“How come?”

“He was treated like a natural death,” I replied.

“Well, he was. He died of a heart attack.”

“It’s true his heart was terrible,” I said. “But that’s not what killed him. His death was due to his polydrug abuse.”

“His death was due to Colonel Parker,” Marino muttered as if he wanted to kill the man.

I glanced at him as we entered the office. “Elvis had ten drugs on board. He should have been signed out an accident. It’s sad.”

“And we know it was really him,” he then said.

“Oh for God’s sake, Marino!”

“What? You’ve seen the photos? You know it for a fact?” he went on.

“I’ve seen them. And yes, I know,” I said as I stopped at the receptionist’s desk.

“Then what’s in them?” He would not stop.

A young woman named Shirley, who had taken care of me before, waited for Marino and me to quit disagreeing.

“That is none of your business,” I sweetly said to him. “Shirley, how are you?”

“Back again?” She smiled.

“With no good news, I’m sorry to say,” I replied.

Marino began trimming his fingernails with a pocketknife, glancing around like Elvis might walk in any minute.

“Dr. Canter’s expecting you,” she said. “Come on. I’ll take you back.”

While Marino ambled off to make phone calls somewhere down the hall, I was shown into the modest office of a man I had known since his residency days at the University of Tennessee. Canter had been as young as Lucy when I had met him for the first time.

A devotee of forensic anthropologist Dr. Bass, who had begun the decay research facility in Knoxville known as The Body Farm, Canter had been mentored by most of the greats. He was considered the world’s foremost expert in saw marks, and I wasn’t quite sure what it was about this state famous for the Vols and Daniel Boone. Tennessee seemed to corner the market on experts in time of death and human bones.

“Kay.” Canter rose, extending his hand.

“Dave, you’re always so good to see me on such short notice.” I took a chair across from his desk.

“Well, I hate what you’re going through.”

He had dark hair combed straight back from his brow, so that whenever he looked down it fell in his way. He was constantly shoving it out of his way but did not seem aware of it. His face was youthful and interestingly angular, with closely set eyes and a strong jaw and nose.

“How are Jill and the kids?” I inquired.

“Great. We’re expecting again.”

“Congratulations. That makes three?”

“Four.” His smile got bigger.

“I don’t know how you do it,” I said sincerely.

“Doing it’s the easy part. What goodies have you brought me?”

Setting the hard case on the edge of his desk, I opened it and got out the plastic-enclosed sections of bone. I handed them to him and he took out the left femur first. He studied it under a lamp with his lens, slowly turning it end over end.