Dead, Without a Stone to Tell It Read online

  “Sorry?”

  “Why did you come to me? There are other forensic anthropologists in the area. Trevor Sharpe, as you noted, being one.”

  “You taught one of the murder school classes I took.”

  “ ‘Murder school’?” He looked vaguely confused.

  “That’s what we call the course troopers take when they transfer from Field Services to the Detective Unit. You taught my class on skeletal recovery and identification.” He scanned her face as if searching for some memory of her features. She gave him a twisted smile at the lack of recognition in his eyes, pushing away the small twinge of pain at being overlooked by the men in her professional life once again. “I guess I’m not that memorable.”

  He flushed slightly. “I teach a lot of students, so I don’t always remember someone in particular unless I’ve had some personal interaction with them.”

  “To be fair, it was about three years ago and there were a lot of us in the class. I’d have been impressed if you’d remembered my face out of all those strangers.”

  “If it was three years ago, I was also brand-new on campus, so everyone was a stranger.” He pushed back his sleeve to check the time. “I can meet you at my lab at one o’clock to examine your bone. I need to close down the site for the day since I might not be back this afternoon.”

  “That will be your call depending on what the evidence tells you.” Leigh moved past him to stand in the doorway of the tomb. The smell of mustiness and disuse struck her again, as well as the shock of so many remains in such a small space. Her gaze traveled over the contents, picking out small details: ivory bones, scattered and piled haphazardly; a narrow, plain gold band winking dully in the light; a small bottle-green medicine vial lying on its side; a bonnet, so tiny it could only belong to a child.

  A shiver ran up her spine. So many dead, reduced to nothing but bones, their most precious possessions now simply a few misplaced trinkets. Unbidden, her mind flashed to her father, dead now four years. What would be left of him? A rib cage with his police force Medal of Honor pinned to a rotting uniform, or his shield lying atop a pile of dry, splintered bones? She closed her eyes briefly on a sudden wave of grief; she simply couldn’t bear to think of that dynamic, vibrant man reduced to so little.

  “It’s kind of a mess, isn’t it?” Lowell brushed against her back as he came to stand behind her, and suddenly the cold mustiness of the tomb was overlaid with warm hints of citrus and sandalwood. “But out of chaos comes order. That’s my job. To sort through the remains in this charnel house and to reassemble the dead. To identify them. And, if possible, to return their grave goods to them.”

  “What do you do with the remains once they’re identified?”

  “We bring them home.”

  Startled, Leigh swiveled to look at him sharply. He’d unconsciously echoed her own feelings about the victims she stood over so often. Some had faces and identities, but for those without, it was a constant struggle to unite the dead with their families and to give the survivors both closure and justice. It struck her abruptly that they shared a similar goal. The only difference between them was simply how long the dead in their care had been lost.

  “We contact the families if we can track them down. We haven’t found a family yet that didn’t want their long-lost relatives back.” He moved away to step back into the prep room.

  Leigh started toward the doorway as Lowell snapped off the bright spotlights and made some final notes in the notebook on the small table. But as she stepped into the columbarium, her head jerked up as his earlier words finally sank in. “Hold on, did you say that you wanted to examine the bone in your lab?”

  Lowell set the book down and neatly laid the pen on its smooth burgundy surface. “Sure. I’ll be able to tell you more there and—”

  She cut him off with a raised hand. “The sample needs to be examined and then stored in the M.E.’s lab space. That’s protocol.”

  Irritation flitted over Lowell’s face. “I really need to examine it in my lab. All the equipment I’ll need is there.”

  “We can’t do that. Legal chain of evidence requires that it be maintained in a secure location. You’ll have to work at the M.E.’s facility. Trust me, it’s the best the state has to offer. If you’re missing something, you can just bring it in. No one will mind.”

  His jaw tightened. “That’s not the best way to do this. Do you want accurate answers or not? If so, we need to do it my way.”

  Leigh felt their brief connection evaporate. “Are you always this stubborn? Do you always have to get your way or you just pick up your ball and go home?”

