Exactly.”
“And this foot fell in with the boys.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe the computer got it wrong.”
“That's very possible since I'm not sure about the race.”
“That matters?”
“Sure. Some populations are smaller than others. Look at the Mbuti.”
She raised gray eyebrows.
“The pygmies of the Ituri rain forest,” I explained.
“We've got no pygmies here, sugar.”
“No. But there might have been Asians on board. Some Asian populations are smaller than Westerners, so they'd tend to have smaller feet.”
“Not like my dainty size tens.” She lifted a booted foot and laughed.
“What I do feel certain about is the age. This person was over fifty. Quite a bit over, I think.”
“Let's check the passenger list.”
She replaced the glasses, hit keys, and an antemortem grid appeared on the screen. This spread sheet was similar to the postmortem grid except that most of its cells contained information. There were columns for first name, last name, date of birth, blood type, sex, race, weight, height, and myriad other variables. Primrose clicked to the age column and asked the program to sort by that criterion.
Air TransSouth 228 had carried only six passengers over the age of fifty.
“So young for the good Lord to be callin' 'em home.”
“Yeah,” I said, staring at the screen.
We were silent a moment, then Primrose moved the cursor and we both leaned in.
Four males. Two females. All white.
“Let's sort by race.”
The antemortem grid showed sixty-eight whites, ten African Americans, two Hispanics, and two Asians among the passengers. The entire cabin crew and both pilots were white. None of the blacks was over forty. Both Asians were in their early twenties, probably students. Masako Takaguchi had been lucky. She'd died in one piece and was already identified.
“I guess I'd better try another approach. For now you can enter an age estimate of fifty plus. And the victim had gout.”
“My ex has gout. Only human thing about that man.” Another laugh, straight from the belly.
“Mmm. Could I ask one other favor?”
“Sure, baby.”
“Check Jean Bertrand.”
She found the row and moved the cursor to the status column.
To date, Bertrand's body had not been identified.
“I'll be back when I know more on this one,” I said, collecting the packet for number 387.
Returning to the foot, I removed and tagged a small plug of bone. If a reference sample could be found, an old gallstone, a Pap smear, hair or dandruff from a brush or comb, DNA might prove useful in establishing identity. If not, DNA testing could determine gender, or could link the foot to other body parts, and a tattoo or dental crown might send the victim home.
As I sealed the specimen bag and made notes in the file, something bothered me. Was the computer in error? Could I have been right in my initial impression that the foot belonged to a woman? Very possible. It happened all the time. But what about age? I was certain these were the bones of an older person, yet no one on the plane fit that profile. Could some pathology other than gout be skewing my assessment?
And what about the advanced putrefaction?
