Page 50 of Evil Bones
How had the remains ended up at the tree? A lack of redundancy in parts along with compatibility between all elements suggested a single person. Had that person been killed, then his or her remains placed below the oak? If so, When? Why? Who was the victim?
Had the corpse been disinterred from a local cemetery? If so, Which one? Was the act random? Or had the individual been specifically chosen?
How had the remains become mixed with those of several animal species?
Murder? Grave robbery? Something altogether different?
For a moment, I just stood there, fluorescents buzzing fitfully on the ceiling, clock humming softly on the wall.
Snap out of it, Brennan!
Setting the animal remains aside, I opened a file and began moving through my standard protocol with the human material.
A skeletal inventory showed that the remains did, in fact, represent a single individual. Biological indicators pointed to female gender and an age estimate of thirty-five to fifty years. Cranial and facial anatomy suggested European ancestry. Good bone quality and the presence of desiccated soft tissue indicated a PMI of less than five years.
I saw no evidence of antemortem or perimortem disease or trauma. At least nothing that had left its mark on the skeleton.
What I found shocking was the pattern of postmortem treatment.
Feathers. Glitter. Facial mutilation.
And the probability that one hand had been severed and taken elsewhere.
A pattern identical to the one I’d observed with Bear and the others.
I was recording my findings for entry into a computer file when the screech of the desk phone startled me. Stripping off and tossing a glove into a toe-tap flip-top container, I crossed to it.
“Dr. Brennan,” I answered, noting as I picked up that the call was internal.
“A happy Tuesday to you.” Chirpy as hell.
“And to you.”
“I hope y’all had a lovely weekend.”
“I did, Mrs. Flowers. Thanks for asking.”
A hopeful pause.
When I didn’t elaborate, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Detective Slidell absolutely refuses to take no for an answer. That man can be most tenacious.”
“Indeed, he can,” I affirmed, not totally clear as to her meaning. “What does he want?”
“He says it’s imperative that he talk with you, toot-sweet. I’m paraphrasing, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I explained that y’all are busy doing an autopsy, but—”
“Tell Detective Slidell that I’ll call him back shortly.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Mrs. Flowers loved roping people into Q & A fencing matches. At that moment I wasn’t in the mood for games.
“What does that mean?”
My brusqueness was met with a reproachful silence.
