Bones Never Lie (Temperance Brennan, #17)(75)

Ajax claimed to be at the hospital or at home on the dates Koseluk and Estrada went missing. Tinker worked on verifying his hours with Mercy. Talked to people there.

Ajax’s lawyer refused access to phone, credit card, and bank records. Tinker started the process to obtain warrants.

Leal was a different story. Ajax knew exactly where he was the Friday she was abducted.

November 21 was a rare day off. That afternoon he shopped at the Morrocroft Village Harris Teeter, then at a Walmart on Pineville-Matthews Road. Filled and washed his car at a service station one block up.

That evening he ate dinner at home, then went solo to see a film at the Manor Theatre. Unfortunately for him, he’d used no credit card, kept no receipt, no ticket stub.

Slidell showed Ajax’s photo to employees at the stores, gas station, and theater and requested surveillance video for the day in question. Began viewing it.

Barrow continued with video taken from locations Leal had frequented in the months before her death. Phoned out to Oklahoma. Learned Ajax’s wife and daughters had moved back to India.

Rodas floated Ajax’s picture in Hardwick and St. Johnsbury. No one recognized him. The man who serviced the furnace at the Corneau farm said he’d been too far away to see the guy’s face.

Tuesday morning the IT tech phoned Slidell. He’d found a visitor to the dysmenorrhea chat room he thought might be of interest. Ham-Lover. Ham. Hamet. Slidell told him to do what it took to identify the user.

Tuesday afternoon, under increasing pressure from the media, the CMPD press office agreed to a news conference. It took place in the courtyard outside the LEC. Under a sunny sky, Salter and Tinker fielded queries on the Leal homicide. Gave no real answers. Didn’t mention Lizzie Nance or the other girls. Didn’t mention Hamet Ajax.

Leighton Siler asked question after question, face knotty, clearly frustrated. Got nothing. Didn’t matter. Eventually, Siler or some hungrier or craftier rival would reveal details of the investigation in braying headlines.

I phoned Heatherhill several times, never reached Mama. Left messages knowing she wouldn’t call back. When the demons stir, my mother distrusts all forms of communication. Calls, texts, and emails stop.

Luna Finch said Mama was listless, sleeping more than usual. And that she’d contacted Cécile Gosselin.

I hung up, breath coming in wobbly heaves. Mama had summoned Goose to her side.

Wednesday morning Ajax made a mistake.

To my amazement, Slidell came by the annex to share the news. It was just past nine. He looked haggard and smelled of coffee and too much drugstore cologne.

“The dumb shit drove right up to a school.”

“When?”

“Seven-twenty this morning.”

“Where is he now?”

“In a cage at HQ.”

“What’s his story?”

“He was dropping off food for a Christmas campaign for the poor. Says he drives by the school every day, noticed their thermometer thingy wasn’t indicating a whole lot of donations. Wanted to give them canned peas and pasta.”

“Is that true?”

“Don’t matter. A pedo can’t go within a thousand feet of a school.”

“A thousand feet?”

“Whatever.”

“The restriction doesn’t apply if Ajax is no longer required to register.”

“We’re checking that out.”

“Why is it taking so long?”

“Must be a glitch out in cyberspace.”

“When did you—”

“Jesus Christ and the freakin’ Mousketeers. The guy raped a kid. He pulled into a school yard.”

“Would you like coffee?” A kick in the nuts?

“I got a warrant coming.”

“Allowing you to do what?”

“Toss Ajax’s house.”

“You’re going there now?”

Slidell nodded. “I want to be done and gone before Ajax’s lawyer finds out. Same goes for Siler and his bloodsucking cronies.”

“How long does that give you?”

“We got full radio silence on this. Still, not long.”

“Where does he live?”

Slidell held up a small page with ripped and twisted tabs running along one edge. An address was scrawled sideways across the blue lines.

“You got us to this turd,” he said. “Figure I owe you.”

Larabee called as I was brushing my teeth. A kid had found a trash bag full of bones in the northern part of the county. Nothing urgent, but he wanted me to examine them.

Then it was Harry. That was a long one.

I was pulling on jeans when Rodas took a turn. The toxicology report had come back on Pomerleau. She had neither drugs nor alcohol in her system at the time of death. I told Rodas about Ajax’s trip to the school. About the search warrant.

Ninety minutes after Slidell’s departure, I finally broke free.

Ajax lived in the southeastern slice of the Queen City pie, close to Charlotte Country Day School, Carmel Country Club, Olde Providence Racquet Club. Big homes, big yards. Golf and pinot on the links. Lacrosse and Milton at school. Land of the nouveaux and not so nouveaux riches.

Slidell’s scrawled note led me to Sharon View Road, a narrow twolaner with old-growth trees lining both shoulders. Sunrise Court was a small spur shooting from the south side.