Page 57 of Evil Bones
“Or bicycle. Some of the dogs were fairly big.”
Skinny seemed lost in thought. “When you gave me that fill-in on those human bones, you said maybe they came from an old burial.”
“I did.”
“From a graveyard?”
“Yes. You should check for recent reports of cemetery vandalism.”
Slidell nodded.
I crossed to the map.
“I’d start with this one,” I said, indicating a small green patch in the densest area of tri-color pin overlap. “Holy Comforter Cemetery.”
“Who the hell came up with that name? Sounds like some kinda big blanket.”
I’d had the same thought.
“Here.” Slidell pulled a printout from one of his folders and handedit to me. “This is a list of female MPs going back three years. Let me know if there’s a match to the stiff you got.”
“I’m not sure the woman died that recently.”
“Humor me.”
Lumbering to his feet, Slidell strode toward the door.
“What’s your next move?” I asked.
He turned. I knew the look on his face.
“You say this sonofabitch is a ghoul.” A vein throbbed in the center of Slidell’s sweat-slick forehead. “A ghoul and a pervert.”
“I didn’t—”
“A pervert making up for his limp dick by abusing animals.”
I said nothing.
“I’ll bet my left nut the guy’s in the sex offender files.”
With that, he was gone.
I turned to the list of names Slidell had provided. Six I could eliminate straight off based on their date of disappearance or on the bio-profile I’d constructed for the remains. Too young or too old. Too tall or too short. Wrong ancestry. History of a fracture or abnormality I hadn’t observed on the bones.
That left me with three candidates.
Alice Anne Hunley Tumbler. Caucasian. DOB July 10, 1978. Reported missing eighteen months earlier by her son. Last seen walking her dog at Squirrel Lake Park near Matthews.
Corrina May Rummage. Caucasian. DOB February 4, 1992. Reported missing nine months earlier by her husband. Last seen leaving a Circle K on Sharon Road.
Laurel Jean Patel. Caucasian–Southeast Asian mix. DOB October 29, 2002. Reported missing thirty-six months earlier by her roommate. Last seen at a bus stop on Independence Boulevard.
I’d just finished my comparisons when Slidell returned.
He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t frowning. But, framed in my doorway, his body language suggested he was wired for action.
“I’ve got him.” Raising and waggling his phone.
