Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones (3 page)

“Where’s this bone that is so important? Let’s get going. I’ve got places to be.”

Gordon gave up on civility. “Follow me.” He turned on his heel and marched away, trying not to snicker at Asel, who weighed a good three hundred pounds, puffing and wheezing behind him. Scuttlebutt had it that Asel’s major qualifications for the job were experience in a funeral parlor, from which he’d retired, and being married to a distant cousin of the head coroner. But Gordon never cared enough to verify the rumors. Most of what Asel did was pronounce bodies dead and issue death certificates.

By now the sun had dipped behind the mountains, eliminating most of the light. More than once, Gordon heard Asel curse as he stumbled over a branch or rock. The man had the smarts to bring a flashlight, but he waved it around the trees like spotlights at a rock concert instead of using it to illuminate the trail. “Don’t suppose there are any bears around, do you?”

If there are, they’ll run the other way when they hear you coming.

“Don’t think so. Didn’t notice any tracks when we first came through.”

Asel grunted in between wheezes.

“Right up ahead,” Gordon said. He shined his own flashlight, catching reflections of the yellow tape Solomon had strung. Solomon waved his own light in response.

“Someone’s there?” Asel said. “What about contamination?”

“That would be Officer Ed Solomon,” Gordon said before Asel complained about anything else. “He’s been containing the scene.”

Asel clomped up to the edge of the tape and wiped his forehead. Solomon beamed his light at the bone. Asel stepped closer, pursing his lips in and out. He removed the bone from its resting place. “Give me some more light.”

Both Gordon and Solomon complied, trying to keep the light on the bone as Asel moved it back and forth, up and down, studying it from all angles. “This is the only one?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Solomon said. “Animal Control found a dog burying it.”

Asel frowned. “Interesting.” He squinted, turned the bone, mumbled under his breath. As if someone had thrown a switch, his demeanor switched from asshole to scholarly. He held the bone out toward Gordon and Solomon, pointing as he spoke. “It’s been well-chewed, although I’m not sure all these teeth marks are recent. It’s the ends that tell us the most. However, despite the damage, I have no doubt that what we have is a human humerus.”

Chapter 3

Although Gordon had been expecting it, hearing the word “human” still hit him like a jab to the gut. From the expression on Asel’s face, Gordon knew better than to question his findings. For a moment, he couldn’t speak at all.

“How old was the victim?” Solomon’s question brought Gordon back on task. Right. Knowing as much as possible about the bone might help them find its original owner.

“It’s impossible to pinpoint,” Asel said. “But it’s clear that the epiphyses are closed, so we’re looking at someone at least twenty-five years old.”

“What?” Gordon said, still trying to absorb the radical change in Asel.

Asel pointed to a spot near the ends of the bone. “Here. These are growth plates. When they close, you stop growing. That usually happens in your mid-twenties.”

“Got it. Can you tell whether it was a male or female?” Gordon asked.

“With DNA, yes. Which I doubt we’ll get approval for, unless we know we’re going to have something to match it to. Low priority, too costly, and it’ll take some time. The experts might be able to speculate based on the diameter of the bone’s head—if we had it. The dog destroyed most of it, but it’s a remote possibility.”

Where had Mister Intellectual Nice Guy come from? No matter. As long as Asel was on a roll, Gordon wasn’t going to question it. “How about overall height?”

Asel held the bone by its ends. “There’s a formula for determining height based on the length of the bone. Another job for the experts.”

“One more question,” Solomon said. “How long has this bone been in the ground?”

Asel pursed his lips. “Can’t say. My guess—and it’s strictly a guess—is between thirty and forty years.” His lips curved in what might have been a smile. “I apologize for my earlier… attitude. You interrupted what was supposed to be a private celebration, and my wife was none too happy about the call out. My boss seems to take perverse pleasure in sticking me with the… least desirable shifts, the no-brainer cases. Usually I feel like that doctor on
Star Trek
. You know, always saying, ‘He’s dead.’ Gets to be a royal pain. However, this”—he gestured with the bone—“presents an interesting puzzle. I’ll take it to the forensic anthropology lab and follow up myself.”

