Bones had been found in the cel ar of a pizza-by-the-slice joint, my boss had told me. The owner had cal ed the police. The police had cal ed the coroner. The coroner had cal ed the medicolegal lab.

LaManche wanted me to check it out.

"Today?"

"S'ilvous plait."

"I'm on the stand tomorrow."

"The Petit trial?"

I nodded.

"The remains are probably those of animals," LaManche said in his precise, Parisian French. "It should not take you long."

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"Where?" I reached for a tablet.

LaManche read the address from a paper in his hand. Rue SteCatherine, a few blocks east of Centre-vil e.

CUM turf.

Claudel.

The thought of working with Claudel had triggered the morning's first "damn."

There are some smal -town departments around the island city of Montreal, but the two mam players in law enforcement are the SQ

and the CUM. La Surete du Quebec is the provincial force. The SQ

rules in the boomes, and in towns lacking municipal departments.

The Police de la Communaute Urbaine de Montreal, or CUM, are the city cops. The island belongs to the CUM.

Luc Claudel and Michel Charbonneau are detectives with the Major Crimes Division of the CUM. As forensic anthropologist for the province of Quebec, I've worked with both over the years.

With Charbonneau, the experience is always a pleasure. With his partner, the experience is always an experience. Though a good cop, Luc Claudel has the patience of a firecracker, the sensitivity of Vlad the Impaler, and a persistent skepticism as to the value of forensic anthropology.

Snappy dresser, though.

Dr. Energy's crate had already been loaded with loose bones when I'd arrived in the basement two hours earlier. Though Claudel had yet to provide many details, I assumed the bone col ecting had been done by the owner, perhaps with the assistance of the hapless plumber. My job had been to determine if the remains were human.

They were.

That finding had generated the morning's second "damn."

My next task had been to determine whether anyone else lay in repose beneath the surface of the cel ar. I'd started with three exploratory techniques.

Side lighting the floor with a flashlight beam had shown depressions in the dirt. Probing had located resistance below each depression, suggesting the presence of subsurface objects. Test trenching had produced human bones.

Bad news for a leisurely review of the Petit file.

When I'd rendered my opinion, Claudel and Charbonneau had

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contributed to "damn"s three through five. A few quebecois expletives had been added for emphasis.

SIJ had been cal ed. The crime scene unit routine had begun.

Lights had been set up. Pictures had been taken. While Claudel and Charbonneau questioned the owner and his assistant, a ground penetrating radar unit had been dragged around the cel ar. The GPR

showed subsurface disturbances beginning four inches down in each depression. Otherwise, the basement was clean.

Claudel and his semiautomatic manned rat patrol while the STJ