Laslo and I signed evidence transfer forms and I packed the vial and report into my briefcase.
“Could I ask you one last favor?”
“Absolutely.”
“If my car is ready, could you help me return the one I'm driving, then take me to the shop where mine is being fixed?”
“No problem.”
When I called P & T an automotive miracle had occurred: The repairs were complete. Laslo followed me to High Ridge House, delivered me to P & T, then went on to his conference. After a brief discussion of pumps and hoses with one of the letters, I paid the bill and slid behind the wheel.
Before leaving P & T, I turned on my phone, scrolled through my programmed numbers, and hit “dial.”
“Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department Crime Laboratory.”
“Ron Gillman, please.”
“Who's calling, please?”
“Tempe Brennan.”
He came on in seconds.
“The infamous Dr. Brennan.”
“You've heard.”
“Oh yes. Will we be printing and booking you here?”
“Very funny.”
“I suppose it's not. I won't even ask if there's anything to it. Are you getting things cleared up?”
“I'm trying. I may need a favor.”
“Shoot.”
“I have a tooth fragment I want profiled for DNA. Then I want that profile compared to one you've done on a bone sample from the Air TransSouth crash. Can you do that?”
“I don't see why not.”
“How soon?”
“Is this urgent?”
“Very.”
“I'll put it on a fast track. When can you get the new sample to me?”
I looked at my watch.
“Two o'clock.”
“I'll call over to the DNA section right now, smooth the way. See you at two.”
I turned the key and swung into traffic. There were a couple more things I needed to do before leaving Bryson City.
THIS TIME THE LILAC DRAGON WAS BY HERSELF.
“Just need to check a couple of details on microfilm,” I said, beaming my most winning smile.
Her face did a menage a trois of emotions. Surprised. Suspicious. Stern.
“It would be very, very helpful if I could take several reels at a time. You were so kind about that yesterday.”
Her face softened somewhat. Sighing loudly, she went to the cabinet, removed six boxes, and placed them on the counter.
“Thank you so much,” I purred.
Crossing toward the overflow room, I heard a stool squeak, and knew she was craning in my direction.
“Cellular phones are strictly prohibited in the library!” she hissed to my retreating back.
Unlike my prior visit, I whipped through the spools, taking notes on specific items.
In less than an hour I had what I needed.
Tommy Albright was not in, but a drawly female voice promised to deliver my message. The pathologist rang back before I'd hit the outskirts of Bryson City.
“In 1959 a Cherokee named Charlie Wayne Tramper died in a bear attack. Would a file that old still exist?”
“Maybe, maybe not. That was before we centralized. What do you need to know?”
“You remember the case?” I couldn't believe it.
