Bones Of Contention: The McKinnon Legends - The American Men Book 3 (5 page)

He placed a strong hand on her arm as if to keep her planted. “Help me, please, Jamie. For her sake.” He pointed to the box.

“Damn it,” she said softly. “Why can’t you play fair?”

“Play fair?” He was baffled by the question.

“Josh, I’m sorry, but no. I cannot help you with this one,” she said sadly shaking her head, feeling strangely guilty over denying his request.

He was surprised she turned him down quickly without much consideration whatsoever.

He was prepared to pay her for her services. She knew that from his earlier discussion with her assistant on the phone when he set the appointment. The references he called before setting this meeting confirmed she never took the money for herself, but asked for the fee to be donated to the university anthropology research department.

“I was under the impression this is what you do. This is what you do, right? Or do I have the wrong Dr. Gillman?” He questioned, running his long fingers through his hair in frustration.

“It is what I do, Josh. However, I don’t do fresh bones. I’ll do facial reanimation from a plaster cast, I’ll search for cause of death using magnified digital photos, but I don’t touch fresh bone, Sheriff.”

"Why not? Isn’t a bone just a bone? I don’t see the difference.”

Gently, she touched his arm, silently begging for his understanding of something he did not have a clue.

No, she thought, he wouldn’t see the difference. However, there was an abyss separating seasoned remains from fresh skeletons.

“There is too much bad karma still attached,” she added shaking her head.

From his puzzled look she could see he did not understand, not that she could hold it against him. Few did understand her gift and most men found it too creepy to have more than just a passing interest in her.

“Let me explain it.”

“Yes, please do,” he said, just a little frustrated in the fact that without her help he was at another dead-end. This case may never be solved, leaving a family forever to wonder what happened to their loved one.

She let the remark pass fully understanding it was born from his frustration and desire to find this woman’s identity.

“Old bones have come to terms with their lot in death, if you will, but fresh bone….” she took a deep breath shaking her head. He could tell she was trying to put her feelings into words. “Well, let’s just say it takes centuries for the screams of the wrongfully deceased to become a whisper. I learned that the hard way.”

“Are you saying, Doc, that the dead talk to you?” It was not that he disbelieved her. He just needed a little more clarification.

Jamie struggled to find the right way to help him understand. “Not exactly, but yes. Have you heard the saying, ‘No dead men tell tales’?"

“Of course.”

“Well, for me as a forensic scientist, all dead men tell tales.”

That Josh could understand. “Clues left behind on the body are sometimes the best leads we have in solving a crime.” He confessed that on more than one case the body was the best witness. Sometimes the body was the only witness. His Jane Doe was a case in point.

She agreed. “True. However, for me it is just a little more literal.”

He waited patiently, sensing there was more she was not telling him. He wanted to see if she would divulge her secrets, and he needed her to trust him. Somehow it was important that she place her trust in him.

Jamie weighed her decision carefully. This was usually where she lost her credibility both personally and professionally with any agency or professional who did not possess a little faith in the unexplained. Years ago she stopped telling them how she came to her findings. Sharing with Josh was very unusual for her at this juncture in her career as a criminal anthropologist.

“Sometimes the bones can give me images or sometimes it is like a whisper inside my head. I know it sounds crazy, and I’m not even sure why I’m telling you this much. I usually save this conversation for dessert." She laughed softly. It was full of irony. "That way I at least get one free meal out of the relationship,” she said before looking away.

He softened. He could see her point. If it was painful or forbidding for her, he had no right to ask her to place her own emotions in jeopardy.

He waited for her to look at him again.

“Maybe you’re sharing this with me because your own bones are telling you something, Doc, and that
something
is that I believe you. And if you play your cards right, you might even squeeze a movie out of me as well as dinner. I would say dessert would be a treat.”

He watched as she digested his confession. He did not have to understand, only believe, and given his family history he could honestly say he had seen some pretty farfetched things.

