Page 43 of The Bone Code

“Did the lot have a dog?”

“A big brown one.”

“Auto-yard dogs can be prickly.”

“His name was Merle. He kept a very close eye on us. Anyway, the car had mats, you know, for snowy boots or whatever.”

“It’s Quebec. Even Merle has mats.”

I gave Ryan “the look.” “The only thing evident on the driver’s side was dried blood. But when I removed the mat, down by the pedals, I could see a little puckered hole in the carpeting below. After cutting out that segment of carpet, I spotted a small triangular puncture in the floorboard. Damned if there wasn’t a chunk of tibia embedded in there.”

“The guy’s bone was driven through the mat, the carpet, and the metal floor of the car? Is that even possible?”

“The cortical portion of a tibia is thick, giving the bone impressive tensile strength. Vachon was doing forty, and the truck was at a dead stop, so the impact was powerful.”

“I imagine the first responders were focusing on extracting Vachon, not worrying about leaving part of him behind.”

“And the leg was an open fracture, so there would have been lots of blood.” I took a sip of my coffee. “After more than forty-eight hours, the soft tissue was toast. But you could still see carpet fibers stuck to the bone.”

“The guy’s foot must have been flopping like a rag doll.”

Now I shot Ryan a look of feigned disapproval.

“What happens with the chunk you found?” he asked.

“Bagged and tagged. Not sure what the lab will do with it.”

“Can it go back into Monsieur Vachon?”

“Not a chance. What’s the story on your accident vic?” Earlier, Ryan and I had commented on the irony of us both working auto mishaps.

“Not much to tell. The guy who contacted me is an insurance adjuster in Montpelier. In a nutshell, the decedent’s wife insists her husband’s death was a workplace accident. If true, she’ll be due a hefty chunk of change.”

“Sounds rather mundane.”

“The weird thing is the crash happened four years ago.”

“Why did the claim sit around for so long?”

“My client’s question exactly.”

“You think it’s a scam?”

“I intend to find out.”

I was about to ask a follow-up when my mobile rang. I checked caller ID.

“LaManche,” I said to Ryan.

“Does he often call on your cell?”

“Never.”

I clicked on.

LaManche said the last thing I expected to hear.

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