Bones Never Lie (Temperance Brennan, #17)(28)

I finished my burger and thought about Mama’s three girls, Koseluk, Estrada, and Donovan. One dead, two missing. Files ignored because no one was pushing.

Ryan rejoined us, carrying a hint of cigarette smoke into the booth.

“Tinker was at the scene last night?” I asked.

Slidell snorted loudly, then went back to working his gums.

“The SBI’s taking the position that the investigation will benefit from sharing information and resources at the state level.” Ryan’s first spoken contribution.

“There’s no way the SB-f*cking-I will share piss-all.” Slidell jammed the toothpick into the remains of his slaw. “They think a clear on these cases is their ticket to a makeover. And that don’t include us.”

“What does Tinker think about these other three vics?” I asked.

“That asshat couldn’t think his way through a fart without coaching.” Slidell’s outburst caused several patrons to glance our way.

“He’s not convinced they’re related,” Ryan said.

“Leal?”

“That one he’s saying maybe.”

“What happens now?”

“I kicked what we got up the COC.” Slidell was using shorthand for “chain of command.” “Now we wait.”

We were returning to our cars when Slidell’s mobile sounded. He answered, and as he listened, his face grew red. Finally, “A couple extra whiteboards ain’t gonna clear this thing.”

Disconnecting with a furious one-finger jab, Slidell turned to us. “We’re screwed.”





CHAPTER 12


THE RULING WAS that the Leal homicide would continue to be viewed as a one-off, so there would be no task force. Slidell was getting space but not extra personnel. He was to cooperate with Tinker and use Ryan ex-officio. If the investigation tossed up stronger links to the other cases, the situation would be reassessed.

While Ryan and a seething Slidell headed back to the law enforcement center, I returned to the ME facility. The press vans were gone, in search of bloodier pastures.

Leal’s ring wasn’t in autopsy room one or lying in a Ziploc on Larabee’s desk. A quick scan of his paperwork turned up no mention of jewelry.

I thought a moment, then gloved, went to the cooler, and checked every inch of Leal’s body bag. Found twigs, leaves, some gravel, but no ring.

I phoned Larabee. Got voicemail and left a message.

Out of ideas, I drove to the LEC. Slidell wasn’t at the CCU or in his cubicle in the homicide squad. Ryan was nowhere in sight, either. A few detectives were talking on phones. A guy named Porter was discussing footprint impressions with a guy I didn’t know. He directed me to the conference room.

The scene looked like a setup in a low-budget cop show. A phone and computer sat, unstaffed, on a desk in one corner. Erasable boards stretched the length of the back wall, most used, two empty.

The large oak table still filled the center of the room. On it were the two MP and four homicide files. Those for Gower and Nance were hefty, a box and a tub, thanks to the work of Rodas and Barrow’s CCU team. The others were meager enough to fit into brown corrugated files secured with elasticized binders.

Ryan was trolling through Rodas’s box. Slidell was beside him, studying a printout. Neither looked up when I entered.

I crossed to the boards. Topping six of the seven were victim photos. A name was penned below each in large block letters. A last-seenalive location and date.

NELLIE GOWER, HARDWICK, VERMONT, 2007

LIZZIE NANCE, CHARLOTTE, 2009

AVERY KOSELUK, KANNAPOLIS, 2011

TIA ESTRADA, SALISBURY, 2012

COLLEEN DONOVAN, CHARLOTTE, 2013–2014

SHELLY LEAL, CHARLOTTE, 2014



Each LSA date marked the beginning of a time line tracing that child’s movements backward from the moment of her disappearance. Few items had been entered on any chronology. Posted on the Gower, Nance, Estrada, and Leal boards were CSS photos. I stepped up to inspect the Estrada pics, which I hadn’t seen.

Like the others, Tia Estrada lay faceup, fully dressed, with her arms at her sides. Beneath her were brown grass and dead leaves, above her gray sky. In the background I could see a picnic table and what looked like the base of a gazebo.

A soup?on of Brylcreem told me Slidell had closed in.

“Is it a campground?” I asked.

Slidell nodded. “By the Pee Dee wildlife refuge. You know, for the boat and bug spray crowd. Has a couple docks, tent and trailer sites, latrines so the fam can take a dump with the birds.”

Nice.

“Was she found inside the grounds?”

“Eeyuh.”

“And no one saw anything?”

“It was winter. The place was deserted.”

“Were the neighbors questioned?”

“We’re talking the boonies.”

“Where people take notice.” Curt. “No one remembered selling gas to a stranger? No one saw an unfamiliar car pass by on the road? Parked on the shoulder?”

Slidell looked at me without blinking. “You know why these douchebags don’t acknowledge we got a serial here?”

Though I shared Skinny’s opinion that his superiors were wearing blinders, I had no desire to hear his latest conspiracy theory.

“I didn’t find Leal’s ring,” I said. “Could it be downstairs in the property room?”