Page 35 of Cold, Cold Bones
“Same answer. But unofficially, I’d say that’s likely.”
“Great. I’ll run a search for a middle-agedmaybewhite guy hung like a—”
“The man was short, maybe five-five tops.” I shifted topics. “Did you want to tell me something about Veronica Kwalwasser?”
“Nguyen filled you in?”
“She told me what she knew.”
“There ain’t much more at this point. Silas Tannen, that’s the genius who owned Happy Trails, struck a plea deal and is doing a twelve-year jolt. Not sure how eager he’ll be to get out. He’s also facing a gorilla of a class-action civil suit. Anyway, I talked to Tannen. He’s got no idea how Kwalwasser’s head went AWOL. Never heard of Belmont Abbey or MiraVia.”
“You believe him?” I asked.
“The guy’s one fry short of a Happy Meal, but yeah. He probably don’t have enough gray cells to lie.”
“Did anyone else work at the crematorium?”
“It was strictly a one-man operation. I did learn that there were other complaints over the years, a couple police visits. I plan to run that down.”
I was about to ask another question when Hawkins popped his head through the door. Did I mention that he’s tall and gaunt, with thinning black hair slicked back with shiny goop. Very Halloweenesque.
“Need help cutting?” Hawkins nodded at the table.
“Shortly,” I said.
“X-rays are ready. He’s logged as MCME 224-22.”
“Thanks.”
Hawkins withdrew. Slidell took a step to follow him.
“How about we check the films together?” I suggested, entering the case number into the system. “We might spot something that could narrow your search.”
Slidell returned to the monitor.
The radiographs started at the man’s head and worked toward his feet. A bright white track, a zipper, indicated they’d been taken while the body was still dressed. SOP. Good to know if there’s anything in the clothing that could be dangerous.
“What’s that?” Slidell indicated a dense white circle on the right side of the man’s forehead.”
“Looks like an osteoma.”
“Which is?”
“A benign bone tumor.”
“You’re talking a big bump that people would have noticed?”
I got calipers and measured from the screen. “It’s two and a half centimeters, so, yes.”
The next anomaly appeared in one of the man’s hip joints.
“At some time in the past he fractured the neck of his right femur. The break healed but at an odd angle, so his right leg appears to be slightly shorter than his left.”
“He woulda limped?”
“Probably.”
“Jesus. This guy was a mess. No wonder he killed himself. What the frick is that?” Slidell asked when we’d moved to the next plate.
