Bone Deep jb-5

by David Wiltse

  "I've heard of it," Becker said.

  "You must have heard just about everything by now," Kom said. "It must be an interesting way of life."

  "It's not a way of life," Becker said, not quite concealing his anger.

  "It's a job."

  "Of course. I misspoke, sorry, no offense intended… Where did you find the bone?"

  "It washed up in a woman's yard from the flooding," Tee said. "We don't know where it came from yet. We just started searching today."

  A woman stepped out of the house, carrying a tray of glasses and a pitcher of iced tea. She was tall and moved with the studied grace of a model even while crossing the uneven surface of the fieldstone path. The three men watched her come, but she carried herself like a woman who was accustomed to being looked at.

  "Isn't she gorgeous?" Kom said proudly, watching his wife approach. She was close enough to hear but appeared to take no notice of the remark.

  "Tovah, sweetheart, you know the chief of police."

  "Hello, Mrs. Kom."

  "How are you, Mr. Terhune?"

  "And this is John Becker," Kom said proudly, as if displaying a trophy.

  Then, as if showing off another, he added, "My wife."

  She put down the tray and offered a cool hand to Becker.

  "Tovah Kom," she said. Her lips were painted with a cruel slash of crimson that looked as if it had been applied in anger, and her eyes had been shadowed in gray, giving her a sad and haggard appearance that was belied by her large, robust body. Heavy gold rings fell from her ears, more gold hung around her neck, and her wrists and hands were covered in an ostentatious display of yet more gold encrusted with diamonds. Becker found it hard at first glance to tell if she was a sickly woman dressed to look like a rich man's wife or a beautiful woman trying to pass as the languishing victim of a vampire. He wondered if she herself had decided how she wanted to appear. "I thought you gentlemen might like some iced tea," she said, glancing at the tray, then seeing the bone.

  "Do you have to have that lying around?"

  "It won't bite," Kom said. "A lot of things don't bite that you don't want to look at," she said. She was only slightly taller than her husband but her perfect carriage made her look taller than she was.

  With a display of pleasing the little lady, Kom covered the bone with the towel and handed it to Tee.

  "You'll be wanting it back," he said, sounding disappointed.

  Tee gently took the cloth-wrapped parcel. "Do you have any idea how old it might be?"

  "Again, outside my area of expertise, I'm afraid. The bones I look at professionally are living. Several years, would be my guess. Listen, if I can be any help when you find the rest of her, let me know. I'm happy to help out in any way I can."

  "We will," said Tee.

  To Becker, Kom said, "Listen, we should get together and talk sometime.

  It sounds like we have a lot in common. Tovah will get in touch with your wife, we can have dinner. "

  "That would be nice," Becker said without enthusiasm.

  "Tovah's a hell of a cook," Kom said.

  "He means that in the best way possible," said Tovah.

  Becker smiled. "I'm sure he does."

  "What does your wife do, Mr. Becker? Does she work?" Tovah indicated Kom with an inclination of her head. "This one assumes women just sit around waiting for dinner invitations from strangers."

  "What did I say?" Kom asked. He turned his palms skyward, miming bafflement for Tee.

  "She's my boss, actually," Becker said. "She's the head of my department at the Bureau."

  "Your wife's in it too? Listen, this is great, isn't this great, Tovah?

  Both of you in the business. God, I'd love to hear your dinner conversations."

  "As opposed to ours, which don't interest him at all," Tovah said. She addressed this, as she did many remarks, to no one in particular, playing to a middle distance removed from her auditors, seemingly not caring if she was heard or not.

  Kom ignored her. "So listen, John, why don't you give me your card, Tovah will call your wife. Is there anything you don't like to eat?

  Lobster gives me hives. Otherwise… Tovah, you ask him, this isn't my department." Tovah turned to Becker as if summoned from a distance. A wry smile tugged at her lips and she studied him for a moment before speaking.

  "Is there anything you don't like to eat, Mr. Becker? This one doesn't like lobster..

