“On which skeleton?”
“On all three.”
“And nothing anywhere else?”
“No.”
“Holy crap. You think someone was slicing off ears?”
The thought had occurred to me.
“I don’t know.”
After telling LaManche what I’d learned from Art Holliday, I spent the rest of the afternoon with my pizza basement girls. That’s how I’d come to think of them. My girls. My lost girls.
I reexamined every bone, bone fragment, and tooth. I studied the dental and skeletal X-rays. I rescreened the soil. I pored over the buttons.
When at last I sat back, the windows were dark and the halls were quiet. The clock said five-twenty.
I’d learned not one damn additional thing.
I closed my eyes.
I felt sadness over my failure to give names to these girls. Anger over my failure to satisfy Claudel. Frustration over my failure to understand the buttons. Guilt over my failure to spot the cut marks before Bergeron pointed them out.
How could I have missed those marks? Yes, I’d been interrupted many times. Yes, I’d been working on different aspects of the case. Yes, the marks were almost invisible. Yes, at least one skull was fragmented. But how could something that important have escaped my attention?
Failure, failure everywhere and not a drop to drink.
Failure with Anne.
Failure with Ryan.
“Ryan,” I snorted.
“Yes?”
My eyes flew open.
Ryan was standing in the doorway, coat finger-hooked over one shoulder. He was regarding me with an expression I couldn’t interpret.
Ryan raised his free hand, palm out.
“I know. What are
I started to speak. Ryan cut me off.
“I work downstairs.” Ryan grinned. “I’m a cop.”
I sat forward and tucked my hair behind my ears.
“Do you have news on Louise Parent?”
“No.”
“Have you found Rose Fisher?”
The grin evaporated. “No. It doesn’t look good.”
“You think she’s dead?”
“She’s sixty-four. She’s been missing almost a week.”
“What kind of mutant murders elderly women?”
Ryan took my question as rhetorical. “Is the extra surveillance still on your place?”
“Yes.” If you came to visit you’d know. “Are you suggesting I’m elderly?”
“I want you to keep your eyes open, Tempe.”
“They’re rarely closed these days, Andy.”
Ryan ignored that.
“I’m going to swing by Fisher’s house. Thought you might like to ride along.”
I did.
I waved a hand in the direction of the skeletons. “I’m pretty busy.”
“They’re not going anywhere.” Another boyish grin.
Again the debate. Confrontation? Avoidance?
I decided on vague. Give Ryan the opening. Let him tackle or dodge.
“Do you ever ask yourself questions, Ryan?”
“Sure. What ever happened to Alice Cooper?”
