Hanging up, I questioned the wisdom of my phrasing. I was referring to steak and potatoes. Ryan might take it to mean something else.

I tried Geneva Banks. Stil no answer.

I considered Skinny Slidel .

Avoidable.

Returning to the autopsy room, I tied on a new paper apron, changed the soaking solution for the pubes and ribs, and packed up the remains of the passenger’s skul . Then I went to the cooler, reunited the tubs with their headless owner, and rol ed out The Three Bears.

Only a portion of one bag remained unexamined. How long could it take?

Untwisting the plastic, I dumped the contents onto the table.

The large bones took ten minutes. Al bear.

I was laying down the last tibia when something crawled into my peripheral vision. I turned to the mound of smal er material I’d scooped into a pile by my left elbow.

My eyes went to an object that had rol ed free.

My heart plunged.

I poked through the pile, teased free another.

My fingers curled into fists and my head flopped forward like a Dalí clock.

9

IDREW A DEEP BREATH,OPENED MY EYES,AND REEXAMINED THEtwo smal bones. One was cuboid with a hooklike process. The other resembled a miniature, half-carved bust.

Neither had anything to do withUrsus.

Damn!

My heart was in free fal .

Scooping the carpals onto my glove, I sought out Larabee. He was in his office.

I held out the bones.

He glanced at them, then up at me.

“A hamate and a capitate,” I said.

“From the Goldilocks gang?”

I nodded.

“Paw?”

“Hand.”

His face skewed into a frown.

“Human?”

“Very.”

“You’re sure?”

I did not reply.

“Damn!” Larabee tossed his pen onto the desk.

“My thought precisely.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“Damn it to blue blazes!”

“I’l go with that, too.”

“We’l have to haul ass back out there.”

“Yes.”

“If that”—he jabbed a thumb at my upturned palm—“hand is recent, whoever did the burying might rethink his arrangement.”

“Could be searching for a shovel as we speak.”

“Tomorrow?”

I nodded.

Larabee reached for the phone. “Could it be an old unmarked grave?”

“Anything’s possible.”

I didn’t believe it.

Joe Hawkins dropped me at the annex.

Ryan was stretched out watching anI Love Lucyrerun. His day had obviously included shopping, for he now featured plaid shorts and a T-shirt that proclaimedBEER:NOT JUST FOR BREAKFAST ANYMORE. Though his face was tanned, his legs were the color of uncooked perch.

Boyd was dozing at his end of the couch.

The coffee table held a dead Heineken and a cereal bowl containing a half-dozen chips. An empty bowl sat on the floor.

Four eyes scanned me when I appeared in the doorway. Birdie was sulking out of sight.

Boyd slunk to the floor.

“Bonjour, Madam La Docteure.”

I al owed my pack and purse to slide from my shoulder.

“Rough day?” Ryan asked.