Goodnight, Irene by Jan Burke Page B

to MacPherson for some kind of special analysis on the teeth. He said they could tell more if they had the rest of her bones, but he had thought it could give them a start. They could always do an exhumation later.”
     
     
    W E GOT OFF THE FREEWAY and went down Gaffey. We wound our way around to the cliffs of Palos Verdes. The scenery was soon distracting me from my morbid thoughts of Hannah. He turned down a small road and pulled off to the side. We were high above the ocean, the harbor off to our left.
    Frank turned and said, “This is it.”
    I knew there weren’t any restaurants or other buildings out on these cliffs. Watching my face, he laughed, and got out of the car. He went around to the trunk and opened it. I got out and walked back to see him taking out a blanket and a large white paper sack. “Ever eat at the Galley?” he asked. “It’s a great deli down on Hermosa Avenue. I picked up a couple of ham on ryes. That okay?”
    “Fine,” I said, still caught off guard. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
    “All pleasant ones. Just thought you might need a little change of scenery.”
     
     
    W E WALKED ABOUT HALFWAY out to the edge of one of the zigzagging cliffs and spread the blanket. Good thing I wear sensible shoes. He gave me a sandwich and then handed me a small carton of milk. “Hope it didn’t get too warm,” he said.
    The milk was very warm. “Perfect,” I said. After all, who cared?
    The Pacific spread out below us, whitecaps tossing in the wind. Sailboats glided effortlessly behind and beyond the breakwater, while huge ships made their way more cautiously. Who cared about anything but feeling the sun and the wind?
    We sat there and ate a leisurely lunch. We didn’t say a word to one another, but enjoyed one of those rare companionships that are comfortable in silence.
     
15
     
    W E ARRIVED AT THE CAMPUS at a little before one, and wound our way to the visitors’ parking lot. A student at the parking kiosk pointed us in the right direction, and we walked across a common to a tall brick building. As we walked, I was struck by how young the students looked to me. I stopped to calculate the number of years it had been since I got my bachelor’s, and realized why. To these people, the Beatles were what the Andrews Sisters had been to me — something your parents had danced to.
    We found MacPherson’s office, but he wasn’t in. It was on the second floor of a building filled with labs and lecture rooms, with an occasional faculty office here or there. Between the rooms, the hallways were lined with lighted display cases. They were the old wooden-style cases, and they were all full of human jawbones and skulls. We started browsing among the displays while we waited.
    There were little tags next to each set of bones and teeth, telling about conditions that could be found in them, as well as the gender and approximate age of the former owners. There were also some historical collections of dentures and an array of rather intimidating antique dental instruments. It made me glad I was born after Novocain was invented.
    A tall, gray-haired gentleman in a tan corduroy sports jacket came walking past us, and put a key in the office door. He looked up at us as he let himself in.
    “Miss Kelly?”
    “Dr. MacPherson?”
    We both nodded yes, and shook hands. He had a nice firm grip. I introduced him to Frank, and we went into the small cubicle of an office. He sat at his desk, the windows backlighting his hair, which was done up exactly like Albert Einstein’s. He looked like God had sent him.
    “So, if you will excuse an old man for being particular, could I please see some identification, Detective Harriman?”
    Frank obliged. Dr. MacPherson didn’t just glance at it; he could have written a dissertation on the subject if he had studied it much longer. He handed it back, saying, “Well, everything seems to be in order.”
    “Dr. MacPherson,” Frank began, “I spoke with Dr.