by Irene Hannon
Things were looking up.
Big time.
It seemed Barbara had unearthed far more leads than expected.
With the reports from the anthropologist, medical examiner, and odontologist all opened on her screen, Lisa took a swig from her bottle of water and went through them a second time, highlighting the findings that held promise.
They’d already nailed gender, race, height, and age . . . and the ME had confirmed cause of death as blunt force trauma to the head.
She paused at Barbara’s notation that the long bones in the woman’s arms and legs appeared stunted.
That deserved a highlight.
So did the section of the report where she described a small, faceted, blood-red stone she’d found while sifting through the dirt around the body. The geologist she’d consulted had identified it as a pyrope garnet. According to him, the stone was not naturally found in Missouri—or anywhere in the Midwest—and it had been cut by a gem cutter.
In other words, it was the kind of stone that might have been in a ring.
A ring that might have been on a severed finger.
Lisa took another drink, adrenaline pinging. An excellent lead.
And there was more.
She continued to read, highlighting Barbara’s reference to bilateral periosteal lesions of the lower limb bones—because lesions came up again in the odontologist’s report, this time located on the medial surface of the mandible—middle of the lower jawbone, per the English translation he’d provided. Also, for a young woman, the victim had had very poor teeth, with many showing evidence of antemortem decay.
In other words, she had a mouthful of cavities.
Leaning back in her chair, Lisa tapped the water bottle.
All of those clues were useful.
But she also had questions based on the new information. Questions perhaps best addressed by the medical examiner.
“You know, twenty years ago the sages predicted we’d be living in a paperless society.” Florence marched in and plopped a stack of files in Lisa’s in-box. “So much for the sages. Find anything interesting in the anthropologist’s report?”
“Maybe. Do you by chance have the County ME’s cell number?”
“Doubtful—but if not, I can get it. You need it right away?”
“Yes. I want to pick his brain about some of these findings.”
“Give me ten. And speaking of time . . . aren’t you supposed to be at the County courthouse soon to testify against that graffiti gang?”
“Yep. I’m on my way.” She began printing out the sheets she might need to reference in her conversation with the ME. “Will you call me with the number as soon as you find it?”
“You’ll have it before you get to I-64.”
As she pulled the first sheet from the printer, Lisa watched out of the corner of her eye while Florence bent down to give Tally a quick pat on her way out.
The old softie.
Florence stopped at the door. “Do you want me to get you another bottle of water for the road?”
“That would be great, thanks.” She swung back toward her printer and smiled at the older woman as she retrieved more sheets. “What would I do without you?”
“Hmph.” Florence picked a nonexistent piece of lint off her slacks. “I expect you’d get along fine—but to tell the truth, it’s nice to be needed. That whole retirement gig is highly overrated. I was bored out of my mind after three weeks. Nothing feeds the soul like doing work that matters. You get a move on, now.”
“I’m on my way.” Lisa gathered up her papers, stuck them into a file folder, and stood as Florence exited.
Tally rose too, and sent her a hopeful can-I-go-too look.
“Sorry, boy. Not today. You’d enjoy the ride, but the courthouse wouldn’t be your cup of tea.”
Snorting out a breath that sounded a lot like disgust, he plopped back onto his rug. The one he’d pilfered from the laundry room in her house and insisted on dragging into the office after she’d lost their tug-of-war.
“I’ll give you a treat later. How’s that?” She slid her uniform jacket off the hanger on the coatrack.
The appeasement attempt earned her a tiny tail swish, though he continued to sulk.
A biscuit on her return, however, would smooth things over—unless Florence beat her to it.
Five minutes later, the station still visible in her rearview mirror, her cell began ringing.
Speaking of their efficient office manager . . .
“So did you have it, or did you have to make some calls and do some fast-talking?” She eased onto the shoulder and picked up the folder from the seat beside her.
“The latter—and I can fast-talk with the best of them when the need arises. Do you have a pen handy?”
Lisa pulled one out of her shirt pocket. “Ready.” She jotted the number on the folder as Florence recited it. “Got it. Thanks a million.”
She disconnected that call and punched in the ME’s number.
The phone rang several times—but just when she thought it would roll to voice mail, he picked up.
Lisa introduced herself and got straight to business, explaining the case she was working on and the reports she’d received that afternoon.
“Yes, I recall the case. How can I help you?”
“I’m not certain you can, but I thought it would be worth having a conversation. There were a few facts in the different reports that seem as if they could be linked. I hoped, with your medical background, you might be able to connect the dots—or at least offer a theory, off the record.”
“I’ll give it a try.”
Lisa ticked off the information about the lesions, the woman’s poor dental history, and the old breaks in her arm and leg. “I wondered if there might be some relationship among all those things.”
“An interesting set of circumstances, no question about it. The bone issues, plus the teeth situation, make me wonder if the victim had some sort of dietary deficiency.”
“Such as?” She flipped open her notebook and began jotting.
