One Grave Too Many (33 page)

“Could anyone get a description?”

“No. It was too dark and their flashlights didn’t illuminate them at all.”

“I’m glad no one was hurt.”

“Andie told me about Frank Duncan. We’re all sorry to hear about that. How’s he doing?”

“Good. The doctors think he’ll pull through.”

“That’s a relief. What happened? Andie said something about a robbery?”

Diane told them what happened, and like everyone else, they marveled at both of them getting attacked not one day apart.

“We’ve got something to show you.”

“You found something?” she asked, but got no answer.

She followed Jonas and the crew to the site, where a couple of the women were working. They had gotten an extraordinary amount of work done. One entire layer was excavated and they had started down into another.

“We’ve already taken up the first layer of animal bones. Sylvia came out to help us late yesterday and identified the animals. It was pretty straightforward. No surprises. Deer, fox, racoon, duck. We got a complete list of the ones she identified here. She said that may change when she gets back to look at them more thoroughly.”

“Find anything in the screens?” asked Diane.

“A quarter, bone fragments. Mostly just rocks. But this is what we wanted to show you.” Jonas led her to the other side of the pit where the two women, Miriam and Ellen, were working.

Diane stooped down and examined the excavation. “Well, finally, there it is.”

Standing out in bold relief, covering two grid units, was a member of the Canidae family. Diane guessed a wolf, judging from the size and low slope of the forehead. And there, peeking through a thin layer of soil underlying the thorax of the wolf, were the ribs and vertebrae of a human. What was so clear about the juxtaposition was the difference between the large arc of the quadrupedal wolf ribs and tightly arced bipedal human ribs—the difference of carrying organs in a horizontal as opposed to a vertical position. But the extraordinary thing was the roots of the sapling that wove down through the wolf and human ribs, supplying at least one end of a time frame.

Someone had dumped the body and covered it with a thin layer of dirt. The Abercrombies tossed the wolf carcass on top of that soon afterward. Sometime later, the seedling began to grow up through the human and wolf bones. Age the tree and they would know the minimum amount of time the bones had been there. Maybe the information would be corroborated by Abercrombie’s records.

“Aren’t we lucky?” said Diane. “We know the skeletons have been here at least as long as the sapling. Let’s put some more excavators here, and I’ll want a cross-section of the tree trunk.”

She looked for any signs of the skull but saw none. Sometimes skulls are a problem. Being essentially round, they have a tendency to roll away from the torso when the last vestige of flesh lets go. If the body had been buried haphazardly or had been laid over a pile of other carcasses, the skull could have rolled to another location or even dropped to a deeper layer down through cavities made as the carcasses decomposed.

“Very well done,” she told them.

“We thought you’d be pleased,” said Jonas.

“Have you seen any signs of buttons, zippers, shoe grommets, leather, rubber, textiles—anything?”

“No,” answered Ellen. “As far as I can see, he or she was dumped without his or her clothes.”

“Too bad. I was hoping for a driver’s license.”

“Aren’t wolves protected or something?” said Miriam, dusting away a layer of dirt from the shoulder girdle.

“Some places,” said Diane.

“First the bear, and now this wolf,” said Miriam. “I really like the Abercrombies, but . . .”

“We don’t know the circumstances of his presence here. For now, let’s just be forgiving of what we find. It’s my understanding that since Whit started helping in his father’s business, he’s gotten more strict with his clients. The wolf could be roadkill, after all.”

“No,” said Ellen. “This isn’t roadkill.” She pointed to a bullet hole in the scapula.

“I was hoping,” said Diane, taking her trowel and starting to work on the human skeleton. “I know this may be going a little fast for your comfort, but I need to get this guy identified.”

He’s the key,
she thought as she started at the first lumbar vertebra and began excavating gingerly around the wolf skeleton. She wanted the juxtaposition to remain as long as possible. Sometimes bones in proximity can reveal surprising information. It looked like there was only a slight covering of soil placed over the human remains, which may mean the wolf was put there fairly soon after the person, before wild animals uncovered the remains, making them noticeable to Luther when he was dumping the wolf.

