"No. There was too much missing and what was recovered was too damaged. And of course we weren't doing DNA back then. Why are you asking about Savannah Osprey?"

"Did you recover a skul ?"

"No. That was the main problem. The victim had been dumped in the woods then covered by a sheet of corrugated tin. Animals pul ed parts of the body out and scattered them al over creation. The skul and jaw were never found, and we figured they'd dragged them off. The bones left under the tin were intact but weren't very useful, and the rest of the skeleton was so badly chewed that it was hard to tel much except gender. Some pathologist was doing the anthropology back then. His report stated that nothing remained to indicate age, height, or race."

A pathologist would not have known about microscopic aging, or about calculation of stature from partial long bones. Not a good job, Doc.

"Why do you think it's Savannah?" I asked.

"We found a smal silver charm in the vicinity of the bones. It was a bird of some sort. Though she denied it, I could tel from the mother's reaction that she recognized the thing. Later I did some research. The charm was an exact replica of a fish hawk."

I waited.

"The fish hawk is also known as the osprey."

I told her about the skul and leg bones in Montreal.

"Holy shit."

"Is the mother stil around?"

"Anything's possible since they cloned that sheep. I'l find out."

"Do you stil have the file?"

"You bet."

"Antemortem X-rays?"

"Zil ions."

I made a quick decision.

"Get those bones, Kate. I'm coming down."

Patineau authorized the trip, and I booked a morning flight to Raleigh. Kit and I had a late dinner that night, both of us avoiding mention of the bundle in the entrance hal that I had brought from the lab and would be taking with me. He was looking forward to tomorrow's outing with Crease and had no problem with my absence.

The plane was crowded with the usual assortment of students, businessmen, and weekend golfers. I stared out the window as attendants served coffee and soft drinks, wishing I, too, were off to a course -- Pinehurst, Marsh Harbor, Oyster Bay, anything but the grim analysis of a teenage girl's bones.

My eyes dropped to the athletic bag under the seat in front of me. It looked innocuous enough, but I wondered what my fel ow passengers would think if they knew the nature of its contents. I have flown out of Dorval often enough that the X-ray machine operators no longer ask for an explanation. I wondered how it would be leaving Raleigh.

Outside, the morning sun was painting the clouds a luminescent pink. When we broke through I could see a tiny shadow plane paral eling the one in which I rode.