Page 57 of Fire and Bones

And resignation.

The shot was useless. There wasn’t a chance of a visual ID.

As with the other corpses, I knew the bones would tell most of the story.

I was right.

The pelvis and skull verified that the victim was female.

Surviving cranial and facial details hinted that she’d been of European ancestry.

Long bone measurements said she’d stood sixty-three to sixty-five inches tall.

The incomplete union of several growth plates suggested she’d died between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five years.

A bio-profile that fit that of Skylar Reese Hill.

The victim’s right humerus threw in one bonus nugget. On X-ray I spotted a slight deformity just above the elbow, an indication of a healed fracture.

A check of Hill’s medical records, also supplied by Deery, confirmed that she’d broken that arm the previous year.

Throughout the procedure, Deery never uttered a word. He left as Thacker was dictating her final observations and I was scribbling my last few notes. I’d just finished when my mobile sounded.

The digits on the screen identified a line at the Charlotte-Mecklenburg crime lab.

Snapping off one of my gloves, I thumbed the icon.

“Dr. Brennan.”

“—stein. Have more inf—your sam—”

“Artie?”

“—es. I got the res—”

“I’m sorry. You’re breaking up. Give me a moment.”

“—leave for a meeting short—ought you’d—to know.”

Phone pressed to my ear, I hurried out into the corridor. Still, the reception was lousy.

As I passed through the sliding doors, three beeps told me the call had been dropped.

Damn.

Once in the office temporarily assigned to me, I hit redial, hoping Bluestein was still available.

“Was that Pavarotti?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know you like opera.”

“Who doesn’t.” Rhetorical.

“I have season tickets to Opera Carolina. We should catch a performance sometime. My wife hates it.”

“Mm. You have more info on the Mirek sample?”