Page 99 of Evil Bones
A weekend crew was there, of course. Including the new guy, Winslow, of undetermined surname.
By nine-thirty, I’d changed into scrubs and Winslow had rolled the remains, now designated MCME-766-25, to autopsy room four. Just habit, not due to concerns about odor.
I was unzipping the small black pouch when my mobile sounded. Holding my gloved hands away from my body, I crossed to the counter to check the screen.
Crap.
A moment of hesitation, then I answered.
“Brennan.” Knowing that formal greeting would probably draw censure.
“We got us another one.” Background noise told me Slidell was calling from his car.
“Another one?”
“Jesus. I’m working homicide here. Whadaya think I’m talking about?”
“A body?” Fervently hoping for a negative response.
“With all the trimmings.”
“Where?”
“A Girl Scout campground called Pod Village. Apparently, the little ladies will be needing some serious therapy.”
My empathy with the scouts, I refused to acknowledge the wisecrack.
“But this round the perv added a new twist,” Slidell continued.
“What?”
“Better you see for yourself.”
“Wait. Why do you need me?”
“Two reasons. First off, I ain’t good with kids.”
“The girls are still there?”
“No. We flew them all to Paris so’s they could jamboree.”
Easy, Brennan.
“And the second reason?”
“I’m told the stiff ain’t exactly pristine.”
“Fine.” It was so far from fine, a high-precision GPS system couldn’t measure the distance.
“Give me the address,” I said resignedly, reaching for a pen.
“I’ll pick you up in thirty.”
“At the Annex.”
Yep, I thought again.Groundhog Day.
Peering through the windshield of the Trailblazer, I gave silent thanks for small favors. Unlike the recovery at the McDowell Nature Preserve, this one wouldn’t require a hike through vegetation infested with man-eating mosquitoes.