She smiled softly.

“You married? Any kids?” she had to ask.

“Is it relevant?” he asked puzzled at the seemingly random question.

“If I say yes to that dessert, then it is very relevant.”

He understood fully, and had the roles been reversed he probably would have fished for his own answers to seemingly unrelated questions.

“No to the first and yes to the second. One girl, fifteen, and I have custody. So, what do you say? Yes?” he asked.

He had never asked a woman out on a date in quite a fashion. It sounded brutish and uncouth to his ears, but if it got the job done then who cared?

“Say yes to what?” She was just a little confused at this point. Her mind had veered off the professional pathway much to her dismay.

“Are you going to say yes to my request?” Josh was hoping for a yes to both the movie and her working with his Jane Doe, so he left himself open.

All right, she thought. Rule #1 not an issue. He wasn’t married, but that still left #2 and #3. Still bad odds in her book, but he was very attractive and seemed to have more than just brawn going in his favor. His knowledge of the mummy and the benefits of the financial and historical benefits spoke volumes. She was positive he watched his fair share of sports, and with a body like his, he spent plenty of time in the gym. However, that was not where he spent all his time.

Still, Jamie was not ready to commit to a personal relationship, not just yet. She would avoid the answer for now and see how she felt later. Besides, she was not even sure he was serious about the date. She would be damned if she embarrassed herself. If he was interested he would call.

“Alright, I can try, but I make no promises. Just as with my Egyptian lady, I may get absolutely nothing more from the bones than what any careful forensic anthropologist would glean.”

“Well, that is more than I can say for what I can do for this victim.”

Josh was disappointed she did not take him up on his offer of dinner and a movie, but took what he could get. He knew where to find her and would call her later. After all, he had been just a little vague fearing she might say no. For all his bravery in dealing with criminal types, he was still rusty and vulnerable where women were concerned.

The last few relationships, and he used the term
relationship
lightly, had not lasted past a few awkward dates and had all ended badly. His daughter was part of the package, yet the women never could seem to warm up to her. Without that, they were not viable candidates for a relationship, not even a casual one. His mother had always said, “Never get involved with a woman you are not ready to marry.” So, he had been very choosy, especially since he had Jesse to consider.

Jamie looked at the box sitting so innocently on her desk. With shaky hands she pulled on the pair of fresh latex gloves she had retrieved from the box sitting on top of her desk.

She understood what it contained and what it represented. As a criminal psychologist and forensic anthropologist her job was to recreate the face of the dead and profile the mind of the one who killed them. Her job was to paint a picture of how the victim died and if possible and, if possible, give the law enforcement officers whatever help she could.

Somehow this one felt different.

Hesitating, she looked back at Josh desperately needing reassurance. He resisted the urge to hold her, sensing she needed comfort. However, stifling the protective edge of his nature, he kept a professional distance.

"I feel as if I'm entering a darkened room where I know there are things that can hurt me, but have no idea from which direction they will come."

Her description disturbed him.

“Are you feeling the victim’s emotions or your own?” He watched the pulse beat hard in her throat.

She confessed she was not sure. "It could go either way at this point."

He could read her now loud and clear. He saw the tiny beads of sweat forming on her upper lip and saw the way her hands were slightly shaking. He felt fear rolling off her like harmonic waves out of tune.

She opened up to him, unconsciously dropping any protective barriers and what he felt was close to a primal terror. Fight or flight instincts left over from our long ago ancestors were boiling to the surface of Jamie’s psyche, and he sensed the physiological changes taking place in her body as the adrenaline surged through her veins. He saw the darkness she was walking into and felt the cold fingers of trepidation and death beginning to grip her.

“No! I cannot let you do this,” he stopped her hands as they reached for the box. His fingers closed around her wrist to stop her.

“Josh, I cannot explain it, but I feel compelled. I have to do this.”