“We can do this,” said Jonas. “Have you rested at all since you were released from the hospital?”

“I’ll rest when this is over.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” said Jonas.

“Give it up,” said Diane. “By the way, I moved my bishop to queen three.”

“I thought you would. Can you remember a king-side castle when you get back to the museum?”

“Sure. Maybe we should just play this game with each other in our heads.”

“I couldn’t do that when I was young,” said Jonas. “I’m keeping track of the moves in my notebook.” He pointed to his back pocket.

Diane tried out her chess analogy on Jonas as the other excavators listened in. “I think getting Star convicted is the game. Frank was attacked because he was protecting her.”

“Like a king’s pawn.” Jonas nodded.

“With him gone, her position is very vulnerable.”

“I thought it was a robbery?” said Ellen.

Diane told them about little Tamika Stillwood, the fake dreadlocks and whatever suspicious thing she saw in his movement.

“I don’t know exactly what she meant, but she’s a very observant little girl.”

“Little kids are like that,” said Miriam. “They’re like dogs that way. Any change in their environment, they notice. I miss a line from my daughter’s favorite story and she gets indignant.”

“And they hear everything,” said Ellen.

“That certainly puts a different light on things,” said Jonas. “What do the police say?”

“They interviewed Korey because he has dreadlocks.”

Jonas dropped his trowel. “They didn’t?”

“As you can imagine, he was upset about it.”

“They aren’t going to hassle him, are they?”

“No. Fortunately, he was at the museum with half his staff, working, at the time. But the whole idea . . .” Diane stopped and scrutinized the wolf skeleton, running her fingers along a rib.

“He was found shot by a forest ranger,” she said.

Miriam, Ellen and Jonas looked back and forth from the bones to Diane to each other.

“Just how do you know that?” said Jonas.

“This is the wolf whose skin is stuffed and mounted in one of our faunal exhibits. A ranger friend of Milo’s found it and kept it frozen while he was looking for the poacher. At some point he gave it to Milo for the museum. We have the bullet with the display and a video about dangers to wild animals.”

“Whew,” exclaimed Ellen. “I was going to ask if you teach classes. I’d sure like to be able to read bones like that.”

Diane smiled at her. “It just occurred to me.”

“I think this guy ought to be reassembled and exhibited beside his stuffed self,” said Jonas. “Bullet hole and all.”

“I agree,” said Diane.

They lapsed into silence, and there was no sound but the clinking of tools against soil. Digging graves. Dreadful business. The Odells were right. She was a grave digger. A pain in Diane’s lower back reminded her that she needed to drink more water. She took a long sip and continued working, for just a foot away from the ribs of the wolf she had uncovered the human pelvis—besides the skull, one of the most important sets of bones to find.

She swept away the dirt from the large flat bones that had collapsed into the dirt. She ran her fingers along the bone looking at the details; no ventral arc, narrow sciatic notch, narrow subpubic angle—classic male. She took a brush and cleaned the pubic symphysis, studying the remodeling of the bone, looking for a sign of the age—when she caught sight of what looked like a healed lesion. She’d seen similar bone formations resulting from inflammation, but mostly in women who had just borne a child.

“Let’s photograph and take up the wolf,” she said. “I’d like to take the human skeleton with me.”

“I have a scapula over here,” said one of the male crew members. Diane tried to remember his name—something long or not easy on the tongue. Raedwald, that was it. The scapula was three grids away from the main part of the skeleton.

“This is in bad condition.”

“The scapula body’s broken, the coracoid process is missing, so is the acromion, the glenoid cavity is badly crushed,” she muttered almost to herself. “Have you found all the pieces?”

“No. This is pretty much it.”

“Have it photographed and take it up.” Her head was starting to ache. She rubbed her eyes.

“I’ve already sketched it. You want to see the arm you discovered yesterday?”

