Let the bones talk

In the 20th crime thriller featuring forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan, a hurricane has uncovered two bodies and the corpses ring clanging bells of recognition with our bone sleuth.

- KATHY REICHS

The kid was dead. No doubt about that. The 911 caller thought so. The ER reported her DOA. The toxicologist showed cause. The ME signed the certificate. The kid was dead. That wasn’t the question. The phone rang. I ignored it.

Beyond my window, the sky was a chaos of gunmetal, smoke, and green. The wind was blowing angrier by the second. I’d have to go soon. The palette on my screen mirrored the turmoil outside. Within the grey backdrop of flesh, the bones burned white as Arctic snow.

I’d been analysing the X-rays for almost two hours, my frustration escalating with the storm.

One last glance at the final plate in the series. The hands. Then it was adios. I forced myself to concentrate. Carpals. Metacarpals. Phalanges. Suddenly, I sat forward, the gusts and thickening darkness forgotten.

I zoomed in on the right fifth digit. The left.

The phone rang. Again, I paid no attention.

I shifted back to the cranial views.

A theory began to take shape.

I was poking at it, twisting the idea this way and that, when a voice at my back caused me to jump.

Framed in the doorway was a woman not much bigger than the subject of the films I was viewing. Standing maybe five feet tall, she had grey-streaked black hair drawn into a knot at the nape of her neck. Thick bangs brushed the top of tortoiseshell frames not chosen for fashion.

“Dr. Nguyen,” I said. “I didn’t realise you were still here.”