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“Are you still dating, is it Benton?”
Harry’s love life is like a revolving door. Fast in, tumultuous whirl, fast out. As a result, I commit no name to memory until the guy has lasted several months.
“Boston. Boston Trivino.” Derisive snort. “If the boy had a single brain cell it’d die of loneliness.”
“I take that as a no.”
“Sent him packing a couple weeks back.” Then one of Harry’s head-spinning segues. “What are you doing down there?”
“Looking at cold cases.”
I left it at that. But my sister has the instincts of a nuclear detector at code red.
“Don’t dance me around, Tempe. You sound nervous as a horse in a dog-food factory. What’s up?”
“I had a little incident while driving today.” No way I’d mention the part about almost plummeting to my death.
“I’m going to send you a meditation link. I find the stuff useful when my nerves are jangled.”
“I don’t—”
“Damnation, Tempe. Just give it a spin.”
“Fine. But not tonight. Right now, I just want to sleep.”
“Whatever greases your wagon.”
Lying in bed, I was struck by a realization.
I hadn’t a clue as to Harry’s real purpose in calling.
25
WEDNESDAY, JULY17
I was at the hospital by eight. The only sentient being in the pathology department.
At nine, I phoned Caribbean Chabad House of Provo. After sharing the bare minimum—a criminal investigation, a fragment of metal bearing Hebrew lettering—the rabbi’s wife, Leah Abrams, said she felt it was inappropriate that she or her husband get involved in a police matter.
Disappointed, I pushed the translation to the back of my mind and spent the morning viewing and photographing the eight bones that had formed Quentin Bonner’s and Ryder Palke’s lower arms.
As time passed, people came and went. I hardly noticed.
What I was seeing supported my naked eyeball impression that the perp had not used an axe or a machete to sever his victims’ hands.
Not a mindblower, still good to have confirmation.
But other details had me tingling with excitement.
Anticipating Monck’s skepticism, I sought additional corroboration.
Vaguely recalling a publication from years back, I booted my laptop and ran a search using three keywords: axe, cuts, bone.
Bingo! P. McCardle, 2015,Forensic Research & Criminology International Journal.I read the article twice. Almost did an arm pump. Almost.
There was one more class of characteristics to check.
After printing hard copy, I returned to the scope. Was repositioning Palke’s right radius when my iPhone sounded.