  "I like lobster, it just gives me hives," Kom said.

  "Hives aren't contagious," she said.

  Becker took a business card from his wallet and handed it to Kom.

  "Anything is fine. I eat anything."

  "How about your wife? Does she eat anything too? That's a silly question, she's a wife, she must be used to eating all kinds of things.

  Or is that just doctors' wives?"

  Kom chuckled but no one else seemed amused.

  It was not until Tee and Becker had driven off that Kom looked at Becker's business card and realized that the only telephone number was the Bureau office in New York.

  "It's not that I feel offended or anything, you understand, I is just a lowly policeman and doesn't belong up in de big house wif de quality folks, but shit, was it necessary to invite you fight in front of me?"

  "Believe me, Tee, you're better off."

  "I mean, you're probably a fascinating guy, John-I haven't seen it yet in twenty years, but never mind, I can see why somebody might think it would be a hell of a good idea to sit down and eat with you. But Christ, I know which fork to use too."

  "Which one do you use? I've never been clear on that."

  "The one on the left is for salad, the one on the right is for meat, the one in the middle is for soup."

  "That's not soup, that's the finger bowl."

  "See, there you go, that's why I don't get invited out. Maybe you could take me along and show me how to behave."

  "Don't get pissed off at me, I didn't have anything to do with it."

  "Yeah, but you're handy."

  "Do you want to socialize with those people? They are not a happy couple."

  "He's happy, that ought to count for something."

  "I'm sure it does, with him," Becker said.

  "She looks like a model, doesn't she? Or like she could have been one."

  "Like a model who has grown up and allowed herself to eat once in a while," said Becker.

  "If I were single and younger and a good deal more agile, I wouldn't mind jumping her bones. She looks like she could wrap those legs around your neck and make you do awful things your mother wouldn't approve of."

  "What do you think it means when a woman never calls her husband by his name?"

  "Is this slightly off the point? I'm talking about things done only by circus performers."

  "She calls him 'him' or 'this one.'

  "What should she call him, 'Dr. Kom'?" 'Stanley'? 'Stan'? Don't you think it's a little distancing to refer to someone only in the third person? It sounds like he belongs to her but she doesn't much care for him."

  "Some sonofabitch of a doctor put me in a million-dollar home with a pool and a tennis court and covered me with enough gold and trinkets to break my back, I wouldn't like him either. Particularly if the bastard positively glowed with pride every time I showed up, praised my cooking, told the world how gorgeous I was. What's to like there?"

  "You're looking at it from the man's point of view, Becker said.

  "No I'm not."

  "Sure you are. You're saying, 'Look at all the stuff I give you, why aren't you happy? How ungrateful not to be happy." We have no idea what things are like from her perspective."

  "I have no idea what things are like from her perspective, John. Somehow I suspect that you not only know but you're going to enlighten me right about now."

  "No I'm not."

  "Sure you are," said Tee. "You know everything else, you must know this, too. Go ahead, tell me what it's like being the doctor's wife."

  "Skip
it."

  "I'm dying to hear."

  "I'm through with the subject," said Becker.

  "Good," snapped Tee.

  The men rode in silence until Tee dropped Becker off at his house.

  "See you," said Becker, as the cruiser pulled away. Tee did not respond.

  McNeil walked the right side of the Saugatuck River and Officer Metzger covered the left, holding his German shep herd on a long leash. The dog, which was still not much more than a puppy, belonged to Metzger and had been trained to sniff out illegal substances, not old bones. It appeared to be taking the long trek as a lark, and was continually distracted by squirrels. The river was only a stream at this point but earlier in their travels it had been over a hundred yards wide; the dog in its adolescent enthusiasm had nearly pulled Metzger into the water several times.

  McNeil yawned. It had been a late night last night and he resented being put on a fruitless foot patrol. Normally, if he was on the day shift, he would sneak a half-hour nap in the cruiser while lying by in the speed trap.

  He glanced at his watch, then took a squint at the sun as if to verify the time by more ancient means.

