DNA testing was being done at the Charlotte-Mecklenburg crime laboratory, and those results were not yet available. But the histology was ready. The samples I'd cut from the ankle and foot bones had been shaved into slivers less than one hundred microns thick, processed, stained, and placed on slides. I got them and settled at a microscope.

Bone is a miniature universe in which birth and death occur constantly. The basic unit is the osteon, composed of concentric loops of bone, a canal, osteocytes, vessels, and nerves. In living tissue osteons are born, nourished, and eventualy replaced by newer units.

When magnified and viewed under polarized light, osteons resemble tiny volcanoes, ovoid cones with central craters and flanks that spread out to flatlands of primary bone.

The number of volcanoes increases with age, as does the count of abandoned calderas. By determining the density of these features one arrives at an age estimate.

First I looked for signs of abnormality. In the cross-section of a long bone, thinning of the shaft, scaloping of its inner or outer edges, or abnormal deposition of woven bone can indicate problems, including fracture healing or unusualy rapid remodeling. I saw no such anomalies.

Satisfied that a realistic age estimate was possible, I increased the magnification to one hundred and inserted a ruled ocular micrometer into the eyepiece. The grid contained one hundred squares, with each side measuring one milimeter at the level of the section. Moving from slide to slide, I studied the miniature landscapes, carefuly counting and recording the features within each grid. When I'd finished and plugged my totals into the proper formulae, I had my answer.

The owner of the foot had been at least sixty-five, probably nearer to seventy.

I leaned back and considered that. No one on the manifest was close to that age range. What were the options?

One. An unlisted traveler was on board. A septuagenarian deadheader? A senior citizen stowaway? Unlikely.

Two. A passenger had carried the foot on board. Ryan said they'd found no one whose profile suggested an interest in body parts.

Three. The foot was unrelated to Air TransSouth 228.

Then where did it come from?

I dug a card from my purse, checked the number, and dialed.

'Swain County Sheriff's Department.'

'Lucy Crowe, please.'

'Who's caling.'

I gave my name and waited. Moments later I heard the gravely voice.

'I probably shouldn't be talking to you.'

'You've heard.'

'I've heard.'

'I could try to explain, but I don't think I understand the situation myself.'

'I don't know you wel enough to judge.'

'Why are you talking to me?'

'Gut instinct.'

'I'm working to clear this up.'

'That'd be good. You've got 'em buzzing at the top of the heap.'

'What do you mean?'

'I just had a cal from Parker Davenport.'

'The lieutenant governor?'

'Himself. Ordered me to keep you off the crash site.'