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JEFFERSON DORMITORY
FORENSIC ANTHROPOLOGY LAB
QUANTICO, VIRGINIA
SUNDAY
Dr. Thomas stood beside a long stainless steel table covered with rows of matching bones neatly lined up. The next table held smaller bones, all of them still in a jumble. They reminded Savich of the wall of bones in the catacombs beneath St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna. Dr. Thomas waved Savich and Sherlock over, pointed down at the line of bones. “I’ve found sixteen right tibias so far, one obviously from a young adult, not yet fully grown, and one very long tibia, so a very tall man, about six foot six, I’d say. There are both men and women in this group of sixteen. There aren’t enough skulls to attach to all these bones, so obviously there must be more at the bottom of the lake. Or in another lake,” he added. “You never know what will and what won’t show up. Over on that tarp are the bones they found this morning in Lake Massey. I’ll get to them when I can, maybe tomorrow. My wife threatened this morning at breakfast to break my favorite antique turntable if I don’t get home by three o’clock today.”
They looked up when Sala Porto and Chief Ty Christie knocked on the open door. Dr. Thomas called out, “Come in, come in, we’re just getting started.” After introducing Ty to Dr. Thomas, Sala said, “Sorry we’re late, ran into Beltway traffic. On a Sunday, go figure.”
“Not a problem,” Dr. Thomas said. “I was telling Savich and Sherlock the early count is sixteen so far, not including the bones you brought up this morning. None of the skeletal remains are nearly complete, of course, and there aren’t enough skulls. All I can say with certainty thus far is that the bones I have here, as I said, are from a minimum of sixteen people, all but one of them adults. I haven’t found any perimortem insults, but several orthopedic screws, two hips, two knees, which, unfortunately won’t help me identify them. The half a dozen skulls have very few teeth, not enough to match with dental records.
“I’ve put aside the manufactured items—the few shoes, belts, remnants of clothing. We can probably identify some of the manufacturers, the range of dates those items were sold, but there’s nothing unusual there. No jewelry or identification of any kind. Truth is, I have very little for you so far. Some of these bones could have been in the lake for as little as five years, some for decades.”
They stood over the table looking down at the line of stark-white right tibias. Sherlock picked up the only smaller one. “He murdered a child, didn’t he?”
Dr. Thomas said, “A teenage girl, actually. I’ve only begun to examine the bones closely for trauma, anything to indicate cause of death. One of the skulls appears fractured, but that’s hard to say without closer examination.” Dr. Thomas paused, ran his hands through his hair, thick brown with gray strands on the sides that made him look professorial. Rich was lean, a runner, Sherlock knew, with two kids and a wife with a local cooking show on TV. They were lucky to have him. He lived and breathed his work. And worshiped his wife’s lasagna. He took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt. “I’ll have done an examination in the next couple of days, then hopefully I’ll be able to tell you what killed some of these folks.” Dr. Thomas looked over at Sala. “You called me about some big break. What is it?”
Sala pulled the gold Star of David belt buckle out of a bag and handed it to Dr. Thomas. “I’m thinking it’s fourteen-karat gold,” Sala said, “which means lots of moolah was spent on that adornment. It might get us identification if the man was a local. I was wondering why the Serial didn’t take it. I mean, he could have fenced it for at least a couple thousand.”
Dr. Thomas fingered the belt buckle. “It’s very beautiful and yes, unique.” He said to Ty, “I know you want answers, Chief. Tomorrow, our people will start examining the bone marrow for traces of DNA. But you know, it will take time.”
He handed the belt buckle back to Sala and looked over at the skulls. “Our artist Jayne will start the facial approximations tomorrow.” He gave them a lopsided grin. “Although truthfully, they’re not very useful yet. But hey, maybe in a couple of years, who knows? You could set MAX on it, Savich.”
Ty picked up the Star of David belt buckle, studied it again. “When can we show this on local TV, Dillon?”
“Tomorrow,” Savich said.
Ty said slowly, “Rather than some local police chief going on TV, namely me, I think the FBI would get more attention. Dillon, you should do it.”
Sala added, “She’s right, Savich. You and Mr. Maitland could appear together. It would give the announcement more gravitas, maybe more of the stations would run it, especially if you do it in Willicott. The belt buckle of a murdered man who lived in the area.”
“I’ll call Mr. Maitland, see if that’s how he wants to run it.” He looked over at the bones, at people whose lives had been ended so cruelly by an individual with no conscience, felt no remorse, who had probably felt nothing at all, except pleasure.
25
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MARAUDER STATE PARK
NEAR PLUNKETT, MARYLAND
SUNDAY EVENING
I’m tired, Victor, and my stitches hurt. This place is pretty, I’ll give you that, but why’d you want to come to another park in the same state?
“Lissy, think a minute. Nobody pays you any mind once you’re cleared into a park. You walk past all the campers and the people with their tents and their kids and their barbecues, and it’s nice and quiet. No one watching TV, not like that old buzzard at the bait store.”
I can hear it in your voice, Victor. You’re still peeing your pants, aren’t you? That’s because you didn’t put out that old coot’s lights like you should have. Stupid, Victor, and now you know he’s already told the cops where we are. And he saw the car, and they’ll track us. You know the dude couldn’t wait to call them. That was a bad mistake, Victor, really bad. I’ve told you, I don’t want to go back to that brain-dead psych ward. And you dropped my box of Milk Duds, you were so scared. My mama never ran
from anything.
“Shut up about your stupid mama! I don’t want to hear about her anymore. Look, it took me by surprise, that’s all. I mean, seeing myself on TV—I couldn’t believe it. How’d they find out about me? How? And so fast? I was careful, scrubbed everything. You know that. You were watching and telling me how to do it. I wish we could get those staples out of your belly. They’re ugly, and I don’t like to see them, especially when you’re scratching at them.”
You think they’re ugly? Poor you. It’s always you, isn’t it, Victor? But what about me? They’re clamping my guts in. I hate them. They pull and stretch and ache all the time.