  "This is far enough," McNeil said.

  Metzger looked at him across the happy bounce of water. "Tee said to go all the way to the reservoir," he said. McNeil looked around to find something dry enough to sit on. Although the waters had receded, the ground this close to the banks was still sodden. He perched on a rock and examined his muddy boots. His feet were as wet as if he had gone wading barefooted.

  "We're practically there," he said. "This is good enough."

  Metzger hesitated, leaning to one side to counter the tug of the dog on the leash.

  "Go ahead, if you want to," said McNeil. "You really think you're going to find anything in the last quarter-mile? Don't be a jerk."

  Metzger, who often secretly wondered if he might be a jerk, did not like to be called one. He barked a command to the dog, which stopped sniffing and sat instantly, eyeing his master expectantly. "So you going to tell him we went to the reservoir?" Metzger asked.

  "Unless you want to."

  "I don't want to."

  "There's nothing between here and the reservoir except another quarter-mile of trees." The reservoir was the necessary cutoff of their search because the town limits bisected the body of water. Beyond the reservoir lay the jurisdiction of another police force. "You think you're going to find any bones in the last quarter-mile if we haven't found any in the first six miles?"

  "Guess not," said Metzger, although he wasn't certain why. It seemed to him they were as likely to find bones in one spot as any other, and not very likely to find them anyplace at all, outside of a cemetery. There were a few tiny and ancient cemeteries scattered throughout the town, most of them in churchyards, of course, but a few on private property, tucked away on land that had once been farmed but had long ago been allowed to return to woodlands. The headstones stood or lay where they had fallen, neglected, forgotten, of no more interest to the average Clamden resident than the forsaken stone fences that snaked through the forested portion of everyone's backyard, toppled by nature, gravity, and desuetude. The known graveyards had been untouched by the high waters.

  It appeared to Metzger that the unknown would stay unknown, at least as far as he and McNeil were concerned. There was an edgy, aggressive quality to McNeil that Metzger didn't like to go up against. It wasn't that he thought McNeil was smarter, but McNeil definitely had greater faith in his own opinions than did Metzger, and vastly more energy, which could manifest itself in a snarling surliness when the man was crossed.

  Metzger made a kissing noise through pursed lips and the dog trotted to his side, burrowing its nose into his hand to be petted.

  'There's just one thing," Metzger said.

  "There's always some shit with you," McNeil growled. "You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?"

  Metzger turned his attention to the dog, rubbing its head and ears. The dog was quick comfort against the incivilities of his fellow humans.

  "Well, what is it?" McNeil demanded, after Metzger's moment with the dog had stretched into a minute's sulk.

  "How we going to get home?" They had parked one cruiser at the reservoir and driven another to a church parking lot a few hundred yards from the Leigh lawn, where the bone was found. "We walk to the car," McNeil said.

  "Well, since we're walking there anyway.

  "We walk on the goddamned road and not halfway up to our knees in mud, that's the difference, but hell, if you want to keep dragging your ass through this swamp, be my guest. It'll only take you another half hour.

  I'll be there in five minutes and take a nap while I'm waiting. If you feel like telling Tee about it, go right ahead."

  "I wasn't going to tell Tee."

  "I wouldn't put it past you." McNeil rose again and took a step in the direction of the road. "Well… come on."

  Metzger leapt over the stream, landing a foot short and sinking into the ooze. The dog splashed happily through the water, ignoring its master's curses. When they caught up with McNeil, who was waiting at the roadside, the dog scampered happily about him although McNeil ignored the animal. Metzger harbored unpleasant thoughts about the perfidy of the beast before admitting to himself that he, too, was currying McNeil's approval. He didn't know why the other officer's rough affection and lopsided grin meant so much to him. When McNeil patted him on the back and called him buddy, Metzger felt a sense of self-betrayal that he had known all his life.

  They walked along the side of the road, McNeil now voluble and hearty, the dog at his heels after its explorations as if he, and not Metzger, were its owner.