“Inadequate vitamin D and calcium, or perhaps insufficient vitamin C. A person who was lactose intolerant and avoided milk products might develop some of those conditions . . . but the importance of calcium has been well documented for years, and supplements are readily available. Likewise with vitamin C. Most people even twenty or thirty years ago were savvy about nutritional basics.”
“Let’s suppose for a minute this person wasn’t. What sorts of conditions might those deficiencies cause?”
“In the most severe cases, untreated calcium deficiency can lead to problems like osteoporosis, high blood pressure, and cardiac arrhythmia. Insufficient vitamin C can compromise the immune system and cause dental issues.” A couple of beats ticked by. “And here’s one that’s out in left field—have you ever heard of scurvy?”
Lisa frowned. “Wasn’t that associated with sailors?”
“Yes. They were at sea for extended periods without any foods containing vitamin C, and that’s what scurvy is—a vitamin C deficiency. It was also a huge problem during the potato famine in Ireland. I read an intriguing article about that in a medical journal just a few weeks ago. But I’ve never run across a case of it in all my years as an ME.”
“What specific conditions make you think my victim might have had this?”
“The lesions of the lower limb bones could reflect the formation of ossified hematomas, which can be an indication of scurvy. So can periodontal disease—and jawbone lesions are a textbook characteristic of the disease. Your victim also broke two bones. That’s a lot for a young woman . . . but infants and children with scurvy have thin bones that fracture easily. Then there’s her short stature. The undersized long bones in the arms and legs would be a factor in that—and stunted bone growth is another indicator of the disease. When infants or children have scurvy, the growth plates in those bones harden prematurely.”
Lisa’s frown deepened. “But even if the wom
an in that grave was born forty or fifty years ago, scurvy wasn’t that common, was it?”
“No.”
“This is weird.”
“I agree. That’s why I gave the left-field warning. Scurvy is very difficult to definitively determine based on bones alone. Too many of the individual indicators are also symptomatic of other illnesses. Put them all together, though—it’s classic scurvy.”
Lisa flicked a glance in the rearview mirror and moved back into traffic. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“Which may go nowhere. If you have any other leads worth pursuing, I’d start with those rather than something this speculative.”
“I will . . . but it takes a lot of pieces to complete a puzzle. Yours may fit somewhere. Thanks again for taking the time to talk with me.”
“My pleasure—and good luck.”
“I’ll need all I can get with this one.”
As Lisa ended the call and accelerated toward her court date, she did her best to switch gears. She needed to get her head into the testimony she’d be giving in less than an hour.
But the minute she walked out of that courtroom, she’d be back on this—and looking forward to discussing it with Mac. It would be interesting to get his read on the new developments.
One thing for sure—a search through missing persons reports was ahead of her, starting tomorrow. Because even though decades might have passed since the crime, there could still be people who grieved for—and wanted answers about—the girl in that grave. Loved ones who needed closure.
And she intended to do everything in her power to give them both.
Was that Lisa?
Mac shaded his eyes against the late-afternoon sun and peered at the figure striding away from him down the sidewalk. The uniform didn’t make an ID easy—but that dark hair with fiery sparks? Very distinctive.
Hesitating, he surveyed the street in front of headquarters. No sign of his brothers yet—and they weren’t due for ten minutes. Meaning they’d likely show in fifteen or twenty. Maybe he could steal a few moments with the Carson police chief before he had to meet them for dinner at their designated rendezvous down the street.
He took off after the retreating woman at a half jog, waiting until he was closer to call out. “Lisa?”
She stopped. Turned. Smiled.
He closed the distance between them. “I thought that was you. What brings you to Clayton?”
“I was testifying in a case.” She waved toward the courthouse.
“Fun and games.”
“Not.” She fanned herself, then slipped her jacket off and draped it over her arm in one lithe movement. “It’s a hot one today.”
Hot was an appropriate word.
He kept his gaze fixed firmly on her face. “Yeah.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance yet to look over the final reports in the buried bones case.”
“No. Sorry. I’ve been on the run all day. I did see your email in my in-box, but I haven’t had one spare minute to open it. Did they offer any new clues?”
Animation sparked in her eyes. “More than I expected.”
As she gave him an update, enthusiasm chased the fatigue from her features. It took all his powers of concentration to focus on the words instead of the woman.
When she finished, he folded his arms. “The garnet, coupled with the severed finger, strikes me as the most helpful pieces of information. That whole scurvy thing is an interesting theory, but it seems far-fetched.”
“I know. The ME warned me not to put too much stock in that and to check other leads first. But I’m not discounting the notion; it may end up being significant. In any case, I’ll be interested to hear your take after you review the reports in detail.”
“I’ll tell you what . . . why don’t I do that tomorrow morning and swing by your office sometime in the afternoon? I’m going to be out that direction anyway.” For some reason he’d concoct between now and then. “I can give you an ETA by noon.”
“Are you certain that’s not too much of an imposition?”
Finding an excuse to trek west so he could spend time with the woman across from him?
Never.
“Not at all.”
“All right. That would be great. I plan to stick close to my desk most of the day and dive into missing persons reports.”
