Bones to Ashes

“Yes.”

“You’re working late.”

I looked at the clock. Isolated in room four with its special ventilation, I hadn’t heard the autopsy techs depart. It was now six-fifteen.

“Indeed.” God, this was strained. “How’s Charlie?”

“Bawdy as ever.”

Charlie is a cockatiel whose early years were spent in a brothel. A Christmas gift from Ryan, we share joint custody of the bird.

“Birdie’s been asking about him.” I wondered if Ryan was there to see me, or to talk about LaManche’s Lac des Deux Montagnes case. I didn’t wonder long.

“Had time to look at my floater?”

“Not yet.” I kept the disappointment from my voice. “What’s the story?”

“Fisherman was trolling off L’Ile-Bizard yesterday. Thought he’d snagged the big one, reeled in a body instead. Guy probably has his bass boat on eBay right now.”

“I haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“The vic is female. LaManche thought he spotted some unusual patterning around the neck, wasn’t sure because of the severe bloating and discoloration. No signs of gunshot on the body or the X-rays. No hyoid fracture. LaManche has requested a tox screen.”

“Has Bergeron charted the teeth?” Marc Bergeron is the lab’s consulting odontologist.

Ryan nodded. “I entered her dental descriptors into CPIC, got zip. The odds may improve if you nail age and race.”

“She’s next on the docket.”

Ryan hesitated a beat. “We’re looking at some MP’s and DOA’s that may be connected.”

“How many?”

“Three missing persons. Two bodies, both unknown.”

“You’re thinking serial?”

“We’re considering the possibility.”

“Time frame?”

“Ten years.”

“Vic profile?”

“Female. Early to late teens.”

I felt the usual anger and sadness. Fear? Could some predator be using Quebec as his killing field?

“You suspect the Lac des Deux Montagnes woman could be vic number six?”

“Maybe.”

“First thing tomorrow?”

“Thanks.”

Ryan started to leave, turned back at the door.

“How’s Pete?”

“Recovering nicely. Thanks for asking. Lily?”

“Good.”

“Good.” God. We were doing it again. “I’ll pick Charlie up,” I said.

“No need. I’ll deliver him.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Serve and protect.” Ryan snapped a salute. “I’ll give you a call.”

“Thanks, Ryan.”

After rewrapping the burned nonagenarian, and rolling his gurney into its bay, I cleaned up and headed home. Birdie met me at the door.

While changing to shorts I explained that Charlie would be joining us soon. Bird was thrilled. Or bored. With cats it’s hard to be sure.

Following dinner, Birdie and I watched a Sopranos rerun, the one in which Adriana gets whacked. Throughout, I kept picking up the land phone. Checking for a dial tone. Tossing the thing back onto the couch.

Ryan didn’t phone. Nor did he appear at my condo that night.

Though Birdie and I were in bed by eleven, sleep didn’t come for a very long time. Thinking back on our exchange in autopsy room four, I realized what was bothering me. Ryan had scarcely smiled or joked. It wasn’t like him.