Chapters (64)
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- CHAPTER1
- CHAPTER2
- CHAPTER3
- CHAPTER4
- CHAPTER5
- CHAPTER6
- CHAPTER7
- CHAPTER8
- CHAPTER9
- CHAPTER10
- CHAPTER11
- CHAPTER12
- CHAPTER13
- CHAPTER14
- CHAPTER15
- CHAPTER16
- CHAPTER17
- CHAPTER18
- CHAPTER19
- CHAPTER20
- CHAPTER21
- CHAPTER22
- CHAPTER23
- CHAPTER24
- CHAPTER25
- CHAPTER26
- CHAPTER27
- CHAPTER28
- CHAPTER29
- CHAPTER30
- CHAPTER31
- CHAPTER32
- CHAPTER33
- CHAPTER34
- CHAPTER35
- CHAPTER36
- CHAPTER37
- CHAPTER38
- CHAPTER39
- CHAPTER40
- CHAPTER41
- CHAPTER42
- CHAPTER43
- CHAPTER44
- CHAPTER45
- CHAPTER46
- CHAPTER47
- CHAPTER48
- CHAPTER49
- CHAPTER50
- CHAPTER51
- CHAPTER52
- CHAPTER53
- CHAPTER54
- CHAPTER55
- CHAPTER56
- CHAPTER57
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- Books by Jonathan Kellerman
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“Don’t need the box,” she said. “But I’m not really sure I can tell you much more.”
“How about age of victim?”
“I’ll get it as close as I can,” she said. “We can also x-ray to see if some sort of damage comes up within the bones, though that’s unlikely. There’s certainly nothing overt to indicate assault or worse. So we could be talking a natural death.”
“Natural but someone buried it under a tree?” He frowned. “I hate that—it.” His shirt had come loose over his paunch. He tucked it in, hitched his trousers.
Liz said, “Maybe covert burial does imply some sort of guilt. And no visible marks doesn’t eliminate murder, asphyxiating a baby is way too easy. And it’s not rare in infanticides.”
“Soft kill,” he said.
She blinked. “Never heard that before.”
“I’m a master of terrible irony.”
CHAPTER
4
Milo and I returned to Holly Ruche. Her husband was gone.
She said, “He had a meeting.”
Milo said, “Accountant stuff.”
“Not too exciting, huh?”
Milo said, “Most jobs are a lot of routine.”
She scanned the yard. “I’d still like to know why a psychologist was called in. Are you saying whoever lived here was a maniac?”
“Not at all.” He turned to me: “You’re fired, Doc.”
I said, “Finally.”
Holly Ruche smiled for half a second.
Milo said, “That woman in the white coat is a forensic anthropologist.”
“The black woman? Interesting …” Her hands clenched. “I really hope this doesn’t turn out to be one of those mad-dog serial killer things, bodies all over the place. If that’s what happens, I could never live here. We’d be tied up in court, that would be a disaster.”
“I’m sure everything will turn out fine.”
“Just one little teensy skeleton?” she snapped. “That’s fine?”
She looked down at her abdomen. “Sorry, Lieutenant, it’s just—I just can’t stand seeing my place overrun with strangers.”
“I understand. No reason to stick around, Holly.”
“This is my home, my apartment’s just a way station.”
He said, “We’re gonna need the area clear for the dogs.”
“The dogs,” she said. “They find something, you’ll bring in machinery and tear up everything.”
“We prefer noninvasive methods like ground-penetrating radar, air and soil analysis.”
“How do you analyze air?”
“We insert thin flexible tubing into air pockets, but with something this old, decomposition smells are unlikely.”
“And if you find something suspicious, you bring in machines and start ripping and shredding. Okay, I will leave but please make sure if you turned on any lights you turn them off. We just got the utilities registered in our name and the last thing I need is paying the police department’s electrical bill.”
She walked away, using that oddly appealing waddle pregnant women acquire. Hands clenched, neck rigid.
Milo said, “High-strung girl.”