  Tee overtook them less than a hundred yards from their car.

  "So? Find anything?"

  "A lot of mud," said McNeil aggrievedly, displaying his soiled boots and pants leg. He was a meticulous dresser, known and sometimes laughed at-but never to his facefor the exaggerated crease in his khaki trousers and shirts. The other officers whispered that McNeil did the laundry himself-not his wife, who reportedly had stopped speaking to him years ago.

  "Did you go all the way?" Tee asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean you're walking on the road, the river's fifty yards into the woods. Did you cover both sides of the river all the way to the reservoir like I told you?"

  "Close enough," said McNeil.

  "What's that mean, did you or didn't you?"

  "Pretty nearly, Chief," Metzger said. "We went all the way up to that traffic signal back there." He pointed to a yellow sign indicating a bend in the road where they had emerged from the woods.

  "N" y did you stop there?"

  "There's nothing in there. We ain't going to find anything. It's a wild-goose chase," said McNeil. "But they, shit, you want us to cover that last bit, we'll cover it. No problem." Tee stepped out of the car.

  He was a large man, his natural bulk enhanced by thirty pounds of overeating, and when he stood close to most people, the effect was intimidating. He put his chest against McNeil's, towering over him by nearly a head. McNeil stared sullenly back at him, not giving an inch.

  "Glad to hear it's no problem, you doing what you're told," Tee said.

  "Now let's go see what you missed."

  The dog found the trash bag in the first minute of the search. It had settled back into its hole in the orchard after the water receded, and other bones were showing through the open tear in the plastic. "Holy shit," said Metzger, bending over the bag. Tee joined him and the two men gently moved the opening in the bag from one side to another, trying to get a full view of its contents. The skeleton's head tilted into sight, raffishly cocked as if it, too, wanted to get a look.

  "It looks like a whole body," Tee said.

  "It does," said Metzger, who had involuntarily jerked away when the head suddenly appeared. "It really does."

  Tee faced McNeil. "Nothing in this last little bit of woods, huh?"

  "Fuck me, I didn't
know."

  Muddy water still filled the bag, weighing it down, and they decided to leave it in its depression rather than risk tearing it completely by lifting it out.

  Tee surveyed the area. The little orchard of cultivated pines covered no more than a few acres within the woods. At the thirty-five-dollar minimum they would fetch locally, just enough Christmas trees to make a nice annual Yuletide bonus for some industrious entrepreneur.

  "Call town hall and find out who this plot of land belongs to," he said to McNeil. "Then call John Becker and see if he would be good enough to come out here."

  "This isn't a federal case," McNeil said.

  "I want to make sure the investigation is done right," said Tee. "He's on vacation, he won't mind advising."

  "I think we can handle it," said McNeil.

  "You thought there weren't any more bones in here too. Just make the calls."

  McNeil sauntered off, refusing to hurry.

  "Keep the dog away from this," Tee said to Metzger, but the dog had moved on and was now whining at the base of another small pine. Tee called after McNeil. "And when you come back, bring a shovel."

  One corpse was a murder, a local offense, a state crime, an incident that fell within the jurisdiction of the town constabulary and the state police. Two corpses, if linked, were serial murder, a federal offense that landed within the purview of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  By the time Becker arrived at the orchard, the dog had turned its capacity from friendly adviser to active case officer.

  5

  "Zis is such a Inge groped for a word, casting an arm above her to indicate the motel room. "How do you say? Zis room is so. "Small."

  "No, no, it is small, of course it is small, but I mean it is also so..

  " She waved her hand again. "Help me."

  "Cheap."

  "Is it cheap? Yes? How much does it cost?"

  "Thirty dollars for a 'short stay.'

  "A short stay? Zat is us?"

  "That's us. We have three hours, then they come rapping on the door to get us out."

  "Three hours? Thirty dollars? For a place such as zis? it is outrageous. Zere is not room enough to walk, ze sheets haf holes… zere is not even a clock. You must not pay so much, it is outrageous for such a… room."