Page 28 of Fire and Bones
Not wishing to frighten him or her, should they be alive, I called out from the doorway.
“Hello?”
The person didn’t flinch. Didn’t respond.
I tried again.
“Are you okay?”
Nothing.
Pulling surgical gloves from a back pocket, I donned them and took a tentative step forward.
Saw no movement. No signs of life.
Another step.
Another.
Drawing close, I circled the sack, braced a hand on the wall, and squatted. Using one finger, I loosened the knot and dragged the edge of the burlap downward a few inches.
One look told me the person inside was dead. And that it was probably a female. Her eyes were half open, her shriveled and clouded pupils mid-dilated and fixed in the cadaveric position.
I aimed my erratic beam down into the opening I’d created.
My heart threw in a few extra beats.
CHAPTER 7
As Jamar and Ace finished upstairs, each appeared and offered assistance belowdecks. I accepted, but my instincts told me I should handle this fifth victim personally.
Not that the techs hadn’t followed protocol with the other bodies. Contrary to Thacker’s tepid assessment, they’d performed superbly. But something told me to be extra careful with this lady.
I spent what remained of the day teasing the sack free and digging around and below it. Carefully labeling and packaging everything I found.
Jamar took endless photos and shot hours of video. Ace set up a temporary screen and sifted. Not much of interest turned up. Pebbles. Snail shells. Two rusty nails.
The exception was a small collection of glass shards. The three of us studied each as it appeared in the mesh. On one we could make out the letters Alk—. On another, the partial phrase Green Cou—. Ace made repeated trips ferrying Tupperware tubs of varying sizes up two sets of stairs to the main level.
By the time I resurfaced, my watch said seven-twenty p.m. I was weary and my back and knees ached from kneeling and bending to disentangle, trowel, and tease items free from the crusty sediment covering them.
I smelled of mold, mildew, and sweat, and desperately needed a shower. My fervent wish was that Thacker had found me a room.
The first person I laid eyes on topside was Ivy Doyle. Who was, as usual, immaculately and stylishly coiffed and attired.
My initial reaction was surprise that the cops had let Doyle into the house. Then irritation. Had the woman never splashed coffee onto her blouse? Missed a fragment of lettuce riding a lip? Smeared the perfect crimson lipstick onto a tooth?
I also felt unease. I’d sent the sealed tubs up ahead of my reemergence from the underground. Had Doyle grabbed an opportunity to sneak a peek at the contents? To snap a photo? Would she air the purloined info and pics? Breaking News! Anthropologist fails to maintain proper chain of custody of human remains!
Doyle was talking on a cell phone, holding a long, rolled paper in her free hand. She turned as I stepped from the top stair into the kitchen.
Ace and Jamar also tracked my odoriferous entrance.
“We should jet to the morgue with these?” Jamar gestured at the tubs.
“Yes, please. Text to let me know how you log the vic in.”
“Yes, ma’am.”