A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery (8 page)

"A few weeks ago he thought he had found a
canoe," said Derrick.

"A canoe?" said Lindsay. "I didn't hear about that"

"That was before you arrived. You should have
heard him. He was almost delirious."

"What was it?" asked the sheriff.

"A cache of fallen trees not quite decomposed. It
was fairly shallow in the overburden. I expect it was
where the paper company who used to own the land
piled them up and covered them over a few years ago"

"Thomas is an excitable fellow, I take it."

"Yes," affirmed Lindsay. "But the truth is, we all
enjoy the fantastic finds"

"What's the most interesting thing you've found?"
the sheriff asked.

"I enjoy the point caches in some of the burials,"
said Derrick. "You can get some remarkably intricate designs, beautiful ceremonial blades, elegantly flaked
points."

"Derrick is a great flint knapper," said Lindsay.
"He's made some beautiful blades himself. I found a
Spanish sword once. That was thrilling. This burial
with the copper should have loads of interesting things
in it."

"Come out to the site sometime," said Derrick,
and I'll show you how an atlatl works"

"You have one?"

"Yeah, I made one"

"I'll do that. I enjoy odd weapons"

At the sheriff's department, Derrick transferred to
his jeep and drove back to the crime scene. Inside, the
sheriff and Lindsay found Sarah and Mike Pruitt waiting in his office. Sheriff Duggan was visibly annoyed.

"We heard you found another skeleton," Sarah said.

"Where did you hear that?" the sheriff asked.

"I ... I'd rather not say," she said softly.

"I think it would be better if you went home and let
us call you," said the sheriff.

"Now, look here-" began Mike Pruitt.

"Please, Mr. Pruitt, you will be more comfortable
at home," interrupted the sheriff. "This could take a
while."

"It didn't take that long last time," protested Sarah.

Lindsay answered, "That was because the teeth
were clearly different from your daughter's teeth in the
photograph. If these teeth occlude properly, like many
children's do, I will have to rely on other more timeconsuming methods. Please listen to the sheriff and
wait at home. You will be much more comfortable, and
this could take several hours."

They reluctantly agreed, and the sheriff escorted
them to their car. When he returned, Deputy Andy
Littleton took the first brunt of his anger.

"Who told them?"

"I don't know, sir. I didn't. You said not to."

"Find out who did." He turned to Lindsay. "Thanks
for the help with the Pruitts. The bones are in the
back. I guess you know the way by now."

Lindsay found her way to the back room. Derrick
had laid the bones out in a long box. The odor was
strong and unpleasant. Most of the connecting cartilage
had not yet decomposed, and most of the bones were
still articulated. Portions of the scalp-with wisps of
blonde hair attached-still adhered to the skull. She
looked at the face of the skull, mentally fleshing it out.
There was a slight indentation in the chin; the teeth did
occlude evenly; the orbits were a little far apart. In her
heart, Lindsay knew this was little Peggy Pruitt, but she
took out her measuring instruments and the photograph
of Peggy and began her work.

The camera measurements she had requested from
Mickey Lawson were clipped to the photograph. Lindsay unclipped them and lay aside the figures. She
began measuring the photo: nasion to gnathion, orbital
height and breadth, nasal height and breadth, bizygo-
matic breadth, bigonial breadth, symphysis height, and
many, many more. On a separate paper she made the
calculations that would tell her the actual size of
Peggy's head. After the calculations, she made the
same measurements on the skull. The measurements
on the photograph, adjusted for the actual size of the
face, were all consistent with the measurements of the
skull. Later, for the report, she would photograph a superimposition of the portrait of Peggy with an x-ray
of the skull. Lindsay took a hand lens and carefully
examined the teeth in the photograph. After a while,
she rose and walked to the sheriff's office.

The door was closed, but the sheriff's voice from
inside was clear and angry. "If it turns out not to be
Peggy, the Pruitts have had several hours of agony for
nothing. If it is Peggy, nothing was to be gained by
them knowing ahead of time."

