A Conspiracy of Bones (Temperance Brennan #19)(84)

July 11: Slidell interrogates Aiello, patent attorney with two kiddie-porn busts. Aiello says Vodyanov (a) was paranoid; (b) accused him of kidnapping and killing kids, suddenly dropped allegations; (c) resumed stalking him shortly before his death. Brennan has migraine or is poisoned/drugged and disappears for ten hours.

July 12: Heavner tells Slidell that Vodyanov died of fentanyl overdose.

July 13: Brennan makes thin sections from bone fragment found at fenced property/bunker in Cleveland County. Deer bone.



I scanned the timeline. Mostly, it reflected my actions and those of Slidell. Lots of digging, little result.

Ryan returned to find me slumped back, frowning at the screen. At his prompting, I explained my frustration.

“Try a new angle,” he suggested.

“Such as?”

“Retrace the movements of your faceless man. Track what Vodyanov did in the weeks leading up to his death.”

“Sadly, I know very little.”

“Hit me with it.”

“According to Asia Barrow, Vodyanov had repeatedly checked into Sparkling Waters because of stress related to taphophobia, was discharged for the final time in late May or early June.”

Something niggled at a corner of my brain. What? I tried to pry the thought loose. It wouldn’t budge. I continued.

“According to Vince Aiello, Vodyanov’s stalking resumed in late May or early June, continued over the next several weeks.”

“Coincidence?”

I shrugged. Who knows?

“Go on.”

“According to Bing, Vodyanov and Aiello had their fight at DeepHaven on June 20. I spotted Vodyanov skulking around Sharon Hall on June 22. He was dead of a fentanyl overdose by June 29.”

We both considered the dates, looking for a pattern. Ryan spoke first.

“After leaving the ashram, Vodyanov repeatedly tried to connect with Vince Aiello. Resumed harassing him for information on missing kids.”

“Yes. And Vodyanov was also watching me.”

“Why?”

“To share intel? Ask for intel?”

“Concerning?”

“No idea.”

“What could have triggered Vodyanov’s desire to contact a forensic anthropologist and a patent lawyer with a taste for child porn? Might something have happened during his last stay at Sparkling Waters?”

“Felix Vodyanov was Nick Body’s older brother,” I said, having no answer to Ryan’s question.

“Nick Body, the egomaniacal provocateur.”

“Yes. New angle. How about we take a look at Body?”

We revisited the timeline. Found not the slightest hint to the whereabouts or actions of Vodyanov’s younger sibling.

I sat back, thinking about that. About the hours of digging that Slidell and I had done.

Was I wearing blinders? Was I missing one big-ass exhibit A?

I was defining evidence as that which I had. That which I’d lost. Objects. Images. But what about all those tiny facts bearing witness to a life? The personal minutiae stored in millions of archives in dozens of countries?

“Vodyanov left virtually no internet footprint,” I said. “Slidell and I both researched the guy. He wasn’t in any database.”

“Little brother?”

“Same story. Body has a public profile, still he managed to keep his private life hidden. In today’s interconnected, digitized world, that kind of anonymity is almost impossible.”

Realization. The absence of data can be as important as that which is present. That absence is evidence.

I straightened in my chair and tapped the space bar.

“Going to have another go at him?”

I nodded.

First off, I spent a little more time at Body Language. What the hell? I’d already forked over the fee. Body was as nauseating as I recalled. I was switching from a rant on fraudulent voting in the last election to one suggesting that the recent wildfires in California were the result of a government conspiracy to clear land for a rapid-transit system when my new phone chimed an incoming call.





29


“Where the hell have you been?”

“They didn’t serve Jell-O.”

“For shit’s sake. For once, can’t you just chill?” Slidell’s voice sounded like battery acid burning through rust. The stress and fatigue told me he’d been up all night.

“Yes, I am feeling better. Thanks for asking.”

My eyes met Ryan’s. I mouthed the name Slidell. He gestured that he was going back upstairs and waggled his phone. I nodded.

“Ryan get in OK?”

“Yes. I bought a new mobile and laptop.” Reporting my histology caper would have required a confession of withholding half the bone fragment. No way.

“You lost your phone?”

“Or someone took it. It was missing from my purse. Thanks for stowing that and the file, by the way. And for bringing my keys to the hospital.”

“Looks like some asshat maybe did torch your place.”

I didn’t interrupt.

“CSU lifted one print had no business being there.”

“Where?”

“Ledge outside the kitchen window.”

“You got a hit?”

“Holly Kimrey.”