Pause.

“Wel preserved, devoid of soft tissue and odor, some bleaching. Extensive animal damage. Time since death at least one year, probably longer.” Wal y was summarizing in speech as he might have on paper. Or perhaps he was reading from notes he’d jotted during the cal with his student.

“Male. Thirty years old, plus or minus five years. Age based on ribs and pubic symphyses. Or at least on what was left of them.” Pause.

“Caucasoid.”

Pause.

“Height seventy-three inches, plus or minus. Can’t remember that exactly. Muscle attachments slight.”

“Any evidence of trauma?” I asked.

“Just postmortem. Animal damage. Cut marks on the third cervical vertebra suggestive of decapitation by a sharp instrument with a nonserrated blade.

That’s about it.”

“Did you have any feel for the case at the time?”

“A tal white boy pissed somebody off. That somebody kil ed him and whacked off his head and hands. That in accord with what you’re seeing?”

“Pretty much.”

I looked out my window. The trees around my patio shimmered in the heat. My heartbeat had returned to normal. Concentrating on Cagle’s narrative, I’d nearly forgotten the prior cal .

“I had a tough time determining sex with this skul . Didn’t fal on either side of the line,” I said.

“I had the same problem,” Cagle said. “Sheriff ’s deputies recovered no clothes or personal effects. Dogs and raccoons used the body as carryout for a goodly period of time. Pelvis was badly chewed, so were the ends of the long bones. Had to calculate stature from one relatively complete fibula. Except for that height estimate, I saw zilch with regard to sex.”

“There are tal women,” I said.

“Look at professional basketbal ,” Cagle agreed. “Anyway, I thought I had a tal male, but wasn’t one hundred percent sure. So when I sent a femoral sample off for DNA profiling, I requested an amelogenin test.”

“And?”

“Two bands.”

“Male.” I said it more to myself than to Cagle.

“X and a Y, holding hands.”

“The state lab agreed to do a blind DNA?”

“Of course not. The sheriff ’s query turned up a missing person as a possible match. DNA said otherwise.”

“What happened to the skeleton?”

“I shipped it back to Lancaster when I mailed my report. Coroner sent me a receipt.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Snow. Murray P. Snow. Probably held the bones a week then torched them.”

“Did you take pictures?” I asked.

“They’re on file in my lab at the university.”

I thought a moment.

“Is there any way you could scan the images and transmit them to me electronical y?”