Page 143 of Evil Bones
“I’m a big girl, Ryan. Besides, Meloy and Hall are in jail and Berkowitz’s latest parole request was denied.”
Ryan just looked at me.
“David Berkowitz? Son of Sam?” My laugh cracked into something too loud and too sharp. “Never mind. It was a joke.”
“I can fly back to Charlotte in a few days.”
“Of course. It’s probably for the best. Slidell wants me to spend the next week eyeballing every mug shot ever taken in the tri-state area. And listening to a billion audio recordings to try to ID the mastermind of this unfortunate little incident.” Trying to keep it light.
“Unfortunate little incident? Christ, you were kidnapped.”
“And released unharmed.”
“Some lunatic sent you video proof that he’d broken into your home. You need to take thisunfortunate little incidentmore serious—”
“I’ll be fine. I have Nguyen’s overdue reports to keep me busy, which means I probably won’t leave the Annex. Slidell has ordered surveillance, so it’s likely a unit will pass by every five seconds,” I added, wanting to lighten the mood.
Knowing further discussion was pointless, Ryan shook his head slowly while exhaling through his nose.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said.
“Not necessary.” I smiled, hoping to mask my frustration.
“Still. We have all day today,” said Ryan, flicking his brows, Groucho style.
I flicked mine back.
My stomach performed its wee somersault act.
CHAPTER 32
After dropping Ryan at the airport, I went directly to the LEC to begin the tedious search that I’d described to him. I returned home late that day, and the next, back aching and eyes burning from plowing through thousands of mug shots and voice recordings.
The countless negative updates I gave to Slidell only served to irritate him.
In other words, I accomplished zip.
Ruthie phoned to say she was in Boone, having left for the mountains with friends. I didn’t ask but assumed that negotiations between Harry and Katy had resulted in their green-lighting the trip. Given that Meloy and Hall were in jail, I did wonder briefly who these new mountaineering buddies might be.
I dialed Katy several times but she failed to answer her phone. I left messages, saying I was sorry for my recent unavailability and requesting a call back.
When I was finally free to return to the MCME, two new forensic anthropology requests had landed in my inbox.
The first case was easy. A hunk of pelvis, unearthed by a farmer plowing the north forty, was that of an elderly horse or cow.
The second case required a more detailed analysis. Dried and discolored bones had been found by a railroad worker in a wooden crate stashed in the far corner of an empty freight car. The skeleton, undoubtedly human, appeared to be old.
At six that evening, too beat to write a report on the remains ofthe long-dead traveler, I tried Katy again. This time she answered, apologizing for being incommunicado and explaining that she’d had a technology mishap. Forgotten in a back pocket, her cell phone had dropped into a toilet, thus necessitating a drying-out session in rice.
She was just leaving work. Since Ruthie was out of town, she hadn’t made a grocery run. Still, she invited me to join her for dinner.
Dinner that I would purchase on my way to her house.
In the mood for Vietnamese, I swung by Lang Van and picked up double helpings of sweet and sour soup and chicken lemongrass curry, thinking those were Katy’s favorites.
Making a left onto my daughter’s street, I belatedly remembered that the actual dish Katy always ordered was a spicy concoction involving noodles.
Whatever. I’d tried.
