Earl Byrne, the mushroom-shaped reporter from the Observer, sounding eager. He wanted to write a follow-up to his original article and wondered what was taking so long with an ID on the landfill John Doe. Delete.

Special Agent Williams. Delete.

Special Agent Williams. Delete.

Cotton Galimore, sounding, what? Flirtatious? The dinner offer was still on the table. Also, he intended to visit Craig Bogan in the morning. Did I want to come along?

I was scribbling Galimore’s number when a shadow fell across my desk. I looked up.

Hawkins was standing in my doorway, a half-dozen forceps in one hand.

“Hey, Joe.”

“That Cotton Galimore?” The scowl on Hawkins’s face would have frightened small children.

“Sorry?”

“Galimore.” He jabbed the forceps toward my phone. “You talking to him?”

“Mr. Galimore was involved in the search for Cale Lovette and Cindi Gamble back in ’ninety-eight.”

“You need to stay away from him.”

“Excuse me?”

“The man’s not to be trusted. You’ve got no business being anywhere near him.”

“How I choose to conduct an investigation is of no concern—”

“The man’s corrupt.”

“People change.”

“Not him.”

“That’s a bit rigid.”

“Galimore worked that case, all right. Wouldn’t surprise me if he took part in the cover-up folks are talking about. He’s probably jumping in now to protect his sorry ass.”

“Or he has a genuine interest in finding out what happened to his investigation?”

Hawkins was in full rant mode and in no mood to listen.

“Why the interest now after all these years? Could it be you’re getting to the truth and he wants to keep you close? Whatever Galimore’s motive, he’s acting solely in the interest of one person. Cotton Galimore.”

At that moment my phone rang.

Snorting his disgust, Hawkins turned and strode down the hall.

Without thinking, I picked up the receiver.

“Dr. Brennan. I’m glad I caught you.”

“I was just about to leave.” Not true. But I didn’t want another sermon. Especially from the likes of Special Agent Williams.

“I’ll keep it brief.”

“Why did you confiscate the landfill John Doe?” I decided to take the offensive.

“I explained the bureau’s reasoning to Dr. Larabee.”

“Ricin contamination.”

“Yes.”

“The ricin toxin isn’t contagious.”

“It was not my decision.”

“Was it your decision to cremate the body?”

“That was an unfortunate error.”

“What about my bone plugs?”

“What about them?”

“Were those samples also destroyed?”

“It is my understanding they’d been placed in the same body bag.”

“Could it be the bureau doesn’t want this man ID’ed?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Ted Raines turn up yet?”

Williams knew what I was asking. Did the bureau suspect that the landfill John Doe was the missing man from Atlanta?

“Not that I know of.”

“Odd coincidence. Raines working for the CDC. The John Doe showing evidence of ricin poisoning.”