  Irritation segued smoothly into temper. “Let’s get one thing straight, Trooper Abbott. If you want my help, you’ll have to give me some leeway. I’m taking time away from my own research. If you want to make it easier for me to do so, then you have to meet me halfway. If not, I’m out and you can ask Dr. Sharpe for help.”

  She refrained from snapping at him by taking a deep breath while she weighed his response. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. You have nothing to base this case on without him. If Sharpe’s not trustworthy, then Lowell’s your only choice. “Then let me make this crystal clear, Dr. Lowell. If we’re going to break protocol and use your lab instead of the state facilities, then you have to guarantee me a credible chain of evidence and complete security at your site.”

  “Chain of evidence is no problem. And we’re just across the road from the M.E.’s office so if something needs to be stored there long term after we’ve examined it in the lab, we can easily move it. Our building has both security in the lobby and keycard-only access, but if that’s not good enough for you, then you can arrange for additional security with campus police. I’m going to be busy with your remains. You can take care of security.”

  They stubbornly stood toe-to-toe until Leigh forced herself to take a step back. “Fine. But until it’s set up, I stay with the remains.”

  “Fine,” he snapped back. “One other thing. Me and my lab includes my grad students. We’re a team and they’ll be helping on this.” Leigh opened her mouth but Lowell held up an index finger an inch from her lips. “That’s the deal. I’m a teacher and there’s no better way for them to learn than through hands-on experience. Trust me when I say that you’ll be glad to have them. Each one brings something of value to the table.”

  Leigh nearly ground her teeth in frustration. “All right. In return, I want access to your lab at my convenience and that means starting now. If we’re meeting in the middle, then you have to come halfway.”

  “We’ll do our best, but some of us do have prior commitments.”

  “This could be murder, Dr. Lowell. That takes priority.”

  “It could also be a hiker lost in the woods who died from an accidental fall. Murder remains to be seen. But,” he conceded, “if it’s murder, then, yes, it takes priority.”

  “Then we need to determine what we’re dealing with.”

  “Agreed. Give me time to gather my students and we’ll meet you at one o’clock.” He rattled off a south Boston address. “We’re in room ten-seventeen. Bring maps of the area where the bone was found and the bone itself. Then we’ll see what we can do for you, Trooper Abbott.”

  “Very well, Dr. Lowell.” She turned sharply and strode from the columbarium, quickly climbing the vestry steps to re-emerge into the light.

  He’s on board. He may be a stubborn son of a bitch, but he’s on board. Now to see what he and his team can do.

  She reached for her cell phone to report in with her sergeant.

  Matt listened to the hollow thud of her footsteps as she climbed the wooden staircase, followed by the sound of the door slamming behind her.

  “Damn it!” He blew out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair.

  Very smooth, Matt. The lady comes looking for help and first you refuse, then you snarl at her when she tries to follow protocol. Well done.

  With a muttered curse, he sprang for the stair
s, taking them two at a time. At the top of the staircase, he pushed through the fire door and burst into the Third Lantern Garden, a peaceful oasis of sprawling, sun-splashed flowers and shrubs surrounding a redbrick patio.

  She had already climbed the garden steps and was briskly striding toward the front of the church. “Trooper Abbott,” he called, his eyes narrowing on her retreating form when she ignored him. “Trooper!”

  She turned around and he saw the phone pressed to her ear. She held up a finger, signaling him to wait. He wandered to the far side of the small garden and sat down on the wall of the gurgling circular fountain that graced one corner.

  As he waited, Matt found himself staring at the woman standing at the top of the steps, taking in the honey-colored hair coiled neatly at the nape of her neck, crisp white shirt, and conservative charcoal-gray blazer and tailored pants. She was slim but the lines under her clothes spoke of a sleek, muscular build. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of discreet gold studs and a simple dial watch on a plain leather strap.

