“We’ll take it from here.”
The torso bones were still soaking when I got to the lab on Monday. The morning meeting was surprisingly brief, the post-weekend lineup featuring only three cases: a stabbing in Laval; a tractor accident near St-Athanase; a suicide in Verdun.
I’d just placed the mummified head on my worktable when I heard a tap on the window. Ryan smiled at me from the corridor.
I pointed at the head and waved him away.
He tapped again. I ignored him.
He tapped a third time, harder. When I looked up, his badge was pressed to the glass.
Rolling my eyes, I got up and let him in.
“Feeling better?”
“I feel fine.”
Ryan’s gaze fell to the table.
“Jesus Christ, what happened to him?”
The thing
I positioned a magnifying glass so Ryan could see, moved it over the nose, cheeks, and jaws.
“What do you notice?”
“Tiny cuts.”
“The skin was peeled back for removal of the muscles. The cheeks are probably stuffed with some sort of fabric.”
I rotated the head.
“The base was damaged to extract the brain.”
“So what the hell is it?”
“A Peruvian trophy skull.”
Ryan looked at me like I’d just told him it was an alien star child.
“Most were made along the south coast between the first and sixth centuries A.D.”
“A shrunken head?”
“Yes, Ryan. A shrunken head.”
“How did it get from Peru to Canada?”
“Collectors love these things.”
“Are they legal?”
“They’ve been illegal in the States since ninety-seven. I’m not sure about Canada.”
“Have you ever seen one before?”
“I’ve looked at several fakes. Never a real one.”
“This is genuine?”
“It looks authentic to me. And the dental chipping suggests the little guy’s been kicking around awhile.”
I laid the trophy skull on the table.
“Authentication will be up to an archaeologist. What is it you want?”
Ryan continued to study the head.
“Your thoughts on the torso.”
He reached out and touched the hair, poked the cheek.
“Any septuagenarians missing upriver?”
“Oh, yeah?”
He looked up, wiped his hand on his jeans.
“I’ve only done a preliminary, but this guy’s got a lot of miles on him.”
“Probably not Clement?”
“Probably not.”
I picked up my calipers, but Ryan made no move to leave.
“Is there something else?”
“Galiano asked me to have a little heart-to-heart with naughty Chantale. Save him a trip. He suggested you might like to tag along.”
Tag along? A flicker of red.
