ALSO BY KATHY REICHS
DEVIL BONES
BONES TO ASHES
BREAK NO BONES
CROSS BONES
MONDAY MOURNING
BARE BONES
GRAVE SECRETS
FATAL VOYAGE
DEADLY DÉCISIONS
DEATH DU JOUR
DÉJÁ DEAD
206
BONES
K
ATHY
R
EICHS
SCRIBNER
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Copyright Š 2009 by Temperance Brennan, L.P.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2009014348
ISBN 978-0-7432-9439-3
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This book is dedicated to my colleagues in the forensic sciences
who have demonstrated their professional commitment and aptitude
by applying for and obtaining legitimate board certification.
The exam was a bear, but we did it!
Bravo!
American Board of Forensic Anthropology
American Board of Criminalistics
American Board of Forensic Document Examiners
American Board of Forensic Engineering and Technology
American Board of Forensic Entomology
American Board of Forensic Odontology
American Board of Forensic Psychology
American Board of Forensic Toxicology
American Board of Pathology
American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My heartfelt thanks to Peter Bush, Laboratory of Forensic Odontology Research, School of Dental Medicine, SUNY at Buffalo, for his advice on scanning electron microscopy and energy dispersive X-ray spectroscopy, and to S. Kelly Sears, Facility for Electron Microscopy Research, McGill University.
My sincere gratitude to Michael Warns, who, as usual, researched many things. Who knew the Chicago burbs had so many quarries?
Michael Cook shared his knowledge of sewers. Renate Reichs aided me in mapping Chicago terrain. Jack Kenney offered tips on the Cook County Medical Examiners office. William Rodriguez helped with forensic anthropology minutia. Michael Bisson enlightened me on CRM archaeology. Ronnie Harrison answered cop questions. And, of course, there was the nice lady who took my call at the Bibliothčque et Archives nationales du Québec.
I appreciate the continued support of Philip L. Dubois, Chancellor of the University of North Carolina at Charlotte.
I am grateful to my family for their patience and understanding, especially when I am cranky. Or gone. Credit to Paul Reichs for reading and commenting on the manuscript.
Particularly useful was the article by B. C. Smith, A Preliminary Report: Proximal Facet Analysis and the Recovery of Trace Restorative Materials from Unrestored Teeth,
Journal of Forensic Sciences
, Vol. 35: 4, July 1990: 87380.
Deepest thanks to my splendid agent, Jennifer Rudolph Walsh, and to my dazzling editors, Nan Graham and Susan Sandon. I also want to acknowledge all those who work so very hard on my behalf, especially: Susan Moldow, Katherine Monaghan, Paul Whitlatch, Emma Rose, Margaret Riley, Britton Schey, Tracy Fisher, Elizabeth Reed, and Michelle Feehan. And of course, I am indebted to the Canadian crew, especially to Kevin Hanson and Amy Cormier.
If there are errors in this book, I own them. If I have forgotten to thank someone, I apologize. You know the drill.
1
COLD
.
Numb
.
Confused
.
I opened my eyes
.
To dark. Black as arctic winter
.
Am I dead?
Obeying some limbic command, I inhaled deeply
.
Smells registered in my brain
.
Mold. Musty earth. Something organic, hinting at the passage of time
.
Was this hell? A tomb?
I listened
.
Silence. Impenetrable
.
But no. There were sounds. Air moving through my nostrils. Blood pounding in my ears
.
Corpses dont breathe. Dead hearts dont beat.
Other sensations intruded. Hardness below me. Burning on the right side of my face
.
I raised my head
.
Bitter bile flooded my mouth
.
I shifted my hips to relieve pressure on my twisted neck
.
Pain exploded up my left leg
.
A groan shattered the stillness
.
Instinctively, my body went fetal. The pounding gained volume
.
I lay curled, listening to the rhythm of my fear
.
Then, recognition. The sound had come from my own throat
.
I feel pain. I react. I am alive.
But where?
Spitting bile, I tried reaching out. Felt resistance. Realized my wrists were bound
.
I flexed a knee toward my chest, testing. My feet rose as one. My wrists dropped
.
I tried a second time, harder. Neurons again fired up my leg
.
Stifling another cry, I struggled to force order onto my addled thinking
.
Id been bound, hands to feet, and abandoned. Where? When? By whom? Why?
A memory search for recent events came up empty. No. The void in recollection was longer than that
.
I remembered picnicking with my daughter, Katy. But that was summer. The frigid temperature now suggested that it must be winter
.
Sadness. A last farewell to Andrew Ryan. That was October. Had I seen him again?
A bright red sweater at Christmas. This Christmas? I had no idea
.
Disoriented, I groped for any detail from the past few days. Nothing stayed in focus
.
Vague impressions lacking rational form or sequence appeared and faded. A figure emerging from shadow. Man or woman? Anger. Shouting. About what? At whom?
Melting snow. Light winking off glass. The dark maw of a cracked door
.
Dilated vessels pounded inside my skull. Hard as I tried, I could not evoke recollection from my semiconscious mind
.
