I drew a deep breath, exhaled. Steady.
“I am implying nothing. I am trying to help and don’t understand the DA’s efforts to block me.”
“I am sorry, Dr. Brennan. This is not my call.” He handed me a slip of paper. “The bones will be brought to this room at a time of your choosing. Phone that number.”
“This makes no sense. I am allowed full access to the Kaminaljuyu remains, but practically barred from those recovered at the Paraiso. What is Senor Diaz afraid I might find?”
“It is protocol, Dr. Brennan. And one more thing. You may not remove or photograph anything.”
“That’ll leave a gap in my souvenir collection,” I snapped. Like Diaz, Lucas was bringing out the worst in me.
Lucas walked from the room.
Seconds later Fereira reappeared, smelling of cigarette smoke and wearing a scrap of paper on her lower lip.
“An audience with Hector Lucas. Your lucky day.” Though we’d stuck to Spanish throughout the autopsy, she now spoke English. It sounded Texan.
“Yeah.”
Fereira rested elbows on the counter, leaned back, and crossed her ankles. She had gray hair, cut very short, Pete Sampras eyebrows over dark brown eyes, a body like a Frigidaire.
“He may look like a bird dog, but he’s an excellent doctor.”
I didn’t reply.
“You two butting heads?”
I told her about the septic tank. She listened, face serious.
When I’d finished, Fereira took in what remained of Claudia de la Alda.
“Galiano suspects these cases are linked?”
“Yes.”
“I hope to God they’re not.”
“Amen.”
She thumbnailed the paper from her lip, inspected then flicked it.
“You think the Paraiso skeleton could be the ambassador’s kid?”
“It’s possible.”
“Suppose that’s the reason Diaz is stonewalling? Diplomatic embarrassment?”
“It doesn’t make sense. Specter’s the one who got me access.”
“For two hours.” Her voice dripped sarcasm.
Fereira was right. If Specter was powerful enough to overrule Diaz, why not obtain full clearance?
“If there’s even a remote chance it is his daughter, why wouldn’t Specter want to be sure?” Fereira posed the exact question that was in my mind.
“Could Diaz have other reasons for not wanting me near those bones?”
“Such as?” she asked.
I could think of no “such as.”
“Lucas claims it’s the bus crash,” I said.
“It’s been pretty crazy around here.” She pushed to her feet. “If it’s any comfort, it’s not you. Both Lucas and Diaz abhor interference.”
When I started to object, she raised a hand.
“I know you’re not interfering. But that may be how they see it.” She looked at her watch. “When do you plan to examine the bones?”
“This afternoon.”
“Anything I can do?”
“I have an idea, but it would require help.”
“Shoot.”
I told her my plan. Her eyes slid to Claudia de la Alda, returned to mine.
“I can do that.”
Three hours later Fereira and I had finished the De la Alda autopsy, eaten a quick lunch, and she’d moved on to one of the bus victims. Claudia de la Alda had been wheeled to a refrigerated compartment, and the Paraiso skeleton occupied the same table. The autopsy tech sat on a stool in the corner of the room, helper turned observer.
The bones were as I remembered, though clean now of muck and debris. I inspected the ribs and pelvis, recorded the state of fusion of every crest, cap, and cranial suture, and examined the teeth.
