First Bones by Kathy Reichs

Author:Kathy Reichs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2020-05-02T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Hawkins arrives at the morgue shortly past noon. That’s when I get my first look at the “crisper.”

When exposed to fire, muscles shrink and joints bend. In humans, this results in the pugilistic posture, or boxer’s pose. This has happened to the ill-fated driver of the Corolla. Though baked and blackened, a shroud of soft tissue holds the skeleton together. The fingers, wrists, elbows, and knees are tightly flexed.

The body is lying supine, limbs up. Unbidden, my mind pops an image. A puppy rolled onto its back to play dead.

I understand why Larabee has requested my help. The face is a featureless mass above a mouth stretched wide in a hideous grin. No nose, ears, lips, or hair remain. The eyes rest like shriveled raisins in the lidless orbits. The genitals are toast.

I return to the wondrous Apple II to finish my report on ME1207. Hawkins completes full body X-rays and photographs by one and wheels the remains to the stinky room. They have been assigned case number ME1211. I spend the next two hours tweezing off remnants of clothing, soaking and stripping flesh, sawing free bone specimens needed to construct a bioprofile.

By three I’ve finished with everything but the two heaps of charred rubble that accompanied or came off the body. My head is pounding. Maybe wine, maybe lack of lunch. Maybe the unsettling truth I have found yet again.

I’m jotting my final note when Larabee comes through the door. He holds a small pink paper in one hand.

“Rinaldi called.” The scrubs tell me Larabee has gone from recovery of the fire victim straight into an autopsy. From death to death. I wonder if I want any part of this world.

“The car was registered to a Mark Wong.” Larabee sounds exhausted. “Chinese American male, age twenty-seven, height five foot six.”

There’s no need to consult my notes. “That fits.”

“I’ll have Slidell collect antemorts.”

“Where is he?”

“Questioning Millikin. At headquarters. I think. I’m not sure.”

“What’s Wong’s story?”

“He’s an acupuncturist. Was. That’s all I know.”

“Look at this.”

It unfolds as a replay of the previous day. I step away from the table and hand Larabee the lens. He studies the defect I’ve found at the back of the skull.

“That’s a bullet hole.” He turns to me, worry lines creasing his brow.

“It is.”

“Like Russell Ingram.”

“Yes.”

“Same MO. Cap the vic, torch the body. Any link between the two?”

“Both are men. Both were shot in the head.”

“That should crack the case wide open. I’ll call Slidell.”

When Larabee leaves I start examining debris. The pile on the counter contains the shreds of scorched clothing I’ve removed from the corpse. The pile on the gurney came in lying beside him.

Much is burned beyond recognition. Not all. I start with the gurney. Find the vestige of a leather sole. A lump of melted vinyl, probably from the car. A key. Not sure of the protocol, I begin an evidence log.

I’m working through the clothing when I notice a patch of denim with several metal studs. The thing is maybe two inches square.

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