The Bone Thief: A Body Farm Novel-5 by Jefferson Bass Page A

just for the sake of argument, let’s say I’m willing to do this. What’s going to set the wheels of the sting in motion? Do I just call up this guy Sinclair and say, ‘Hey, the FBI tells me you need a new supply of black-market bodies’?”
    “We’ll figure something out,” he said, “if you’re game to help us. We have some experience in setting up undercover sting operations.”
    “Which brings me back to my big concern,” I responded. “If things go the way you hope they’ll go, I’ll have the opportunity to betray the university’s trust in me, betray donors’ trust in the Body Farm, and break sundry laws of the state of Tennessee and the United States of America.” I looked from him to Price. “You’re sending me into battle unarmed and defenseless?”
    “We prefer to think that we’re protecting the integrity of the investigation,” she countered. “I know, it’s asking a lot.”
    “It’s asking too much,” I said. “I was accused of a murder a couple of years ago, and it damn near killed me to have my friends and colleagues think I was guilty. I want some reassurance that my reputation won’t be ruined, and the university’s image won’t be destroyed, if I help you with this.”
    “And the Bureau’s word isn’t good enough?”
    I looked out the grimy windows for guidance. The view reminded me where I stood, and where Anthropology stood, in the pecking order of the university. When I’d come to Knoxville to head the department, I’d been promised that the makeshift space in the stadium was only temporary and that we’d get bigger, better quarters soon. I’d also been promised, time and time again, that our shoestring budget would be increased. And yet, twenty years later, here I was, still stuck beneath the lavishly funded football program, still nickel-and-diming the bush-league budgets of my research facility and my faculty and graduate students. The university hadn’t protected me when I’d been falsely accused of murder. Did I really need to worry so much about protecting the university?
    I did, I decided. UT hadn’t given me everything I’d hoped for, but along with the shoestring support and the makeshift space, it had given me the freedom and encouragement to build a program in forensic anthropology that was considered one of the best in the world. Without ever once questioning my sanity, UT had allowed me to haul in bodies by the hundreds and watch them rot, just for the sake of science. In a very profound way, the university was my home, and my colleagues and graduate students were my family. I had a responsibility to protect that home and family as best I could.
    “Sorry,” I said. “I won’t do it. Not without bringing the general counsel into the loop.”
    Price’s face was grim. “Dr. Brockton, I wish you’d reconsider. We will stand behind you if you help us,”
    she assured me.
    “No offense,” I countered, “but if this backfires on me, and on UT, I want at least some paper trail here within the university that says I didn’t crawl out on this limb without asking permission. Package deal: me and the general counsel.”
    “You’re putting us in a very difficult position here,” she said.
    “Gee, welcome to the damn club, Angie. If the general counsel gives her blessing, I’m in. If not, I’m out. Simple as that. Sorry.” Price and Rankin exchanged unhappy looks. “By the way, just so you know,” I added, “if the general counsel says she’ll keep it to herself, she will. Her word’s as good as the Bureau’s.”
    I expected them to leave. I figured they’d need to discuss my demand in private or run it up the chain of command. But Price didn’t even look at Rankin before she spoke.
    “Deal,” she said, extending her hand.
    I studied her eyes for a moment. I saw toughness, integrity, and maybe some weariness as we shook.
    “The Bureau appreciates your help, Dr. Brockton.”
    “It’s an honor to be asked, Special Agent Price. Even if