"Why's a coroner come caling to tel me this?"
Emma regarded Pinckney, considering, I suspected, how much to disclose about the recovery of his bilfold.
"Just lending the sheriff a hand," Emma said.
Thanking Pinckney for his time, Emma descended the steps. When she joined me, we both turned to cross the yard.
Blocking our path was a mangy gray poodle in a studded pink colar. Between its forepaws lay a dead squirrel.
The poodle regarded us with curiosity. We reciprocated.
"Douglas." Pinckney gave a short, sharp whistle. "Get in here."
Douglas rose, clamped the squirrel in his teeth, and circled us.
I heard a thrup, then a bang as Emma and I continued toward the car.
"Nice old coot," Emma said.
"Douglas?"
"Pinckney."
"Travels with Squirrely."
Emma shot me a look.
I started the car, made a U-ey, and plowed up the drive.
"Douglas?" Emma asked.
"Colar's a bit of a fashion risk, but Doug makes it work. Color highlights his eyes."
"What are the chances the old coot was robbed?" Emma asked.
"What are the chances I'l be this year's American Idol?" I replied.
"And then there were two," Emma said when we'd reached the blacktop.
"The man in the trees. The man on Dewees."
"Nice rhyme."
"Irish blood. By the way, how's yours today?"
"I'm a little tired, but OK."
"Honestly?"
She nodded.
"Good."
Emma didn't ask if I'd help with the skeletal analysis of the man in the trees. We both knew the answer. We also knew that Gulet would be doing some legwork, and that he'd be skeptical of my involvement in yet another case.
Imagining the conversation he and Emma would have, I drove straight to the morgue.
===OO=OOO=OO===
After Emma caled Gulet to give him the news, Tuesday afternoon was a replay of Saturday morning. Same morgue cooler. Same tile and stainless steel autopsy room. Same smel of disinfected death.
Miler had logged the hanging victim as CCC-2006020285.
After changing into scrubs, Emma and I transferred CCC-2006020285 from his bag to the autopsy table. First the articulated portions, next the skul, finaly the body parts that had falen or been yanked free and dragged off by scavengers.
The brain and internal organs were gone. The torso, arms, and upper leg bones remained encased in muscle and ligament, at some points putrefied, at others browned and toughened by sun and wind. Though inconvenient for skeletal analysis, the flesh was a potential bonus for a quick ID. Tissue means skin. Skin means prints.
A jacket sleeve had protected the right hand, sparing it ful-out mummification. But decomposition had rendered the tissue extremely fragile.
"Got TES?" I asked Emma. Tissue Enhancing Solution, a citric acid-buffered salt solution useful for restoring dried or damaged tissue.
"Courtesy of my favorite embalmer."
"Warm it to about fifty Celsius, please." As with the Dewees case, Emma had made me head honcho during examination of these bones. I wasn't sure how long she'd get away with it, but I was determined to do the job until someone puled the plug.
"Microwave?"
"Fine."
While Emma was gone, I removed each of the right digits at the level of the first interphalangeal joint. When she returned, I placed the severed fingers in the solution and set them aside to soak.
"Mind if I slide out for a while? There's a construction site death needs my attention. When the prints are ready, give them to the tech and he'l shoot them to Gulet."
"No problem."
The skeletal exam was straightforward enough. And, save for the tedium of cutting and stripping tissue, somewhat reminiscent of Saturday's analysis of the Dewees unknown.
The vertebral column was the most difficult to separate into component parts. While it soaked, I began with those bones less tenaciously imprisoned in flesh.
Skul and pelvic shape said this vic was male.
Dental, rib, and pubic symphyseal indicators said he'd lived thirty-five to fifty years.
Cranial and facial architecture said his ancestors came from Europe.
Another white guy in his
Emma regarded Pinckney, considering, I suspected, how much to disclose about the recovery of his bilfold.
"Just lending the sheriff a hand," Emma said.
Thanking Pinckney for his time, Emma descended the steps. When she joined me, we both turned to cross the yard.
Blocking our path was a mangy gray poodle in a studded pink colar. Between its forepaws lay a dead squirrel.
The poodle regarded us with curiosity. We reciprocated.
"Douglas." Pinckney gave a short, sharp whistle. "Get in here."
Douglas rose, clamped the squirrel in his teeth, and circled us.
I heard a thrup, then a bang as Emma and I continued toward the car.
"Nice old coot," Emma said.
"Douglas?"
"Pinckney."
"Travels with Squirrely."
Emma shot me a look.
I started the car, made a U-ey, and plowed up the drive.
"Douglas?" Emma asked.
"Colar's a bit of a fashion risk, but Doug makes it work. Color highlights his eyes."
"What are the chances the old coot was robbed?" Emma asked.
"What are the chances I'l be this year's American Idol?" I replied.
"And then there were two," Emma said when we'd reached the blacktop.
"The man in the trees. The man on Dewees."
"Nice rhyme."
"Irish blood. By the way, how's yours today?"
"I'm a little tired, but OK."
"Honestly?"
She nodded.
"Good."
Emma didn't ask if I'd help with the skeletal analysis of the man in the trees. We both knew the answer. We also knew that Gulet would be doing some legwork, and that he'd be skeptical of my involvement in yet another case.
Imagining the conversation he and Emma would have, I drove straight to the morgue.
===OO=OOO=OO===
After Emma caled Gulet to give him the news, Tuesday afternoon was a replay of Saturday morning. Same morgue cooler. Same tile and stainless steel autopsy room. Same smel of disinfected death.
Miler had logged the hanging victim as CCC-2006020285.
After changing into scrubs, Emma and I transferred CCC-2006020285 from his bag to the autopsy table. First the articulated portions, next the skul, finaly the body parts that had falen or been yanked free and dragged off by scavengers.
The brain and internal organs were gone. The torso, arms, and upper leg bones remained encased in muscle and ligament, at some points putrefied, at others browned and toughened by sun and wind. Though inconvenient for skeletal analysis, the flesh was a potential bonus for a quick ID. Tissue means skin. Skin means prints.
A jacket sleeve had protected the right hand, sparing it ful-out mummification. But decomposition had rendered the tissue extremely fragile.
"Got TES?" I asked Emma. Tissue Enhancing Solution, a citric acid-buffered salt solution useful for restoring dried or damaged tissue.
"Courtesy of my favorite embalmer."
"Warm it to about fifty Celsius, please." As with the Dewees case, Emma had made me head honcho during examination of these bones. I wasn't sure how long she'd get away with it, but I was determined to do the job until someone puled the plug.
"Microwave?"
"Fine."
While Emma was gone, I removed each of the right digits at the level of the first interphalangeal joint. When she returned, I placed the severed fingers in the solution and set them aside to soak.
"Mind if I slide out for a while? There's a construction site death needs my attention. When the prints are ready, give them to the tech and he'l shoot them to Gulet."
"No problem."
The skeletal exam was straightforward enough. And, save for the tedium of cutting and stripping tissue, somewhat reminiscent of Saturday's analysis of the Dewees unknown.
The vertebral column was the most difficult to separate into component parts. While it soaked, I began with those bones less tenaciously imprisoned in flesh.
Skul and pelvic shape said this vic was male.
Dental, rib, and pubic symphyseal indicators said he'd lived thirty-five to fifty years.
Cranial and facial architecture said his ancestors came from Europe.
Another white guy in his
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