Page 52 of Evil Bones
Secretly appreciating Skinny’s use of alliteration, I told him what I could.
He listened without interrupting, left ankle cocked over his right knee, one finger worrying some remnant of breakfast on his shirt, which, as usual, looked like it had been plucked from a department store discount bin.
“That’s it?” he asked when I’d finished.
I nodded glumly. “One large segment of frontal bone survived. Patches of adherent tissue showed that the decedent’s eyelids had beenstretched wide and sewn in place. When viewed under magnification, the stitching indicated a skilled hand.”
“Just like the others.”
“Just like the others,” I agreed.
“So we’re talking about a guy who knows his way around a needle and thread. Maybe a professional seamstress or a tailor?”
“A surgeon or dentist?” I tossed out.
“Some kind of lab rat?”
“An acupuncturist? A pharmacist?”
“More likely just your run-of-the-mill low-life druggie.”
“Maybe.” I didn’t think so.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what this perv needs to make his whistle throb.” Slidell sounded dangerous. “Animals is bad enough. But no one diddles with human corpses on my turf.”
CHAPTER 12
Convinced that the displays were the result of some erotic fantasy, Slidell wanted to round up every registered sex offender in the state.
It took some doing to talk him down and redirect his energy.
After adamant arguing on my part, and much blustering on his, he stormed off on a two-prong mission.
First, he’d compile a list of open MP files—people who’d gone missing in the region over the past three years. Those data might prove useful with regard to the question of human corpse ID.
Then, he’d pull reports of unresolved pet disappearances and of animal mutilation cases spanning the same period. Those data might prove useful with regard to the question of perp ID.
I’d offered to go with Skinny. His response had been less than gracious.
Alone in my office, I forced myself to focus on Nguyen’s hated case inventory. With minimal success. Feeling useless and antsy, I kept finding excuses to avoid the damn thing.
A coffee refill. A toilet break. A check of traffic congestion in the street below.
Slidell had been gone almost four hours when I’d had it. Unable to take the inactivity a second longer, I decided to contact Adina.
My call was answered on the first ring.
“Dr. Brennan,” a voice I recognized as Adina’s sang out. Her office phone must have had some sort of caller ID.
“You’re working your own phone these days?” I asked.
“My receptionist is on vacation.”
“Isn’t the whole goddam world?”
“Whoa. What’s up, girlfriend?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.”