Diane nodded. She stood, almost too fast, and felt weak on her feet. Fortunately, Raedwald didn’t ask her if she was all right. As well-meaning as everyone was, and as right as they were, she wished they wouldn’t express it.

She stood for a moment, gathering her wits about her before walking over with him to have a look at the humerus. It was completely excavated and included the forearm bones—the radius and ulna—and the bones of the hand. All neatly sitting on top of the ground as if they had been laid there, but out of place. The radius and ulna were flipped around in their relationship to the humerus. The bones of the hand were off to the side.

“Good job.”

“It’s really like a work of art,” he said. “I mean the bones, not the excavation.”

“I’ve always thought bones are quite lovely. It produces some cognitive dissonance, though, to look at a pit of remains from a mass murder and also see the beauty of the bones.”

“I’ll bet.”

Diane sat down cross-legged to examine the bones as they lay there on the ground. The head of the humerus was crushed. This was the part that would have fit into the crushed glenoid cavity.

“Will you be able to tell the difference between animal activity and, say, an injury?” the excavator asked.

“Probably.” She touched the bone lightly with her fingers. “Interesting bones.”

The sound of her telephone ringing came from the pocket of her shirt. She snatched it and pushed the answer button.

“Dr. Fallon, this is Serena Ellison, Star Boone’s attorney.”

Diane was disappointed. She wanted to hear news about Frank—good news.

“Yes?”

“I’ve made arrangements for us to see her in an hour. I know this is short notice, but . . .”

“Shall I meet you at the jail?”

“That would be fine. I’ll see you there.”

Yes, it would be fine,
she thought. Then when she saw Frank she could tell him how Star was doing.

Diane stood up. “Can I have your attention?” Everyone stopped and looked over at her. “First, I want to thank you, both for the quality and the speed of work you are doing. I can see you’ve been putting in overtime to get this done, and I appreciate it. I have to go back into town, but I’d like you to get the human remains drawn, mapped and out today, if you can. Jonas, would you bring them to my office at the museum? And please don’t tell anyone what they are.”

The excavators looked at each other as if they were all members of a conspiracy.

“Sure thing,” said Jonas.

Jonas walked her back to the creek crossing. Diane eyed him as he wiped his neck with a bandana.

“You doing OK?” she asked.

“Me? I think I’m doing better than you are.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“I’m doing just fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Good. You guys are doing a terrific job.”

“We’re glad to do it. I’m glad to do it. Thanks for the opportunity.”

“That episode last night. Did you get any sense of danger from it?”

“No. I had the idea that whoever it was, was more frightened than we were. For us, it was no more than pot hunters. You think it was the murderer?”

Jonas said the word
murderer
as if he were incredulous over the possibility. She doubted archaeologists ever dealt with murderers.

“I don’t know, Jonas,” she said.

Diane crossed the creek and hiked back to her car. Inside she stopped and rested a moment before she put the key in the ignition. What she would have liked to do is go home and sleep. Instead, she drove to the Rosewood jail.

Rosewood’s jail was new. The interview room they were allowing the lawyer and Diane to use smelled of paint and disinfectant.

“It seems like it’s taking a long time,” said Diane, looking at her watch.

“Yes, it does,” said Serena Ellison. “I hate it when they have me cooling my heels.”

As if someone had been waiting outside listening for the time when Diane and the lawyer were the most impatient, the door suddenly swung open. Star, escorted by the guard, slouched into the room wearing a bright orange jumpsuit. She was pale and looked thin in the baggy, ill-fitting clothes.

“How’s Uncle Frank?” she said as she came through the door.

“He’s doing well,” said Diane. “I saw him this morning and he was much improved from yesterday.”

Star came to the table and sat down. The guard looked for a moment like she was going to stay until Star’s lawyer shot her a stern glare.

“How are you doing?” asked Diane.

She shrugged. “It’s boring and the guards are mean.”

“How are they mean?” asked Serena.