“We’ll walk you out,” Gordon said. He and Solomon exchanged a
Who’da thunk it?
glance as Gordon retrieved his handkerchief before they led the way down the trail.

“Without wanting to sound too much like Columbo,” Solomon said once they reached their vehicles, “I have one more question.”

This time Asel’s smile was unmistakable. “Ask away.”

Solomon glanced at Gordon, but quickly looked away, focusing his attention on Asel. “What kind of a priority would you give searching for the place where this bone was found? You know, in case there are more?”

“More bones would make the possibility of identification easier,” Asel said. “And, although that job is one for the detectives, not forensics workers, once you know who the body belonged to, the more likely you are to solve the puzzle.”

Solomon gave Gordon a look that was all too reminiscent of Artie’s eagerness to connect with that bone. “It wouldn’t hurt to look for the original scene.” At Gordon’s frown, he added, “I’m on the clock until oh six hundred.”

“However, given that the bone appears to have been in the ground for so many years, I can’t say there’s any sense of urgency to find them tonight,” Asel said.

Solomon looked almost crestfallen. “I guess you’re right.”

“On the other hand,” Asel continued, “If someone’s been grieving for a loved one, every day can seem like an eternity.”

Solomon brightened. “So, you’re saying it might be doing a good deed if we found the gravesite. Give closure.”

“Whoa,” Gordon said. “Nobody said anything about a gravesite. The dog found a bone. One bone. Could have come from anywhere. And there’s another factor. What if there’s nobody grieving, nobody wanting closure, because they’re the ones who are responsible for the death in the first place?” Gordon caught Solomon’s grin and realized what he’d said. The words his subconscious had shoved out of his mouth.

“Right, Chief. We could be looking for a murderer.”

Asel opened the door to his van. “As I said, you have your job, I have mine. I’ll leave you to it.”

Gordon stared after the van as Asel drove away. “You think we should spend the rest of the night hunting for a bunch of bones?” he said to Solomon.

His officer’s grin widened. “You have something else to do?”

Gordon’s conscience entered a wrestling ring worthy of the WWE. Should he consider this a case, albeit a cold one? Would another day—or two—make a difference? And if it did, why did he have to be part of the hunt? He could send Solomon, maybe add another officer. The more he thought about it, the more he heard Mayor Alexander demanding justification for the manpower.

Solomon’s radio crackled to life. Irv, the night dispatcher’s voice came through. “Roberta Blanchard’s complaining about Crazy Freddy again. Solomon, you’re closest. Why doncha head up there?”

What was Irv doing working on a Saturday night? Gordon wondered why it hadn’t registered with him when he’d called Dispatch earlier.

Lately Irv tended to forget details—including the fact that anything put over the radio could be picked up by anyone with a scanner, or even a computer. Gordon didn’t have the heart to fire the man, and made sure his shifts were on predictably slow nights.
Never
a Friday or Saturday.

Gordon yanked the radio from Solomon’s collar. “Dispatch, this is Chief Hepler.” He sucked in a quick breath, reminding himself not to do exactly what he was reprimanding Irv for. He’d save that for a private face-to-face. “Please repeat.” He hoped his tone conveyed the message.

“Right, Sir.” Irv cleared his throat. “Citizen requests assistance.” Irv proceeded to give Fred’s address. “Mapleton Three, please proceed. Code one.”

Gordon handed the radio to Solomon, who stood at exaggerated attention, peering over Gordon’s shoulder. Clearly, he was having trouble keeping a straight face as he responded to the call. “Mapleton Three. En route.” Solomon clipped the radio back to his collar. “You want to switch with me? You’re the Chief. You can do that.”

Gordon smirked. “Dream on. I’ll read your report on Monday.”

Solomon drove off toward the foothills near the outskirts of town. Another couple hundred yards, Gordon thought, and Fred would live outside the city limits, and he’d be County’s problem.

Gordon went one more round with his conscience, deciding that there was very little anyone could do in the dark that wouldn’t be more efficient in daylight. But there was still something he needed to do.

He called Angie. “I have a few things to take care of at the office before I’m free. Might take an hour. Will that be too late?”

“For you? Never. I might even have a surprise for you.”

Smiling in anticipation, he drove to the station. Thinking about Angie wasn’t going to get the job done. Instead, he forced his mind back to the job. He couldn’t help wondering how Solomon would fare with Fred.

