Page 1 of The Bone Code

1

Tuesday, October 5

The kid was dead. No doubt about that. The 911 caller thought so. The ER reported her DOA. The toxicologist showed cause. The ME signed the certificate.

The kid was dead. That wasn’t the question.

The phone rang. I ignored it.

Beyond my window, the sky was a chaos of gunmetal, smoke, and green. The wind was blowing angrier by the second.

I’d have to go soon.

The palette on my screen mirrored the turmoil outside. Within the gray backdrop of flesh, the bones burned white as Arctic snow.

I’d been analyzing the X-rays for almost two hours, my frustration escalating with the storm.

One last glance at the final plate in the series. The hands. Then it was adios.

I forced myself to concentrate. Carpals. Metacarpals. Phalanges.

Suddenly, I sat forward, the gusts and thickening darkness forgotten.

I zoomed in on the right fifth digit. The left.

The phone rang. Again, I paid no attention.

I shifted back to the cranial views.

A theory began to take shape.

I was poking at it, twisting the idea this way and that, when a voice at my back caused me to jump.

Framed in the doorway was a woman not much bigger than the subject of the films I was viewing. Standing maybe five feet tall, she had gray-streaked black hair drawn into a knot at the nape of her neck. Thick bangs brushed the top of tortoiseshell frames not chosen for fashion.

“Dr. Nguyen,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“I was completing an autopsy.” Slight accent, mostly Boston but with an undercurrent of something more exotic.

Nguyen had taken charge at the Mecklenburg County Medical Examiner’s office only recently, so she and I were still testing the waters with each other. Though not exactly effervescent, she seemed organized, fair, and earnest. So far, so good.

“Is that the Deacon case?” Nguyen’s gaze had shifted to my screen.

“It is.”

“You’re advising the family?”

“Yes.” Seeing her raised eyebrows, I added, “The request came from an attorney named Lloyd Thorn. I hope you don’t mind me viewing the films here.”

“Of course not.” Nguyen flicked a wrist, as though to brush away the thought. Maybe to help her change tack. “Inara is now a Cat Three storm and moving faster than predicted. A mandatory evacuation has been ordered for all coastal counties, and it’s expected to sweep inland.”

“Ain’t climate change grand?”

Nguyen ignored my quip. “I’m closing the lab. Mrs. Flowers has already left. She plans to head into the mountains to stay with a cousin.”

Eunice Flowers has been the MCME receptionist since Gutenberg began cranking out Bibles. The first to arrive each day, she is normally the last to depart.

“There’s a woman in the lobby who wishes to see you. Mrs. Flowers told her you were unavailable, but she insists on waiting.”