“I’l check an atlas,” Larabee said, straightening. “In the meantime, the Questioned Documents guys might be able to do something with this. Joe, cal over to QD and ask if we should keep this thing wet or let it dry.”

Hawkins removed gloves and apron, washed his hands, and headed for the door. I clicked off the lamp.

As Larabee proceeded with his autopsy, I told him about Cagle’s coma, and about my discussion with Terry Woolsey. When I’d finished, he looked up at me over his mask.

“Think maybe you’re working with a lot of what-ifs, Tempe?”

“Maybe,” I said.

At the door I turned for one last comment.

“But what if I don’t?”

31

AND WHAT IFI’D MISSED SOMETHING?

Instead of furthering my frustration with more computerized exercise, I went to the cooler, pul ed out the privy skul and hand bones, and did a ful reanalysis.

The remains stil whistled the same tune: thirty-something white boy.

But it wasn’t Brian Aiker.

Back to the laptop.

The privy skul and hand bones turned up at the Foote farm. Bear bones and macaw feathers turned up at the Foote farm. Coincidence?

The Lancaster skeleton turned up sans head and hands. Coincidence?

The Lancaster skeleton was found three years ago. Brian Aiker vanished five years ago. Coincidence?

Brian Aiker and Charlotte Grant Cobb disappeared around the same time. Coincidence?

Bear bones and feathers from endangered bird species. Missing FWS agents. Coincidence?

Think outside the box, Brennan.

I was prying off the lid when the phone rang.

“Yo.” Slidel .

“What’s up?”

“Pounder’s singing like a canary on crack.”

“I’m listening.”

“Tyree was serving coke for Dorton.”

“There’s a surprise.”

“Dorton got the blow from a South American connection, Harvey Pearce made pickups somewhere down east near Manteo, hauled the stuff up to Charlotte from the coast. From there it went to points north and west.”

“Tyree paid Pounder to use Mama Foote’s farm as a relay point,” I guessed.

“Bingo.”

“And Dorton’s cousin J.J. made his living in the family business.”

“Here’s the part you’re real y going to like. Seems Pearce got talked into buying a bird from one of the South Americans some time back, sold the thing for a nice profit. Dorton got wind of it. Ever the entrepreneur, Mr. Strip Club and Drug Lord decided to branch out.”

“Let me guess. Ricky Don took advantage of little J.J.’s hunting skil s.”

“Pearce also supplied product from the Low Country.”

Product. Rare and special animals being slaughtered for profit. What noble creatures we hominids are.

“Dorton hooked himself up with an Asian connection, became the king of gal .”

“Who?” I asked.

“Pounder didn’t have a name. Said he thought the mutt was Korean. Had some kind of inside line.”

“Inside line on what?”

“Dick-brain wasn’t sure. Don’t worry. We’l nail the guy’s ass.”