Page 60 of Cold, Cold Bones

“Maybe he’s some sort of weird hobbyist,” I said, not really believing it.

“Or could be he’s researching for his master’s thesis.”

“And you accuse me of trying to be funny?”

I moved to the left side of the montage. This mix was more diverse and included murder in all its glory. A boy kidnapped and buried alive in Newport, Rhode Island. A co-ed raped and killed leaving a party in Austin, Texas. A family slaughtered in Durham, North Carolina. Solo players were featured, both modern and historic. Lizzie Borden. Drew Peterson. Andrea Yates. Casey Anthony. Robert Durst. Susan Smith. OJ. Some pairs. Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow. Leopold and Loeb. Erik and Lyle Menendez.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Don’t have a thrombo.”

Even in my outrage, the irony didn’t escape me. Normally I’d be saying that to Skinny.

I sensed Slidell cross to stand by my side. Felt his eyes on my face.

Deciding I wasn’t about to keel over, or simply drained ofpatience, Skinny yanked his black L.L.Bean gloves tight onto his hands and stomped from the bus.

I stood staring at the ominous display.

The ride home was as anticipated.

Slidell castigated me for not following orders. I replied that I wasn’t a cop. He preached about taking unnecessary risks. I said I was a big girl. He insisted I visit an ER. I refused. He commented on deficiencies in my personality. I thanked him for sharing his disappointment. The discourse made the Israeli-Palestinian peace talks look like parlor games.

At home, Birdie’s reproachful stare was not what I needed.

After cleaning my face with wet cotton balls, I showered and applied antiseptic. Both stung like hell. Next, I downed a barely heated can of Campbell’s tomato soup and followed that with two Advil. Then I climbed to the bedroom and closed the shutters.

I tried Katy’s number. Got voice mail.

Switching my iPhone to silent mode, I crawled into bed.

14

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY10

Islept the rest of that day and night and late into the next morning.

Birdie managed to break through at eight-fifteen. I went straight to the bathroom mirror. My face had crusted over and my right eye looked like fruit going bad. Great.

Also, if I turned my head too sharply, pain shot from the base to the crown of my skull. More Advil and a coffee chaser helped some. Or maybe it was the bagel with blueberry cream cheese.

A glance out the window revealed sunshine and a melting world. That was good news.

I left the annex at nine and twenty minutes later was at the MCME. As I passed Mrs. Flowers, she warbled that Detective Slidell had phoned. Glancing up and seeing my face, her eyebrows rose, and her mouth reshaped into a perfectO. I kept moving.

My computer screen showed that two requisition forms had landed in my in-box. Ignoring them, I phoned Hawkins’s extension to ask about MCME 224-22.

The hanging man’s bones still weren’t ready.

“When?” I asked.

“Soon,” Hawkins said.

“Why is it taking so long?”

“Had to get prints. Mummies are tough.”

“Fair enough.”