Bones Never Lie (Temperance Brennan, #17)(84)

Ajax also had chloral hydrate in his system, which showed up only when Larabee requested a second test expanding beyond the opiates, amphetamines, barbiturates, alcohol, and other substances on standard tox screens. Though the drug was a somewhat antiquated choice, in Larabee’s opinion, it wasn’t significant. As he’d said at the scene, a lot of folks need pharmaceuticals to pull the plug.

There was no record of chloral hydrate withdrawal at the Mercy dispensary, no prescription at any Charlotte pharmacy. Not a big deal. As a physician, Ajax would have had easy access to the drug, often used as a sedative prior to EEG procedures.

More troubling was the fact that no empty pill bottle turned up at the house on Sunrise Court or on Ajax’s person. CSS found the kitchen trash container empty, unlike other cans on the premises. A Hefty in the curbside rollout produced nothing that might have held the capsules.

The big shocker came the following Monday.

Larabee caught me in the biovestibule, paper in his hand, puzzled expression on his face.

“Post-holiday credit card bill?” Unwrapping a scarf from my neck.

Larabee thrust the paper at me. I shifted my briefcase and took it.

A quick skim, then the line that mattered. I understood why Larabee hadn’t laughed at my joke. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

“The DNA from the lip print isn’t a match for Ajax.”

Larabee shook his head solemnly.

“Any possibility the jacket was contaminated?”

“They say no way.”

“And the samples you sent over were good?”

Larabee just looked at me.

“I saw lip balm in Ajax’s medicine cabinet. Maybe—”

“CSS collected it. The lab ran it as a cross test. In case some defense attorney found an expert to say the stuff scrambled the DNA sequencing, or some other junk-science hogwash.”

“What about the lip balm itself?”

“Not the same brand.”

“So, wait.” My mind was struggling to reconstruct the picture we’d so carefully crafted. “Ajax might not be our guy?”

Larabee shrugged with upturned palms. Who knows?

“But he had Leal’s ring.”

“Nance’s shoes. Gower’s key.”

“What about the blood in Ajax’s trunk? The scalp?”

“That’s taking longer.”

“Have you talked to Slidell?”

“He’s on his way over.”

An hour passed before Slidell’s heels clicked like bullets outside my door. Voices floated from Larabee’s office, modulated, no ire or outrage. Ten minutes later, Skinny blustered into my office.

The change was subtle but there. Same ratty brown jacket. Same bad haircut. What?

Slidell ankle-hooked and dragged a chair toward my desk, dropped onto it. When his legs shot forward, I saw a flash of tangerine sock. Some things are permanently set.

“You heard?”

“I did.”

Then it struck me. Slidell had lost weight. His face was still saggy, maybe more so than usual. But his belly wasn’t hanging as far over his belt. The mustard-yellow shirt was fully tucked.

Slidell’s next statement stunned me. “Some shit don’t add up.”

“What are you saying?”

Slidell’s jaw muscles flexed energetically.

“You have doubts about Ajax?”

“He was on Pineville-Matthews Road when Leal was grabbed up on Morningside.”

“Yes.”

A ten-second pause.

“IT put a name to the user in that chat room for cramps.”

“HamLover.”

“Yeah. Mona Spleen. Forty-three, lives in Pocatello, Idaho. Belongs to the Pocatello ARC. That stands for Amateur Radio Club.”

“Spleen is into ham radios.”

“Big-time.”

Another, longer pause.

“April 17, 2009. Two-twenty P.M. Ajax got pulled for doing sixty-eight in a fifty-five.”

“The afternoon Lizzie Nance disappeared. That doesn’t mean—”

“The stop was on I-64, outside Charleston, West Virginia.”

“You’re just now learning this?”

“I ain’t a magician. People been busy tying bows and stuffing socks.”

“The ticket gives Ajax an airtight alibi. Why didn’t he mention it?”

“The trooper let him off with a warning. No fine, no court. Ajax probably forgot all about it.”

“Forgot the trip?”

“The date coincides with his start at Mercy. He maybe had a lot on his mind.”

I said nothing.

After another long pause, Slidell said, “I did some follow-up on the kid in Oklahoma.”

“The babysitter Ajax molested?”

“Yeah.” Repositioning his tie down the middle of his chest. It was black and spotted with something shiny. “The lady’s got a jacket going back to juvie.”

I kept my face expressionless.

“Three bumps for solicitation since 2006. Off the record, my source says her first pop was the year after Ajax went into the box.”

“That may or may not be meaningful.”

“Eeyuh.”

“So what are you thinking?”