Slidel was not actual y stupid. Not in the way that a fern is stupid. Or a wood frog. Slidel was just Slidel .
“Probably not. But he’s off the bel curves for uncouth and annoying.”
“What did they want?”
I told Ryan about Jason Jack Wyatt and the cel phone link to Darryl Tyree.
“The boyfriend of the lady with the dead baby?”
I nodded.
“Curiouser and curiouser.”
“Here’s another flash. Rinaldi remembers a headless, handless body inquiry a few years back. He and Slidel are tracking it down.”
“Descriptors match your privy guy?”
“Rinaldi’s recol ection is a bit vague.”
“Isyours a guy?”
“I think so.”
Ryan raised his brows in a question.
“There’s not a single cranial feature that’s definitive for gender. I ran every measurement possible through the Fordisc 2.0 program.”
“Let me guess. The skul fal s into the overlap range.”
I nodded. “Though closer to the male than the female end.”
“Ditto for measurements on the hand bones?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your gut feeling?”
“Male.”
“A young-adult white person who probably used the little boys’ room. That’s not a bad start.”
“With lousy teeth.”
“Oh?”
“Lots of decay. At least on the teeth we recovered.”
“Missed a few?”
“Yeah.”
“Shitty job.”
“How did I know you would say that?”
“Any dental work?”
I shook my head. “The victim was not a believer in regular checkups.”
“Anything else?”
“Maybe some slight bone demineralization.”
“I think you’ve made an excel ent start, Dr. Brennan.”
“Rinaldi also had feathers.”
“Doesn’t seem like his style.”
“They turned up with the coke in the cel ar.”
“What kind of feathers?”
“He wants me to find out.”
“Do you know any big birdbrains?”
“I know you, cowboy.”
Ryan made a pistol with his hand and pointed it at me.
“Ready for another field trip tomorrow?”
“Hee-haw.”
This time the finger made a lasso.
We were passing Mrs. Flowers’s desk when the phone rang. She answered, then flapped a hand in my direction.
I waited while she spoke, then placed the cal on hold.
“It’s Detective Slidel .”
I felt a sigh elbowing up my chest, but resisted the impulse toward melodramatics.
Mrs. Flowers smiled at me, then at Ryan. When he grinned back, a pink spot blossomed on each of her cheeks.
“He sounds like the cat that swal owed the canary.”
“Not a pretty picture.” Ryan winked.
Mrs. Flowers giggled, and her cheeks went raspberry.
“Do you want to take it?”
Like I wanted Ebola.
I reached for the receiver.
17
“LANCASTER.”
“Lancaster who?”
“South Carolina.”
I heard cel ophane crinkle, then the sound of chewing.
“That’s about forty minutes south of Charlotte.”
“Uh-huh. Straight down five twenty-one.”
Pause.
“WhataboutLancaster, South Carolina?”
“Skeleton.” Garbled through what sounded like caramel and peanuts.
“Three”—crinkle—“years back.”
Slidel was in Snickers mode. My grip tightened on the receiver.
“Hikers.”
A lot of crinkling, and a comment I couldn’t make out.
“Park.”