Page 39 of Fire and Bones
The number was an extension at the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Medical Examiner facility. I clicked on.
“Temperance Brennan.”
“Dr. Brennan. It’s Artie Bluestein here. Your dogshit got rolled uphill to me.”
I was lost.
“The—” I heard paper rustle. “Mirek case? I was told you needed a verbal ASAP?”
A moment of confusion. Then synapse.
The mysteriously vanished Norbert Mirek. The munching canines. The bone fragments discovered by Mirek’s nephew. I’d sent samples of the scat for trace evidence analysis, curious what else might be in the mix.
“Of course,” I said. “Forgive me. I’m not in Charlotte.”
“First off, thanks a lot for a couple of real crappy days.” Delivered with a note of levity. I hoped.
“You’re most welcome.”
“Jesus. You could open a roadside zoo with the donors to that mess. Loads of hair and fur. Rat. Opossum. Squirrel. Rabbit. Chipmunk. Probably skunk. And of course, dog. At least one poodle.”
“Anything of relevance to my vic?” I knew I should be more patient. But I also knew Artie Bluestein. The man loved to talk and right then I was busy.
“Perhaps.” Miffed? Hurt? “Some of the hair was human.”
“That’s great. Preserved enough to snag a few chromos?”
“Perhaps.”
“Can you send samples on to the DNA section?” I asked.
“I can.”
“I really appreciate this, Artie. Do you want to give Detective Slidell a call?”
“How about I leave that to you.”
When we’d disconnected, I sat a moment, not relishing the idea of the upcoming exchange with Skinny.
And troubled.
Why?
Then it struck me.
Norbert Mirek. The case I’d been pushing to finish so I could enjoy a getaway to Savannah with Ryan. A getaway that never happened. Clicking over to the Mirek file, I pulled up a picture of Uncle Norbert.
Sonofabitch.
Six hours later I was done with what cutting and dissection was possible for #25-02106. I’d finished collecting and packaging specimens for DNA, hair and fiber, toxicology, odontology, and other analyses. I’d successfully plumped two fingers and managed to roll a pair of partial prints.
Based on gross anatomy and careful observation of the full-body X-rays—that Smartboard projected one whiz-bang display—I knew the following.
The deceased was female.
She had died between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five.
Despite some saddling of the bridge, the woman had an extremely narrow nasal aperture, suggesting she was of European ancestry. The straight and silken brown hair supported this conclusion. Though her skin appeared to be pale, the postmortem conditions to which she’d been subjected rendered this observation of dubious value.