Page 17 of Cold, Cold Bones
Henry smiled but remained seated and waited for me to speak.
“I understand you’ve just joined Homicide/ADW.” I referred to the CMPD unit that investigates murders and assaults with a deadly weapon.
Henry nodded.
“Why did you want to work violent crimes?” I asked to be friendly.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
No.
Seconds passed. Henry’s smile held.
“What was your previous unit?”
“Domestic violence.”
“And before that?” Jesus. This was starting to sound like a job interview.
“I’ve been in Charlotte about three years now. Before that, I livedin LA. That’s where I grew up. But I came to hate the whole SoCal vibe. Except for the ocean, of course. That was awesome.”
“You were a detective with the LAPD?”
“Yup.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Who can live in LA on a cop’s salary? Besides, I’d been waiting forever for an assignment to the Robbery Homicide Division. So was everyone else on the job. Anyway, I had a marriage go south, and I have a cousin living in Myrtle Beach. I heard through her that Charlotte was recruiting, applied, and here I am.”
First LA, then three years here. Yet Slidell still considered her a newbie.
“Do you like living in Charlotte?”
“I do. Instead of a studio apartment I have a whole house to myself. A whole goddam block.” She spread her arms.
“What have you got?” I nodded at a brown envelope lying atop the Burberry.
On the frosty drive from Belmont Abbey, at Slidell’s insistence, I’d reluctantly shared my first take on our privy find. Female. White. Adult. Postmortem interval (the PMI) probably less than two years. Given the plastic bag and the protected environment in the perpetually shaded privy, a precise PMI estimate was impossible.
You can imagine Skinny’s delight at those vague descriptors. Nevertheless, he’d passed them on to Henry.
“I ran a search using your time of death range and bio-profile. Found some possibles.”
Henry pulled a printout from the envelope and scanned three lines of data.
“Eve Lott, age thirty-eight. Reported missing February 23, 2020. Lucille McFarland, age forty-three. Reported missing June 16, 2021. Ariadne Bruce, age forty-four. Reported missing December 18, 2021.”
Henry looked up expectantly. “Do you want the sitch on each?”
“Sitch?”
“Situation. Backstory.”
“Not now.” OK, newbie. Let’s see how you do. “Shall we view the remains, Detective?”
Not waiting for a response, I rose to retrace my path to the “clean” side of the facility. Looking somewhat less than keen, Henry followed.
In the autopsy room, I handed out gloves, a surgical mask, and an apron and we both suited up. Then I stepped to the table and threw back the sheeting.
