Goodnight, Irene by Jan Burke Page A

figured he’d go check out this Hannah story. He dug out the case file, and saw a reference to an evidence number. He was especially interested in the dental section of the report.”
    Frank stopped talking, and seemed to be watching something in his rearview mirror for a moment. I turned around and looked behind us. A dark car changed lanes, and began to pass us on the left.
    “Don’t do that,” Frank said. “It’s not the Lincoln.”
    “Don’t do what?”
    “Don’t turn around and stare at somebody if you think I’m looking at them in the rearview mirror. If they’re following us, I’d like to know for sure before you spook them off.”
    “Sorry.”
    “It’s okay. I’m pretty sure they’re just in a hurry to get past us.”
    This seemed to be the case, as the car continued to weave in and out of traffic, moving on ahead of us.
    “So what happened with Hernandez?”
    “He got curious and put one of the assistants on the task of finding the evidence file. I guess the assistant wasn’t too happy with the job, since it was down in the morgue’s basement somewhere.
    “Hernandez starts reading through the remarks about Hannah’s teeth. The autopsy report says that although her front teeth were broken, they found all the fragments and were able to reconstruct the jaw. No sign of decay, or of any dentistry work. Now, in 1955, Hernandez thinks, this isn’t too common, but it’s not unheard of.
    “So he reads on. There were some tobacco stains, according to Woolsey. Hernandez looks back through the rest of the autopsy report and notices that there was no sign of nicotine in her blood work and that her lungs were clear and undiseased. He sets it aside and goes to work on something a little more recent.”
    “And that’s it?”
    “No, there’s more. Over an hour goes by, and the assistant comes back, mad as hell because he’s had to really dig around to find this evidence file. He’s carrying a box labeled ‘Jane Doe 6-17-55’ with the matching evidence number on it. Hernandez opens the box, and guess what he finds?”
    “Her teeth?”
    “Her skull.”
    “Good Lord,” I said. The thought of Hannah buried without her skull disturbed me. I didn’t know why it should; it all happened so long ago, and she was dead. But it just seemed you ought to have your head with you when you’re in your grave. Of course, you ought to have your feet and hands, too.
    Frank negotiated an exit onto the Harbor Freeway. We headed south, toward San Pedro. The campus was down near the L.A. Harbor. I figured he had picked out a place near the harbor for lunch.
    “So what else was in the box?” I asked, getting impatient for him to pick up the story again.
    “What? Oh, sorry. No, nothing else in the box. But there’s more to the story. Hernandez is convinced that the teeth are not tobacco stained, but that the stain is something different. He said he’s pretty sure it’s a condition called fluorosis. It’s usually caused by drinking water that has too much fluoride in it, especially before the age of ten, when teeth are coming in.”
    “I thought fluoride was good for teeth.”
    “It is, at the right level. Too little, and you’re more prone to cavities. Too much, and your teeth can be mottled or stained. He told me that in some parts of the country fluoride occurs naturally in relatively high levels, and people from around these areas will get this staining on their teeth.”
    “How does a coroner know so much about tooth stains?”
    “Colorado is one of the places that has pockets of high-fluoride water supplies, and Hernandez had seen this staining on the teeth of some of the older people who were brought into the morgue there.”
    I caught myself running my tongue over the surfaces of my teeth.
    “He called O’Connor the next day,” Frank went on, “and told him to get in touch with this Dr. MacPherson, who’s an expert on forensic dentistry. He lectures all over the country. Hernandez sent the skull