I’d just finished my muffin when Anne tossed down her glasses and pen.
“Is this Claudel a good detective?”
I sheeshed air through my lips.
“I take that as a negative.”
“Claudel’s thorough, but narrow-minded, opinionated, and stubborn. He also sees no need for forensic anthropologists in general, and female ones in particular. He views every suggestion as interfering.”
“Let me guess. And he’s not making much of an effort on your skeleton case?”
“He’s not even humoring me. And he considers it to be his skeleton case, not mine.”
“You’ve had that problem with him before, haven’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. Often-wrong-but-never-in-doubt Claudel.”
“So he’s not your favorite?”
“Claudel’s not a laugh riot. His questions are curt to the point of rudeness, and he rarely explains why particular facts are of interest to him, or why my opinions are not.”
“What would it take to get him to listen?”
“I could sing the Hallelujah Chorus naked.” I got up and popped a second muffin into the toaster.
“You still have the bod, but you never had the voice. I was thinking along more professional lines,” Anne said.
“The point of controversy is postmortem interval. Claudel believes the bones are old. I don’t. I’ve sent off samples for Carbon 14 testing, but I won’t get results for at least a week.”
“What else might get his attention?”
“Six or seven dead preschoolers.”
“You’re starting to piss me off, Tempe. I’m asking a serious question.” Anne held out her empty mug. “What would inspire Claudel to show more interest in your bones?”
“Proof that the deaths were recent.”
I poured two refills and gave her one.
“There you go.” Anne proffered her coffee-free hand, palm up.
“Claudel believes such proof is lacking.”
“Don’t wait for the Carbon 14. Change his mind.”
“He refuses to explore the possibility.”
“So give him more to chew on.”
“What am I supposed to do? Hire thugs and have him beaten until he agrees?”
“Agrees to what?”
“To investigate.”
“Meaning?”
“What is this, twenty questions?” I sat back down with my second muffin.
“What is it you would like Claudel to do?”
I gave that a few moments’ thought.
“Canvas the neighborhood. Learn more about the building. Research previous residents. Find out who owned the place. Who lived there. How long the first floor has been commercial. What businesses have occupied the premises. What building permits were issued and to whom.”
“There you go.” Again, the upraised palm.
“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”
“Don’t force me to three.”
“Where do I go?”
“To the solution to your problem.”
It was too early. I wasn’t making the bridges.
“Which is?”
“Do it yourself.”
“Claudel would go ballistic.”
“How could he? He says the bones are old. He sees no reason to explore further. You’re doing additional research.”
“It’s not my job.”
“Apparently Claudel thinks it’s not his either.”
