Page 20 of Cold, Cold Bones
The cat fell asleep long before I did.
5
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY2
January turned into February.
I heard nothing from Ryan. Zilch from Katy. Zip from Henry or Slidell.
Wednesday dawned without drama. It wasn’t warm or cold. Wet or dry. Cloudy or clear. It was a morning of non-weather.
A groundhog in Pennsylvania saw his shadow. I’ve never been clear on whether that’s good news or bad. Six more weeks of winter seems long to me.
The phone rang as I was preparing to leave the annex. I was still baffled by the lack of decomp in the eyeball. Nguyen had green-lighted me to dissect, so I wanted to get slicing. And I needed to collect samples from it for DNA testing.
“Dr. Brennan.” Squad room sounds crowded in behind the greeting.
“Detective Henry.”
“I have the files.”
“X-rays?”
“Yes.”
“Good work. I’ve given the dentist a heads-up. I’ll text him to saythat we’re heading to him now.” I believe in flexibility. The eyeball could wait. “Meet you at his office in twenty.”
I gave Henry a name and address, then disconnected.
Dr. Ari Leshner has been drilling and filling since Hammering Hank started belting them out of the park. The old guy isn’t ABFO certified, but he can determine a match or an exclusion as accurately as any boarded forensic odontologist. Over the years, Leshner and I have examined scores of periapical, panoramic, and cephalometric images.
Leshner’s office is in Myers Park in a single-storyL-shaped building on Queens Road. One of many so-named streets meandering through Charlotte. My advice to newcomers and out of towners: if you blunder onto any road named Queens, get off.
A black Ford Explorer was parked on the small patch of asphalt enclosed by head-high hedges behind the building. Henry was in it, got out when I arrived. Today the skinny jeans were brown, the blazer a soft-as-Bambi tan suede.
A bell jangled us into the waiting area, a small space rimmed with lattice-back chairs. Straight ahead, a fish tank burbled and glowed a calming welcome. Of course, it did. It was a dental office.
The receptionist greeted me with a smile. Lucy? Lacey? “He’s expecting you.”
Lucy/Lacey buzzed us through to a hall lined with treatment rooms on the left, offices and supply closets on the right. Leshner was at a desk in the last in the row. On hearing us, he scooched from his chair and crossed to greet us.
“Tempe. So nice to see you,” he said, raising a hand in my direction.
“I wish it wasn’t always under such bleak circumstances,” I replied, gripping his stubby fingers in mine.
“Indeed.” Leshner’s eyes shifted to my companion. Who was trying hard to mask her surprise.
“This is Detective Henry,” I said. “She’s recently transferred into violent crimes.” Three years. Jesus, I was thinking like Slidell.
“My pleasure,” Leshner said, again reaching up.
Henry nodded, shook his hand.
Ari Leshner’s limbs are short, his torso and head of average size. When wearing his beloved elevator shoes, the man stands approximately four feet one. Achondroplastic dwarfism, he once explained. No biggie. He’d chuckled at his own joke.
Leshner crossed to a free-standing light box, climbed onto a high stool, and flicked a switch. The top surface lit up.
I handed him an envelope. He shook a set of small black squares onto the viewing screen and arranged them in proper anatomical order.
