Page 51 of Fire and Bones

Today’s twist was that the whole country was decked out in red, white, and blue. CNN showed clips of preparations underway for celebrations in New York, Atlanta, Minneapolis, and Chicago.

Alas, I was not participating in the patriotic display. Instead, I was stuck killing time before being able to autopsy four charred corpses.

Christ on a cracker, Brennan. Quit the pity party.

Motivated by my well-deserved self-admonishment, I googled the times and locations of the district’s major festivities.

The National Memorial Day parade would begin on 7th Street, turn north onto Constitution Avenue, proceed west and end at 17th Street. The high-stepping and confetti tossing would start at two p.m., street closures at noon.

I phoned Uber.

Forty minutes later Diego arrived in a gray Honda Accord bearing Virginia license BRX-4237.

Virginia Is For Lovers, declared the plate’s slogan.

But not for me.

I walked through the doors of the E Street lab at six-forty-five Tuesday morning. Was delighted to see Jamar on the far side of the lobby.

We traded quick waves, Jamar again doing something intricate with his hand, then headed to our respective locker rooms to change.

Thacker was already in the large autopsy suite. To my surprise, she announced she’d be cutting the Ys herself.

Body bags lay on three of the four tables. Two had contours of reasonable size. The third looked like it might hold a full adult hippo.

Thacker and I exchanged a few words about the weekend.

Yes, I’d gone to the parade. Yes, I’d seen the fireworks. Yes, the weather had been hot.

“And you?” I asked her, mostly out of courtesy.

“I avoid all public gatherings. Too many nasty microbes waiting to pounce.”

With that, Thacker turned to Jamar.

“Roll the credits.”

Jamar worked the keyboard and four names appeared on the Smartboard. He read the list aloud, adding a few pertinent details for each individual.

“Case number 25-02102, Skylar Reese Hill, female, age nineteen, white, foreign national, Canada.”

“Was Hill the young woman who made the nine-one-one call?” I asked.

“Assuming this DOA is Hill, yes.”

My cheeks reddened at Thacker’s not-so-subtle reprimand.

“Where was that body found?” the ME asked her tech.

Jamar clacked more keys. “Basement level, east end, buried in rubble from the collapse of the upper floors.”

The victim I’d recovered.

“Next.” Thacker was all business now.

“Case number 25-02103, Danny Green, male, age twenty-nine, white, no accompanying intel.

“Case number 25-02104, Johnnie Lamar Star, male, age thirty-four, Black, US citizen, last known address Philadelphia. Star and Green were in the west bedroom on the second floor.” Looking up, Jamar added: “I did that pair. The two beside the bed, all tangled up together.”