Page 110 of The Bone Code
“As the story goes, a morgue pathologist was so smitten by the girl’s beauty that he called in amouleur—a molder—to preserve her face in a death mask. Some versions have him as a medical assistant. Either way, that first plaster cast became the source of all the mass-produced masks later sold as art.”
“Was the chick ever ID’d?”
“No. There’s endless conjecture as to who she might have been. A prostitute. A beggar. An orphan seduced by a nobleman.”
“Manner of death?”
“Again, lots of speculation. Because the girl’s body showed no trauma, she was presumed to have committed suicide. Others claim she must have been murdered.”
“Based on what?”
“Skeptics say she couldn’t have drowned because her features were too perfect.”
“That’s lame.”
“It is. For one thing, it was common practice back then to resculpt death masks.”
“Like retouching with Photoshop.”
I scrolled through my pictures to the shot I’d taken of Beecroft’s mask. I had to admit, the girl did look serene. Her cheeks were full, her hair demurely drawn back behind her neck. Her eyelashes, oddly matted, still looked wet. Though pleasant-looking, the girl wasn’t classically beautiful. I estimated her age at late teens.
“What happened to the body?” Vislosky asked.
“No one knows.”
“You’re thinking this unknown woman could be Polly Beecroft’s missing great-aunt?”
“The resemblance is striking. The girl’s age tallies. The time period fits.”
“How could you ever prove that she is?”
An excellent question, detective.
We got to Charleston a little past three and headed directly to the law enforcement center. The scene on Lockwood Boulevard was chaos. People crammed the walks on both sides, some holding signs, a few shouting at passing cars.
Along one curb, the sentiment seemed to be pro-canine.Don’t pinch my pooch! Back off my beagle! My dog is my best friend Dog = God spelled backward.
Along the opposite curb, the protesters were advocating animal control.Don’t let the hounds out! Woof! Woof! Leash it or lose it! Contagious Canines!I wasn’t sure aboutBite Me!
“What the hell?” I asked, watching a guy wave a placard showing a dog with a baby’s head in its open mouth.
“Don’t get me started. The media’s been on this capno shit twenty-four seven, broadcasting gore shots and citing infection rates and death counts. It’s like the mask insanity of the COVID pandemic. People have turned the situation political and chosen up sides.”
“Sides?” As Vislosky entered the garage.
“Some think the government’s out to confiscate their precious pooch. Others want every dog shot on sight.”
“Jesus.”
“And here’s a good one. Your boy Huger’s been fanning the flames.”
“He’s not my boy. What do you mean?”
“Huger’s running ads claiming there’s a gene makes some people more susceptible to the virus than others. Says if they mail their spit to his website, he’ll diagnose where they stand.”
“GeneFree?”
“One and the same.”
