“I’ll take what I can get.”

Liz said, “I think that’s a compliment.”

Milo said, “Anything else of a scientific nature, Dr. W?”

“These bones look considerably fresher than the first, so you could have a fairly recent crime. But that could also be the result of cleaning or bleaching. From what I can see so far, they appear totally de-fleshed. As to how that was done, I’m a bit puzzled. The most common methods would be mechanical—scraping—or chemical—corrosives, boiling—or a combination of both. But all that seems to be lacking here.”

“How can you tell?”

She let go of Reed’s hand, walked closer to the bones. “Don’t tattle on me to the crypt folk, Milo, but I crouched down and had a good close look.” She held up a gloved hand. “Then I put these on and touched several of the bones because the freshness intrigued me. I was careful not to move anything, there was no disruption of the crime scene. But I wanted to see how they responded to tactile pressure. I also used a magnifying loupe and couldn’t find any of the tool marks you’d get from scraping, or the pitting and cloudiness you’d get from a corrosive bath. More important, the bones felt relatively rigid, as firm as an infant skeleton could be, and with boiling you’d expect them to turn at least a bit rubbery. Especially the smaller bones, those could be as pliable as cooked noodles. It’s possible there’s a new chemical able to do the job without leaving traces but I haven’t heard of it. Maybe something’ll turn up in the analysis.”

“De-fleshed,” said Milo, “but no sign of trauma. So maybe this one is a lab specimen, Liz. Some sick wiseass reads about the first case, decides to prank us with a medical souvenir he buys on the Internet.”

“Anything’s possible but I don’t think so. For the same reason as with the first: You’d expect holes for wires.”

Milo went over to the bones, squatted, a Buddha in a bad suit. “Almost like plastic, with that shine.”

I said, “Is it possible they were coated with something that’s obscuring the tool marks?”

Liz said, “I thought about some kind of lacquering but it would have to be super-thin because normal anatomical irregularities are visible.”

Milo said, “Call the C.I. again, Moses, get a fix on ETA.”

Reed complied. “Half an hour, minimum.”

“Wonderful.”

I said, “Sick joke or murder, with the dump being so close to the first bones, this reeks of copycat.”

Milo inhaled, gut heaving. “Two in Cheviot Hills. Can’t remember the last time we had a murder here.”

Liz said, “The distance to the Ruche home is less than a mile—point nine three to be exact.”

Milo smiled. “Geography’s in your job description?”

Reed said, “She clocked it ’cause I asked her.”