Page 69 of Cold, Cold Bones

“His grandmother.”

“According to Angelina, Frank was a forty-two-year-old short guy who limped due to issues arising from a lead foot. I’m paraphrasing.”

“Any relatives or known associates?”

“Grandma has passed, there’s no spouse, ex, or other fam in the area. So, sadly, that’s it for now. But I’m digging. I figured you’d want a heads-up on the positive.”

“Does Slidell know?”

“Yes, ma’am. He seemed underwhelmed.”

After disconnecting, I swiveled my chair to face the much-appreciated window, put my feet on the desk, and encouraged my mind to wander. It didn’t. Instead, my thoughts boomeranged back to Slidell’s mulishness.

Skinny refused to consider the possibility that the Kwalwasser, Sanchez, and Boldonado cases could be connected. He was right about the varying victim profiles and manners of death. There was no common MO.

What if the nagging voice in my subconscious was wrong? What if I was seeing associations that weren’t real?

Questions rode the boomerang.

Where did Bobby Karl Smith and his buses fit in? Slidell felt certain Smith wasn’t the man’s real name. Who was he? Why use an alias?Didthey fit in?

Was Smith some sort of voyeuristic hobbyist interested in serial killers and true crime? Film and TV producers make millions off violence. Publishing houses crank out thousands of books featuring rape and killing. Might Smith derive some grotesque pleasure merely from researching and charting murders?

Boldonado was an apparent suicide by hanging, so Slidell wasn’t interested in the case. Fair enough. But Piccitelli said Boldonado palled around with Smith.

Slidell wanted me to back off from Smith and his buses. What did he say? Stick to what you do and let me catch the bad guys.

What is it I do?

I recover and analyze human remains.

I resolved to do precisely that.

Once Boldonado’s bones were clean, I’d scrutinize every millimeter of his skeleton. I’d review the Kwalwasser file and reexamine the skull. I’d pull everything still available on the Sanchez case.

I was punching Hawkins’s extension when a ping indicated an incoming text on my mobile. Hoping it was Katy, I picked up the device.

Charlie Hunt.

CH: Hope u r well.

TB: Terrific.

CH: Still up for coffee?

TB: Sure.

CH: Know Waterbean Coffee on N Tryon?

TB: Yes.

CH: 10 am Saturday?

TB: U R on.

CH: Have news.

TB: Good news, I hope.