" I just thought-" began a voice that Lindsay recognized as that of the receptionist.

"You just thought your judgment was better than
mine. And I won't have that in this office"

"No, I--

"In this office confidentiality is absolutely essential. Do I make myself clear."

"Yes, sir."

"Good, then this won't ever happen again."

"No, sir."

The door burst open and Winifred hurried out,
brushing past Lindsay, red-faced and embarrassed.
Lindsay knocked on the open door. The sheriff jerked
his head up, then smiled slightly. "Come in. Lindsay.
Close the door."

"I need another measurement from the photographer, if he has it. I was wondering if I could use your
phone."

"Sure. How is it looking?"

"I believe it's Peggy."

"I kind of figured so." he said. "Truthfully, I was
dreading a third missing child."

"I'm not ready to make a definite identification just
yet." Lindsay dialed the number written on the back of the photograph. She reached Mickey Lawson and asked
him if he kept a record of the lighting distance and angle
for Peggy Pruitt's portrait. He left the phone for several
minutes. When he returned, he gave her some numbers.
Lindsay thanked him and hung up the phone.

"I am going to need an official copy of these numbers from his files, or rather you are," said Lindsay.
"Perhaps you could send a deputy over to his studio
sometime to take his records and make photocopies of
them"

"Sure thing."

"How accurate do you think Mickey Lawson is in
his record keeping?" Lindsay asked.

"I think you can probably take them to the bank.
Mickey is well known for his obsessive record keeping. He drives his assistants nuts, I've heard."

"I'll be finished shortly."

"I'm sorry about my temper when we arrived. I
didn't like seeing the Pruitts put through this."

Lindsay smiled at the sheriff. "I didn't notice."

She went to the back room and performed calculations regarding shadows in the photograph. Lindsay
was replacing the remains in the box when the sheriff
came in and pulled up a chair.

"I've done all I can do for now with the identification," she told him. "If I can get Peggy's medical and
immunization records, I may be able to do something
with some calcium deposits in the growth zones"

"So you couldn't make a positive identification?"

"They are Peggy's bones, all right." She smiled at
the sheriff. "I like a lot of detail in my records, too.
The more corroborating details you have, the easier
time you have in court."

The sheriff nodded his head. "Yeah, those defense
lawyers will tear into any little sign of uncertainty."

Lindsay took the recordings and showed the sheriff. "All the facial measurements are consistent. See
this tooth? The upper left canine? It is slightly forward and casts a shadow on the incisor next to it. The
lighting angle allowed me to measure its distance
from the incisor next to it in the photograph. It
appears to be the same distance forward as the upper
left canine in the skull. Also, the teeth in the photograph are the same size and shape as those in the
skull. You can see why the accuracy of the photographer's measurements is so important. I thought I
would drop by his studio sometime and take a look at
his setup."

"What can I tell the Pruitts?"

"You can tell them these are their daughter's
remains."

"I'll call them. Then let me take you to the diner
for a cup of coffee."

"That would be good" Lindsay leaned toward the
sheriff and said in a low voice. "I can tell you this:
you have a serial killer. The pelvic damage on these
remains is the same as on Amy Lynn Hasting's."

"I was afraid of that." Duggan stood up. "Come on,
let's forget about this for a while."

"By the way, before I forget," said Lindsay, "I
found this in the cranial cavity of Burial 23." She gave
him the bullet. "I'll give you a report on the bones in a
couple of days."

The sheriff held up the vial and looked at the
bullet. "Small caliber," he commented, then locked it
in his desk drawer.

After he called the Pruitts, he took Lindsay to the
cafe down the street. They sat in a booth in the back
corner.

"This is not easy for you, is it?" he said after the
waitress brought them coffee and lemon pie.

Lindsay's eyes misted over. "He hurt them really
bad. He had to have gagged them in some way. I don't
think he would have trusted that their screams would
not be heard, even in a remote location. That may
help in your investigation. I don't know"

"Do you get upset over the Indian bones?"