  She dresses like a man and ties her hair back to downplay her looks. His eyes passed over her again and since she was partially turned away, he allowed his gaze to linger appreciatively on the curves she tried to hide. Is it expected in her profession … or is she purposely trying not to stand out?

  A gust of wind ruffled his hair and metallic musical chimes shivered through the air. He recognized the sound as the breeze blowing through the thousands of dog tags suspended in the Memorial Garden at the back of the church, a memorial dedicated to the men and women of the Armed Forces lost in Afghanistan and Iraq. Unconsciously, his hand rose to rub the scar at his temple.

  So many lost. Kirkpatrick. Rogers. Dutton. Williams. Boddington.

  Too many lost.

  “Dr. Lowell?”

  Her voice broke through his thoughts. She stood on the stairs, one hand resting lightly on the wrought iron railing.

  “Did I forget something, Dr. Lowell?” Her tone was crisp.

  He climbed to his feet. “No. Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot in there.” He strode across the sun-warmed patio and abruptly stuck out his hand.

  Her eyes flicked from his hand back up to his face, her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Are we … starting over?”

  “We are. And please, stop calling me Dr. Lowell. Not even my grad students call me that. Most academic research labs are pretty casual and everyone is on a first-name basis. If we’re working together, it’s going to be weird if you keep calling me ‘Dr. Lowell.’ ” He thrust his hand out further. “Hi, I’m Matt.”

  She stared at his hand briefly before sliding her hand into his. “Then it should go both ways.” Matt’s warm hand closed around hers and she returned his firm grip. “Hi, I’m Leigh.”

  “Nice to meet you, Leigh. Again.” He released her hand. “I feel like I owe you an apology. I’m not usually this hard to work with, but I’ve been burned working with the police before.”

  “You’ve worked a forensics case with the local police?”

  “No, it was back when I was at Texas State, finishing my doctorate. My advisor was asked to assist on a case and, as his senior student, I was also involved. We worked with a detective from the San Marcos P.D. He was …” Matt’s eyes narrowed briefly in memory. “…very difficult to work with.”

  “Some officers …” Leigh paused as if choosing her words carefully. “Some officers, especially those set in their ways, find new techniques and new procedures to be a challenge. And sometimes, when an officer is ordered to work with outsiders, it doesn’t always go smoothly.”

  “You can say that again,” Matt muttered quietly.

  “I’m not one of those people. You have knowledge and expertise I don’t. There’s a family out there who’s lost a loved one. They deserve to know what happened, and that lost victim deserves justice. To do that, I need your help.”

  “I can help you with your evidence. You’d be surprised how even one bone can help narrow your search. Depending, of course, on the condition of the bone.”

  “Which you’ll see shortly.” She glanced at her watch. “But not if I don’t get on the road. Thank you for agreeing to help. I’ll see you at one o’clock.” She strode from the garden and disappeared around the front of the church.

  Matt pulled his cell phone from his pocket, speed dialing a familiar number. “Hey, it’s me. I need you all back in the lab by no later than one. We’ve been asked by the police to consult on a case … It could be murder.”

  CHAPTER TWO: BITTERN

  Bittern: any of twelve species of solitary marsh birds in the same Family as herons. Bitterns are camouflaged by their streaked brown and buff plumage, which lets them hide in plain sight among the reeds and marsh grasses by standing upright with their bills pointed toward the sky.

  Monday, 11:59 A.M.

  Essex Detective Unit

  Salem, Massachusetts

  The maze of corridors and rooms that made up the Salem office of the Massachusetts State Police buzzed with activity as Leigh strode down the hallway. She carefully cradled the bone, securely sealed in a clear plastic evidence bag. She passed the door of the long, narrow conference room, glancing in to scan the homicide board at the head of the table and quickly categorized the seven current homicides—four ready to go to court and three currently under investigation. Her own name was associated with “John/Jane Doe” at the bottom of the list.

  The hallway opened into the Detective Unit bullpen. The small, cramped room was lined on both sides with an identical trio of short-walled cubicles, their fabric dividers a dull generic beige to match the walls. Every spare foot of available wall space was jammed with filing cabinets or bookcases of binders detailing protocols or holding forms for the endless river of paperwork.

