Page 174 of Cold, Cold Bones

I recalled my sudden epiphany during my first brief period of consciousness.

“You made two mistakes, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Back when all this began you referenced Kwalwasser’s eyeball being left on my back porch. I’d told you only that the thing had turned up at my home. I let it go at the time, figuring Slidell had shared that detail with you. He hadn’t.”

“And the other?” Grudgingly curious.

“Last time we spoke in my office you asked about my daughter. I never told you Katy was missing.”

Henry’s lips tightened, but she said nothing. I kept talking.

“I ran through my old files, again. The deaths being mimicked by the copycat murderer. Cruikshank. Aja—”

“You making a point?” Henry snapped.

“An old white woman, a black male, a Hispanic teen, a middle-aged white guy. Death by stabbing, hanging, poisoning, hit-and-run. Smart. No common victimology, no common MO. Took us a while to see a pattern.”

“No shit.”

“You tampered with Olivia Lakin’s backpack while transporting it uptown. Why? That had us fooled for a while. The similarity to Lizzie Nance.”

“Just messing with you.”

“How did you know about Lizzie’s ballet clothes?”

“God bless the net, source of all rando intel.”

“I know why you’re doing it.” Despite the cold, I was perspiring. I was desperate to wipe the sweat from my face.

Henry shifted her weight. I tried to read the shadow show sliding across her features. Failed. Kept talking.

“I found the interview you gave in the Lake Wylie torso case in 2008.” I didn’t mention that the discovery occurred only seconds before Henry lobbed the snail through my window. Or that I’d always wonder how things might have gone had I had time to process the intel.

“Hot damn, the doc’s a detective.”

“You were dating a guy named Asa Finney back then. He was a self-proclaimed witch who went by the name Ursa. That was before your family relocated to California.”

The Glock came up, the steel tunnel of death leveled on me.

Easy, Brennan.

“I get why you’re angry,” I said. “You were a high school kid. You weren’t a witch, still Finney was your boyfriend. He was gunned down in his own front yard. It was tragic. But why target me?”

“You’re the badass forensic scientist. The mighty and exalted Dr. Temperance Brennan. And you revel in that.”

“I—”

“Asa hadn’t harmed anyone!” Henry spit the words with such venom that her saliva misted my face. And the gun. “I loved Asa and you took him from me!”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Yeah?” The way she bit off the word conveyed venomous loathing. “You’re in denial, bitch! You and your fucking pals got it all wrong and that got Asa killed! You’re right. I was just a kid. But I knew that you had to pay.”

“Why me?”

“You fed the cops your junk science—”