Page 187 of The Bone Code
We all drank to Claudel.
“Is he talking at all?” Anne was on a roll. “Huger, not Claudel.”
Vislosky levered one shoulder. “Under advice of counsel, the bastard’s being very cagey. His lawyer has pointed out, and unfortunately the guy’s right, that we have very little physical evidence linking Huger to any of the homicides. Or to the tampering, for that matter. It may be that our best case is the assault and attempted murder by drowning of Tempe. Those are solid.”
“Why didn’t he just shoot her, like the others?”
“A lot of people knew what Tempe was investigating,” Vislosky said. “This time he had to make it look accidental.”
“Don’t quit on the murders of the women.”
We all looked at Ryan.
“An IT tech in Montreal managed to recover a few voice mails from the Samsung Galaxy found in the rubble at InovoVax.”
“Murray’s mobile?” I asked.
“Yep. One of the messages was left by a caller with an eight-four-three exchange.”
“Had to be Huger. We can trace the number and probably identify the voice.”
“According to the tech, the caller soundedfurieux.” No translation needed.
We waited as Ryan pulled out his own phone, scrolled, and read. “I quote: ‘Charleston harbor two. St. Lawrence two. Laurier zero. Balanced score, asshole?’?”
“Holy crap. When was that left?” I asked.
“November first.”
“Three days after the hit-and-run.”
Ryan nodded.
“Murray must have told Huger I was reopening the investigation into the container vics. Huger ordered him either to scare me off or to take me out. But how did he know?” I asked.
“Carrot Hair.”
Eight eyes again swiveled to Ryan.
“Laura Bianchi. The journalist who showed up at the exhumation.”
“Of course!” I said. Which compelled a brief explanation of the pic and the article in theGazette. When I’d finished, I said, more resolute now, “So. Bears or Panthers?”
The others looked at me as if I’d spoken ancient Sumerian.
“Chicago is playing Carolina this weekend. Who’s your pick?”
“Oh, dear Lord.” Eyes in full orbit, Anne got to her feet. “Almost time for dessert, but first, I have something that may jolt the fillings right out of your teeth.”
With that dramatic declaration, she disappeared through the swinging doors, returned moments later, butt first, with something substantial wrapped in her arms.
Turning, she announced, “Y’all, meet Anne. Same name, no relation.”
No Relation Anne was a female mannequin, consisting only of torso, neck, and head. As we watched, our Anne placed No Relation Anne in the vacant chair and snugged her up to the table.
The sight of the new arrival generated an odd uneasiness.
I studied the dummy’s features, and the uneasiness intensified. A sensation similar to the one I’d experienced when first viewing Polly Beecroft’s photos.