Sixty-something Fred had lived on his thirty-five-acre spread since he was born. When his parents died, Fred inherited everything and had never left. Maybe it was the isolation, maybe it was something inside snapping when his wife took off for Georgia with his kid, or maybe he’d always been a taco short of a combination plate, but Gordon couldn’t remember him as anything other than Crazy Freddy.

Maybe he’d be dancing through the woods buck-naked again. Once, he’d been sitting up in a tree, howling like a wolf. Alcohol was frequently involved. But, the consensus was, Fred was harmless. Even so, Gordon didn’t envy Solomon his task. One could never predict how Fred would react to being interrupted in whatever he thought was behavior vital to his existence at that precise moment.

When Gordon got to the station, he grabbed the food from the backseat and set the plates on his desk. He heard Irv’s voice. From the vicinity of the break room, not Dispatch. His stomach clenched.

Blowing out a frustrated sigh, wondering if he’d ever get to eat, or see Angie—and which had the higher priority—Gordon strode into the break room. “Irv, make sure your desk is covered and see me in my office, please.”

Chapter 4

Megan climbed the stairs to Angie’s apartment. When Angie opened the door, Megan extended the vase filled with flowers she’d picked from Rose’s garden. “Thanks for playing hostess for the week. It’ll only take me a few minutes to finish packing and be out of your hair. And I’m sure Gordon will be glad I’m gone.”

Angie rolled her eyes as she accepted the flowers and carried them to the coffee table. “He’s going to be at least an hour. Cop stuff, so it’ll probably be more like two. I’m thinking of dropping in on him later, to remind him what he’s missing. For now, come keep me company.” Angie tilted her head and grinned. “Unless you and Justin…”

Megan waved her off. “It’s his parents’ last few hours here, and I’m in the way. Plus, he’s still working on his grant proposal. His promotion means more paperwork.”

“Sounds familiar. Gordon’s always complaining about how little cop work he gets to do as Chief of Police.” She waved toward the sofa. “Sit. Want something to drink? Wine? Coffee? Lemonade? Take a minute to unwind after the party.”

“Lemonade sounds great… once I finish packing.” After emptying the dresser drawer Angie had cleared for her, Megan retrieved her toiletries from the bathroom and added them to her suitcase. She wheeled the case to the door.

Angie patted the sofa cushion next to her. “Join me.”

“First, I want to check my email. Rose and Sam don’t have a wireless network.” Not to mention, when she was with them, it was too hard to keep pretending everything was wonderful. Megan felt she was under a microscope, and she was always afraid something would slip. Rose and Sam were constantly bragging about her to Justin’s parents, who had never been particularly receptive to her friendship—Megan wasn’t ready to think of it as a relationship yet—with Justin. Until she had something new for Rose and Sam to brag about, skirting the issue was the way to go.

Megan found her laptop where she’d left it, on Angie’s makeshift desk in a corner of her makeshift office in her makeshift dining room. Given that Angie practically lived downstairs at the diner, Daily Bread, about the only part of her apartment she used was the bedroom.

Megan checked her email, her heart rate accelerating in anticipation. Nothing from the bank. She sighed. No news was better than a rejection, right? And it was Saturday. Why was she expecting an answer on the weekend?

“Something wrong?” Angie appeared at her side and set a glass of chilled lemonade next to Megan.

Megan found a smile. “The usual. Mostly it’s a matter of deleting all the spam and making sure nothing important ended up in my junk folder.” She shut the laptop’s cover. Not that she thought Angie would snoop—would she? Megan had left in a rush with last-minute party details and hadn’t logged off.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Angie said.

Megan almost spilled her drink. “What?”

“You’re wondering if I poked around your laptop. Checking what websites you’ve bookmarked. You think I might have discovered your secret.”

Megan took a too-large gulp of lemonade and coughed. “Secret?”

“Yeah—like maybe you have a thing for pictures of hot, naked men. Or maybe you and Justin are having some cyber-sex.”

“Angie!”

Angie laughed. “You are
so
gullible. No, of course I didn’t violate your privacy. Haven’t touched it.”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all. I’d never—”