A Conspiracy of Bones (Temperance Brennan #19)(58)

“Vodyanov had an apartment in a building near there. Did you get an LKA?” I was asking about a last-known address.

“When I do, there’s zero chance I’ll be sharing it with you.”

“You’ll bring Kimrey in for questioning? You have to act fast. He could ditch the stuff. Or destroy it.”

“Never thought of that.”

Birdie chose that moment to make his appearance. We both watched him slide around the door frame, circle Slidell’s ankles twice, then disappear into the pantry. For some reason, the cat is exceptionally fond of Skinny.

“Why clip reports on missing kids?”

Slidell has a habit of thinking out loud. He was doing that, but I answered anyway. “I don’t know.”

“Why toss them now?”

“We don’t know how long they were in the dumpster.”

“You’re sure the pouch held kids’ teeth?”

I nodded.

“They were at the incinerator?”

“Yes.”

“Why weren’t they toast?”

“Raccoons.”

Slidell raised quizzical brows.

“I’m guessing wet garbage was allowed to pile up, then hauled to the incinerator. Maybe some was taken straight out there. Either way, the ’coons hit before the next burn.”

“And one of them dragged the bone back under the netting?” Chin cocking at the fragment.

“Seems so.”

“Why would this yahoo Kimrey snatch the shit you collected?”

“I don’t know.” I was saying that a lot.

“Is it human?”

I tipped frustrated palms.

“DNA clear that up?”

“Yes. But you know how long it takes.”

Slidell ran a hand down his face and leaned back.

“How was your interview with the Cole neighbor?” I asked.

“Colorful.”

“Meaning?”

“Her name’s Cootie Clanahan. She hates Trump, loves Pearl Jam, NASCAR, and the White Sox.”

“Really.”

“And roses. Smelled like I was sitting in a goddamn funeral parlor.”

“What did she tell you?” Not touching the odd metaphor.

“She remembers a car circling the block the night before the Cole kid vanished. Says it was a 2007 Ford Mustang, forest green with a hinky front. The old gal’s batshit into cars, ’cause of the NASCAR thing.”

“Hinky?”

“Had some kinda custom grille work. She showed me in Road & Track what the ’07 Mustang looks like coming off the line. She subscribes, you believe that?”

“Impressive.”

“Gotta admit, she seemed solid. Weird but solid. She also said something got my attention.”

I waited while Slidell chugged more tea.

“There’s a park at the end of the street where the Coles were living. Clanahan could see it from her front window. I’m guessing she spent a lot of hours with her nose to the glass. Anyway, she remembers a guy hanging around about that same time. Said he looked hinky.”

“Odd grille work?”

“You want to practice your stand-up, or should I go on?”

I gestured for him to continue.

“She says she saw this guy talking to Jahaan and some other kids.”

“Did she report that?”

“When the cops didn’t call her back about the Mustang, she dropped it. Then she moved away. Here’s the thing. A couple months ago, a man came to see her. She found it weird that he’d tracked her down so long after the kid went missing, so she made an entry in her diary. I forgot to mention, Cootie’s writing her memoirs. That’s how she could remember all this detail about the vehicle. The guy claimed to be a cop, but she said he looked hinky.”

I refrained from comment.

“I’ve scoured the file. There’s no mention of any follow-up to Clanahan’s call. So that part tracks. Nothing about running down a tip on a Mustang. But back in the spring, when she says she was contacted, the case was colder than a nun’s tit.”

“No one was conducting interviews at that time?”

“No one was doing jackshit.”

“Did the hinky cop look like the guy in the park?”

“She wasn’t sure.”

“OK,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “OK.”

For several seconds, the only sound was Birdie messing with something in the pantry.

“What’s up with the Hyundai from Art’s Affordable?” I asked.

“As I suspected, Poston turned it over to us. Dickwad’s too—”

“And?”

“Forensics found nada.”

“No trace? No prints?”

“Wiped clean. Ditto the duffel and the stuff inside. Car’s registered to John Ito. Fake name, fake address. Dead end.”

“What’s happening with the notebook?”

“Peppers is holding it up in QD. Apparently, we’ve got no Latvian translator, so she’s waiting on you for that.”

“I’ll phone Pete again. He’s been out of town. But I’ll bet the farm the Estonia references are just notes on another conspiracy theory.”

Slidell nodded.