"Sometimes. Child burials are sad, when you think
how grieved the parents were. Infant mortality was
high, and children were very precious. But mostly at
Indian sites you're looking at a normal life cycle. The
population lived, were happy perhaps, and died of
natural causes."

"They are very real to you, these Indians."

"They were real. Every burial represents a person
who once walked around just as you and I. They were
happy and sad, loved and hated, worried about
making a living, and enjoyed celebrations, just as we
do. Mostly, working with the skeletal population is a
pleasure. It's like going back in time and talking to
them. Their bones tell me a lot about how they lived
and died."

"Happier than police work?"

"Sometimes. There was this one site that still
haunts me, though. It's dated to the time of European
contact." Lindsay took a sip of coffee and a bite of pie
before she continued. "You find that sites of the same
time period range from wealthy villages with an abundance of fancy artifacts and large populations, to tiny villages that were very poor. This one was small and
poor. It wasn't occupied long; we think it was a seasonal camp. Anyway, the burials were almost entirely
women, children, and the elderly. There were only a
few young adult males. I don't know how deeply you
studied medieval weapons, but European medieval
battle wounds have specific patterns. We often find
those patterns on Indian burials that date to Spanish
contact. Every one of the burials at this particular site
had those wounds, even the children. In my mind I
could see the mothers, children, and grandmothers
running from the Spanish conquistadors, who were on
horseback cutting them down while the few males
who were left in the village tried to defend them. The
males' wounds were in front, whereas the women and
children's were from behind. I suppose the other males
were off hunting. When they returned, they found their
families slaughtered and their village burned to the
ground. They buried them in mass graves. After that,
they left, and the village was never inhabited again."

"It must have been like uncovering an ancient
crime scene," he said. "And there was no one to bring
to justice."

Unexpectedly, Derrick appeared and slid into the
booth beside Lindsay. "You look kind of pale, kid," he
said.

"Just telling stories of ancient crimes," she said.

"I hear that the Indians aren't too pleased with
having their ancestors dug up," said the sheriff.

"That's why we have a policy in the archaeology
department of examining the bones and repatriating
them very quickly."

"I suppose that means that you rebury them. You have any regrets or misgivings about that?" the sheriff
asked.

Lindsay nodded. "I regret that the skeletal remains
will be lost to us when they are returned to the ground.
The techniques for analyzing bones are improving
every day. Once the bones are back in the ground, further analysis is lost. It would be nice if one day we
could analyze the DNA and match a site with presentday tribes. Then we could know for certain whose
ancestors are whose."

"How do you feel about it?" the sheriff asked Derrick.

Derrick took a drink of the water that the waitress
had brought him before he answered. "To Native
Americans, archaeologists rank below lawyers and
politicians. You can't blame them for feeling that way.
In the past some archaeologists have not treated the
bones with much respect. In fact, they have been
rather haphazard with them, keeping them in boxes
on shelves for years. I had one professor intentionally
crush a skull to make a point about how bones break.
These are the remains of people."

"That's true," said Lindsay. "Not every archaeologist has had the purest of motives or the greatest skill
either. Archaeologists, like everyone else, have had to
learn some lessons about sensitivity and the strong
feelings some people have regarding the excavation of
burials." She looked at Derrick a moment, remembering the moment in class when the professor dropped
the skull in a parking lot and how they were all shocked
speechless. "But we are finding and recovering something that has been lost. Sometimes we are able to set
right a historical record that has gone wrong, or docu ment an ancient injustice like the slaughter of the village I told you about. Mostly, we are just recording the
details of a lost knowledge. In my mind, it would be
tragic to lose the knowledge forever."

"Sounds like you two have had this conversation
before," said the sheriff.

"You could say that," agreed Derrick, smiling at
Lindsay. He took another drink of water. "I found
some things I thought the sheriff ought to see," he
said. "They're in the jeep."