Flash and Bones by Kathy Reichs Page B

crap?”
    “She loved him.” As though the question confused her.
    “You think she went off with him?”
    “Huh-uh.”
    “What’s your take?”
    Nolan looked from Slidell to me, then back. Her response was delivered with breathy affect. “I think Cale killed her, then ran away.”
    Humid air pressed our skin as Slidell and I walked back to the Taurus. The sun was a silver-white disc in the sky. An anemic breeze carried the smell of hot brick and mowed grass.
    “Brain power of a newt.”
    I suspected Slidell was underestimating the amphibian. Didn’t say so.
    “What was that shit above her head?”
    I wasn’t sure if he meant Nolan’s updo or the logo. I went with the latter. “Genomics is the study of the genomes of organisms.”
    “Like figuring out their DNA?”
    “Yes. Proteomics is the study of proteins. Metabolomics is the study of cellular processes.” Oversimplified but close enough.
    “How’s all that fit in with air pollution?”
    “I’ll Google CRRI.”
    Slidell and I got into the car. The heat was worthy of Death Valley.
    “What do you think of Nolan’s theory?” I asked after securing my belt.
    “That Lovette killed Gamble? The thought crossed my mind.”
    “Really?”
    Slidell didn’t elaborate until he’d turned the key, maxed the air-conditioning, and unwrapped and popped a stick of Juicy Fruit into his mouth.
    “In his notes, Eddie mentions a guy name of Owen Poteat.” Slidell made a U-ey toward the main drag. “Back in ’ninety-eight, Poteat claimed he saw Lovette at the Charlotte airport on the twenty-fourth of October.”
    The implication was clear.
    “That was ten days after Lovette and Gamble disappeared from the Speedway. How did Poteat know it was Lovette?”
    “He’d seen a photo on a flyer. Said the tats and bald head caught his attention.”
    “Was Poteat considered credible?”
    “The task force thought so. According to Eddie, Poteat’s statement played heavy into the conclusion that Lovette and Gamble took off.”
    “What about Cindi?” I asked.
    “What about her?”
    “Did Poteat see her at the airport with Lovette?”
    “Apparently he wasn’t so sure. But here’s the thing.”
    Slidell flipped a wave at the guard as we exited the gates. The young man watched us roll through but didn’t wave back.
    “At the back of the notebook, Eddie had a page marked with big question marks.”
    “Meaning?”
    “Meaning he had questions.” Slidell reached out and smacked the AC control with the heel of one hand.
    Easy, Brennan
.
    “Questions about Poteat?” I asked oh-so-precisely.
    “Who the hell knows? For that entry, he used one of his codes. Means nothing to me.” Slidell yanked his spiral from a shirt pocket and tossed it to me. “I copied the stuff into there.”
    ME/SC 2X13G-529 OTP FU
    Wi-Fr 6–8
    When hurried or feeling the need for discretion, Rinaldi used a form of shorthand known only to him. The cryptic notations were typical.
    “Maine and South Carolina?” I guessed, looking at the longer entry.
    Slidell shrugged.
    I played with the alphanumeric combo. “Could it be a license plate?”
    “I’ll run it.”
    “FU probably means follow up.”
    I played some more. Came up blank.
    “Can I have this?”
    “Yeah, sure.”
    I tore the page free and slipped it into my purse. Then, “Who is Owen Poteat?”
    “I’ll know soon.”
    I settled back and closed my eyes. The heat and the car’s motion acted like drugs. I was dropping off when my mobile sounded.
    Joe Hawkins.
    I clicked on.
    “Hey, Joe.” Sluggish.
    “Forensics called with a prelim on the goop from the barrel. Good old asphalt, just like we thought.”
    “Not very useful.”
    “Maybe no, maybe yes. The sample contained an additive called Rosphalt, a synthetic dry-mix material made by Royston. Provides waterproofing, skid resistance, protects against rutting and shoving, thermal fatigue cracking, that kind of thing. ”
    “Uh-huh.” Stifling a yawn.
    “Rosphalt comes in three