Bones to Ashes

“And you’re stuck with me.”

She rose.

“Don’t go hitting your speed dial,” I added. “Warning David could end up making you a widow.”

Rigor stiff, she walked from the room.

I dug a pen and notepad from my purse. Then I hooked on my earpiece, laid the cell on the table, and resumed my conversation with Rob, glad for a diversion to pass the time.

“Shoot,” I said.

“Long or short version?”

“Tell me enough to make me understand.”

“Got the poetry there in front of you?”

“No.”

Hearing the clatter of cookware, I assumed Obeline had gone to a kitchen not far from where I sat.

“No big deal. I’ll review it. Now K is code for poems written by your gal pal back in the sixties, and Q refers to those contained in the Bones to Ashes collection.”

“Known versus questioned,” I guessed.

“Yes. Fortunately for the analysis, as I’ll explain, both the K and Q poetry is written in English. Since your friend was a native French speaker.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“An interesting thing is that, even when people try to disguise their language, or mimic someone else’s, a forensic linguist can often see below the surface to areas not under control of the speaker. For example, most people in the United States say they stand ‘in line’ at the post office. In New York, people say they stand ‘on line.’ American speakers, either from New York or elsewhere, don’t seem to be aware of this. It’s very distinctive, but beneath the level of most people’s consciousness.”

“So someone mimicking a New Yorker would have to know that. Or a New Yorker disguising his speech would have to be aware of that.”

“Exactly. But typically folks are oblivious to these quirks. Grammatical differences can be even more subtle, to say nothing of pronunciation.”

“Rob, we’re dealing with written poetry.”

“Written poetry draws on all levels of language. Differences in pronunciation might affect the rhyme scheme.”

“Good point.”

“Going back to words, and awareness, ever hear of the devil strip ransom note?”

“No.”

“It was a case brought to my mentor, Roger Shuy. He looked at the thing, predicted the kidnapper was a well-educated man from Akron. Needless to say, the cops were skeptical. Write this down. It’s short, and it’ll help you understand what I did with your poems.”

I scribbled what Rob dictated.

“Do you ever want to see your precious little girl again? Put $10,000 cash in a diaper bag. Put it in the green trash kan on the devil strip at corner 18th and Carlson. Don’t bring anybody along. No kops! Come alone! I’ll be watching you all the time. Anyone with you, deal is off and dautter is dead!”

“One of the first things linguists look for is the underlying language. Is the person a native English speaker? If not, there may be mistaken cognates, words that look like they should mean the same in both languages but don’t. Like ‘gift’ in German means ‘poison’ in English.”

“Embarazada in Spanish.” I’d made that mistake once in Puerto Rico. Instead of saying I was embarrassed, I’d said I was pregnant.

“ Good one. Systematic misspellings can also show a foreign native language. Notice that in the note the writer misspelled ‘kan’ and ‘kops’ for ‘can’ and ‘cops.’ But not ‘kash’ for ‘cash,’ or ‘korner’ for ‘corner.’ So it probably wasn’t that the writer was educated in a language where the k sound was always spelled k and never c. And over all, the note’s pretty fluent.”

“So the writer’s an English speaker, not pregnant, who can’t spell ‘trash can.’ How did Shuy know he was educated?”

“Keep looking at the spellings. He can’t spell ‘daughter’ either, right?”

“Right. But he can spell ‘precious.’ And ‘diaper.’ And his punctuation is correct, not like someone’s who can’t spell ‘cops.’”

“I knew you’d get this immediately. In essence, it’s the same thing you do in your job. Look for patterns that fit and don’t fit. So if the perp can spell, why doesn’t he?”

“To throw the cops off. Maybe in his community he’s known as well educated. So instead of hiding his education, his attempt at concealing it sends up a flare. But what about Akron? Why not Cleveland? Or Cincinnati?”

“Read the note again. What words stand out?”

“‘Devil strip.’”

“What’s your word for the grass strip between the sidewalk and the road?”