Her heart raced, and her breathing was quick and ragged. He could feel her pulse beating hard against his fingers, slamming firm in the wrist he held in his hand.

With eyes locked, they stood there. Weighing his decision, he knew this case was very cold, and she was his only hope of ever solving this mystery. If he was doing the wrong thing by asking her to help, he would do damage control later, conceding she was a big girl, who made this decision all on her own. Nonetheless, she did not have to go it alone.

“All right,” he conceded against his better judgment as a man. What was just as much a reality was he more than just a man. He was an instrument of the law. “What can I do? What can I expect?” he asked in support of her brave decision to continue.

“I honestly don’t know, Josh. Each situation is different. Just be there to take the bones out of my hands. Otherwise, I will relive every moment of the person’s life until the connection is severed. I learned that the hard way. The only other time I tried this with fresh bones it put me into a coma for three days.”

Josh hesitated. If she went through with this at his urging even if his urging was gentle, and something happened to her, he would blame himself.

“Ok. If you really want to go through with this, I’m right here.”

She nodded. With apprehension, she lifted the lid and with shaky hands removed the egg crate packing covering the remains.

“Awe, man. Just my luck,” she moaned out loud, cringing.

“What’s wrong?” He questioned.

“The skull.”

There it was. The bone was completely smooth and white; a perfect dome designed to house and protect the brain -- the total essence of a person. It would have been easier on her if he had brought some other body part.

“The head is the pinnacle, which maintains its resonance much longer than any other bone of the human body,” she explained, earning an apologetic look from Josh.

Looking inside the box she saw the skull of the unknown girl. For whatever reason, to positively identify this woman felt far more important than it ever would for her to identify the mummy.

She looked at him one last time before carefully picking up the skull from its protective packing. “Ok, here goes nothing.”

Instantly, Jamie saw images flashing through her mind at lightning speed, searing her as if she were lying on a bed of fire. The contact was excruciating as she heard screams inside her mind. She saw the victim. She became the victim. She felt her last moments of freedom as she saw her killer’s distorted reflection in the darkly tinted glass of the car window.

“Oh, God! Behind you!” she screamed to the woman. “Run!”

She saw the man come from behind and cover her mouth. She felt the pain of the needle as it entered her flesh, injecting her with a debilitating drug. The terror of being dragged backwards into the side door of the van slammed through her. She felt her flesh being torn apart, and then she felt nothing.

For Josh it happened so fast. He carefully watched, and the moment she touched the skull she went limp, almost falling to the floor crying out in terror and pain.

Only seconds after touching the bones, Josh pulled the skull from her hands, tossed it carelessly back into the box, and severed the contact, catching her just before she hit the floor. It must have stopped the horrifying images as he pulled her to him for support. She was shaking so violently that he struggled to hold her upright.

Disoriented, she found herself wrapped in strong arms with her head held tightly against a warm chest. Who was this man? He was not her killer; he was too tall. But if he did not kill her then was he an angel? She was dead. She knew that much. Her killer tortured her slowly over several weeks keeping her alive long enough to make the full moon. Why was that important, she wondered?

“Jamie, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Are you all right?” Josh was concerned she might hyperventilate.

There was no answer. She was unresponsive.

“Jamie? Look at me!” He held her face. “Look at me! Open your eyes, Jamie,” he commanded. “It is all right. You’re here in your office. I have you, and you are safe.” Josh had never seen anything like this and was not sure how to help her.

“Jamie?”

She was catatonic.

“Jamie, come back to me.” Josh had no way of knowing if he was getting through to her.

She heard him distantly. Feeling the fast beat of his heart, she heard him calling her through the fog of fear. She was coming back out of the shadows.

She heard ragged breathing and wondered why his breathing was so labored, and then realized it was her own.

She had seen her killer. With that knowledge, she could tell her tale of how he had kidnapped her on her way to work, holding her for over three weeks in some darkened room that smelled of sweat, urine, and something more sinister.