  There were two officers in the bullpen, both dressed in soft clothes. Trooper Brad Riley, the squad rookie, sprawled at his desk, tipped back in his chair. He grinned up at Trooper First Class Len Morrison, one of the senior members of the squad, who leaned casually in the doorway of Riley’s cube. Morrison made a rude hand gesture and both men burst out laughing.

  Morrison fell silent as Leigh entered the room, his cold eyes flicking toward her. For a brief moment, her steps slowed as his insolent gaze ran up and down her body, but there was nothing seductive or appreciative about his perusal. His lip curled in a sneer, and he deliberately turned his back to her, stepping further into the cubicle to block her view of Riley with his shoulder as if to shield the younger officer.

  Eyes fixed straight ahead and her face a blank mask, Leigh marched purposefully past him, leaving as much space between them as the narrow corridor allowed. She slipped inside her own cubicle in the back corner, sinking into her chair. Only then did she let her neutral expression crumple. She closed her eyes, concentrating on pushing back the anger and hurt from Morrison’s deliberate snub. It was the second time today she’d been checked out by a man, but at least Matt Lowell’s perusal hadn’t left her feeling less than a woman. Her eyes shot open as she heard Morrison murmur something to Riley, followed by Riley’s answering laugh.

  Unconsciously, her right hand clenched into a tight fist. Morrison’s exclusion was blatantly meant to hurt, but she would cut out her own heart before she ever let him know how effective it was.

  Morrison had made it clear from the beginning that he had it out for her. The daughter of the former Unit Sergeant, she’d been brought in from Field Troop A after only three years on the job, compared to Morrison’s five. His resentment of what he saw as special treatment had been obvious from the moment she set foot in the bullpen. And that resentment was painfully obvious whenever a senior officer wasn’t in the room.

  The camaraderie between the men in the department was strong, but even after three years in the Detective Unit, Leigh found the men either weren’t sure what to make of the only woman in the room or were openly antagonistic. Riley was still learning the ropes, but he was taking his cues from the men around him. She knew t
he unspoken rule—if she hoped to make it in the Unit, then she had to put her head down and take it. But she didn’t have to like it.

  She tucked the bone into the messenger bag on her desk, closing and securing the flap.

  Sitting back in her chair, she scanned her desk. Like every other officer in the bullpen, she had a huge amount of paperwork to deal with. But unlike the men’s desks, which were strewn with forms and notes, her paperwork was organized into folders and neatly stacked, leaving the desktop mostly clear.

  She gave a small sigh. Her cubicle was a testament to how she fit into the department. Neat. Organized. Sterile. Like a square peg in a round hole. There was almost nothing personal on her desk. The men in the Unit plastered the walls of their cubicles with mementos of their lives—hand-drawn pictures from their kids, photos of their wives and lovers, competition ribbons, ball caps and other sports memorabilia. The Red Sox were sacred in this room and every man proudly displayed his team loyalty.

  She was the exception. She had no children, so there were no pictures drawn with more love than skill. She didn’t watch sports, which in itself set her apart from the men. And the lack of a lover was a gaping hole in her life.

  The only personal memento in her office was the framed photo behind her mouse pad. Tucked neatly into the corner, it couldn’t be seen from the doorway of the cubicle; it was only visible from her chair. Reaching out, she rubbed her thumb along the lower edge of the frame as one might caress a touchstone while she studied the well-loved face.

  It was her father’s last formal departmental picture. In it, he wore his smoky-blue dress uniform jacket, matching dress shirt, and navy tie tacked down with the State Police insignia. His salt and pepper hair was cut short under his uniform cap and his face was set in serious lines. It was the face he had typically shown the department, but she fondly remembered the man who had shouldered the lonely job of raising a devastated little girl by himself even as he mourned his young wife’s death. It had been just the two of them against the world, until the world had taken him away too, leaving her devastated and alone.