“That could be a long, boring job.”
“Could be. But I decided to start with NamUs. It might not be as comprehensive as NCIC, but it’s more manageable. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
NamUs . . . NamUs . . . oh, yeah. The National Missing and Unidentified Persons System.
“I’ve never used that database. We didn’t have any unidentified bodies during my tenure in Norfolk.”
“We didn’t have many in Chicago, either. I’ve only been on the site once myself. It’s a lot newer than NCIC, but the missing persons data is more comprehensive. I think it’s worth checking.”
“If that doesn’t pan out, NCIC may be—”
“Sorry to interrupt . . . but we’re parked illegally and we don’t want to get a ticket—even if we do have connections.”
As Lance spoke behind him, Mac stifled a groan.
For once his brothers had shown up early.
Go figure.
Bracing, he shifted toward them. Their eyes were unreadable behind dark sunglasses, but he had no doubt they were both giving Lisa a thorough once-over under cover of those concealing shades.
He eased slightly between her and them as he checked out their vehicle.
Yep. Illegally parked—right in front of headquarters. And they were minutes . . . if not seconds . . . away from a ticket.
It would serve them right too, for their out-of-character punctuality.
“You’re early—and I thought we were going to meet at the restaurant.”
“We were trying to find a parking place when we spotted you and decided to join the party.” Lance flashed Lisa a smile. “And we’re early because Finn’s hungry. So . . . aren’t you going to introduce us?” He removed his sunglasses and crinkled his baby blues at Lisa.
Her lips rose in response.
So did Mac’s blood pressure.
Better to get this over with fast—and get them away from Lisa.
As he did the intros, Finn grinned at the chief and also took off his shades, holding her hand a heartbeat too long . . . by Mac’s calculation, anyway.
If Lisa noticed his siblings’ less-than-subtle flirting, however, she gave no indication.
“I’ve heard about you guys. Delta Force and Army Ranger. Talk about a high-octane family.” She included him in her quick sweep. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been in the presence of this much testosterone.”
She had no idea.
In his peripheral vision, Mac saw a patrol car slow beside his brothers’ rented SUV.
Yes!
“I’d move the vehicle if I were you.” He nodded toward the officer who was now getting out of his car.
“Finn . . . go take care of that.” Lance waved his younger sibling off, his gaze leaving Lisa’s only long enough to assess the situation.
“Why don’t you go take care of it?”
“Because I’m about to invite this lovely lady to join us for dinner.”
Lisa cast a quick glance at Mac as Finn grumbled an unintelligible comment and sprinted toward the SUV.
Now what was he supposed to do? He’d love to have dinner with her . . . but not in the company of his siblings.
As if she’d read his mind, she shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I still have a few things to wrap up at the office. Besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude on family time. I know you three don’t have much of a chance to get together.” She slid her sunglasses over her nose and once more focused on him. “I’ll look forward to hearing your take on that case. You all enjoy your evening.”
She was gone before either of them had a chance to respond.
Mac motioned toward Finn,
who was having an intent discussion with the officer. No doubt doing his best to talk himself out of another self-inflicted sticky situation. “Let’s go rescue the kid.”
Lance fell in beside him. “You’ve been holding out on us.”
Mac picked up his pace.
His middle brother remained silent while he handled the situation with the officer.
As soon as the man started toward his patrol car, Finn looked past his brothers in the direction Lisa had disappeared, disappointment scoring his features. “Is the babe gone?”
Babe?
Mac fisted his hands. “Chief Grant had work to do.”
“I invited her to dinner, but Mac didn’t enthusiastically endorse the idea.” Lance smirked at him. “I wonder why?”
Finn was still peering into the distance, as if hoping to catch one final glimpse of Lisa. “I thought you said you weren’t dating anyone here yet.”
“I’m not. I know her only in a professional capacity. County is helping her out with a case.”
“Yeah?” Lance squinted at him. “Then how come I’m picking up some serious—”
“Stop.” Mac held up his palms. “I’m not having this discussion on a street corner.” Or anywhere else for that matter, if he could help it. “And if I were you two, I’d make this SUV disappear pronto. That officer hasn’t moved, and he’s giving you the evil eye. I’m not going to bail you out a second time.”
“Fine. Where should we park?” Finn fished the keys out of his pocket.
“Where I told you to park when we discussed it this morning.”
“That was before I had my coffee. I’m not responsible for any information delivered pre-caffeine.”
“Yeah? How does that work for you in the field?”
A flash of—pain?—whipped across Finn’s face, replaced so fast by his usual jaunty grin that Mac wondered if he’d imagined it.
Somehow he didn’t think so.
What was going on with the youngest McGregor?
“I always have a large supply of java on the job. Now you want to repeat the instructions?”
This time Mac complied. When he finished, he gestured down the street. “I’ll meet you guys at the restaurant. They won’t hold reservations more than fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll go with you.” Lance clapped his younger brother on the shoulder. “See you after you park the car, kid.”