Page 7 of The Bone Code
“She arrived in the States speaking no English, so the parents decided on homeschooling. Over the years, that arrangement continued because of behavioral issues. Not sure what those were.”
“So your vic had little contact with anyone outside the home.”
“Exactly. She was a very small person and, at the time of her death, was claiming to be a minor, dressing like a kid, acting like a kid. The parents say it was fraud from the outset and that Tereza was a sociopath who scammed them for years.”
“Let me guess. Some DA disagrees and is determined to prosecute.”
“Child abandonment, child endangerment, negligent homicide. Who knows what else? The parents’ attorney, a guy named Lloyd Thorn, insists his clients are guilty of nothing but kindness. He says they provided Tereza with a home free of charge. That they just couldn’t take her abusive behavior any longer.”
“So they did what?”
“Took a prolonged vacation, hoping she’d move out as they’d suggested. They figured she’d be fine on her own.”
“Where are they now?”
“Under arrest in Saint Croix. Thorn contacted me yesterday after he got access to X-rays taken when Tereza suffered some sort of fall last year.”
“Are the films useful?”
“Very. I have a theory, but I want to do a little more research before I talk to Thorn. He’s phoned me four times in the last two days. The guy’s very high-pressure.”
“And I know how you respond to bullies.”
“Keep that in mind, detective.”
“Oui, madame.”
“We could lose power anytime, so I want to wrap this up.”
“Conditions are that bad?”
“Electrical outages are SOP here.”
“Ring me in a couple of hours?”
“Sure.”
“Maybe talk dirty?”
“Goodbye, Ryan.”
After disconnecting, I verified several points online. Then I turned to my osteology and genetics textbooks.
Every now and then, I got up to peer out a window. Or to check back with our folksy weatherman. Each time, Medford’s eyebrow angle was slightly more acute.
I was doing one last round with the X-rays when something bulky skittered across the lawn and slammed a wall with a muted thud. The annex went dark.
And I was as certain as I’d ever be regarding Tereza.
Time for some serious battening.
Inspired by Medford’s second bullet point and Birdie’s instinctual choice of refuge, I dragged bedding into the annex’s most interior room, a windowless closet with a low, sloping ceiling wedged below the staircase. I added my mobile and laptop, a gallon of water, a box of granola bars, my current Karin Slaughter book, and Birdie’s food and drink bowls.
A quick sandwich by flashlight, a trip to the head, then I went in search of the cat. He was not enthused about being hauled out from under the bed.
The rain started as I was descending the stairs. No timid first wave of tentative drops, the deluge came all at once, full force and sideways, like water blasting from a high-pressure nozzle.
Easing my grip, I allowed the cat to catapult from my chest into the improvised storm cellar. He shot behind a row of stacked boxes, eyes like Frisbees, fur and tail in full upright mode, an odd mewing noise rising from his throat. I crawled in with him and closed the door.
