Lempi. Meantime a number of people lost their lives. Our Mr. Bones could be one of them.”
“But you say Lempi and his boys were cleaned out in ’32. Our man was killed in ’36.”
“We don’t know that. We jumped to that conclusion on the basis of what Doc Dineen said, but we’ve got no concrete evidence to go on. The Doc himself admits that given the chemistry of that particular soil, he can’t pinpoint time of burial closer than five years either way. Mr. Bones couldhave been knocked off as early as 1931. I say
could
have.”
“Or as late as 1941?” I said.
“That’s right. You see how little we have to go on.”
“Do I get to take a look at what you have?”
“Why not?”
Mungan went into a back room and returned lugging a metal box about the size of a hope chest. He set it on top of his desk, unlocked it, lifted the lid. Its contents were jumbled like kindling. Only the vertebrae had been articulated with wire, and lay coiled on the heap like the skeleton of a snake. Mungan showed me where the neck bone had been severed by a cutting instrument.
The larger bones had been labeled: left femur, left fibula, and so on. Mungan picked out a heavy bone about a foot long; it was marked “right humerus.”
“This is the bone of the upper arm,” he said in a lecturer’s tone. “Come along on over to the window here. I want to show you something.”
He held the bone to the light. Close to one knobbed end, I made out a thin line filled and surrounded by deposits of calcium.
“A break?” I said.
“I hope in more senses than one. It’s a mended fracture, the only unusual thing in the entire skeleton. Dineen says it was probably set by a trained hand, a doctor. If we could find the doctor that set it, it would answer some of our questions. So if you’ve got any ideas …” Mungan let his voice trail off, but his eyes stayed hard on my face.
“I’ll do some telephoning.”
“You can use my phone.”
“A pay phone would suit me better.”
“If you say so. There’s one across the street, in the hotel.”
I found the telephone booth at the rear of the dingy hotel lobby, and placed a call to Santa Teresa. Sable’s secretary put him on the line.
“Archer speaking, the one-man dragnet,” I said. “I’m in Luna Bay.”
“You’re where?”
“Luna Bay. It’s a small town on the coast south of San Francisco. I have a couple of items for you: a dead man’s bones, and a live boy. Let’s start with the bones.”
“Bones?”
“Bones. They were dug up by accident about six months ago, and they’re in the sheriff’s substation here. They’re unidentified, but the chances are better than even that they belong to the man I’m looking for. The chances are also better than even that he was murdered twenty-two years ago.”
The line was silent.
“Did you get that, Sable? He was probably murdered.”
“I heard you. But you say the remains haven’t been identified.”
“That’s where you can help me, if you will. You better write this down. There’s a fracture in the right humerus, close to the elbow. It was evidently set by a doctor. I want you to check on whether Tony Galton ever had a broken right arm. If so, who was the doctor that looked after it? It may have been Howell, in which case there’s no sweat. I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes.”
“Wait. You mentioned a boy. What’s he got to do with all this?”
“That remains to be seen. He thinks he’s the dead man’s son.”
“Tony’s son?”
“Yes, but he isn’t sure about it. He came here from Michigan in the hope of finding out who his father was.”
“Do you think he’s Tony’s son?”
“I wouldn’t bet my life savings on it. I wouldn’t bet against it, either. He bears a strong resemblance to Tony. On the other hand, his story is weak.”
“What story does he tell?”
“It’s pretty long and complicated for the telephone. He was brought up in an orphanage, he says, went to college under an
“But you say Lempi and his boys were cleaned out in ’32. Our man was killed in ’36.”
“We don’t know that. We jumped to that conclusion on the basis of what Doc Dineen said, but we’ve got no concrete evidence to go on. The Doc himself admits that given the chemistry of that particular soil, he can’t pinpoint time of burial closer than five years either way. Mr. Bones couldhave been knocked off as early as 1931. I say
could
have.”
“Or as late as 1941?” I said.
“That’s right. You see how little we have to go on.”
“Do I get to take a look at what you have?”
“Why not?”
Mungan went into a back room and returned lugging a metal box about the size of a hope chest. He set it on top of his desk, unlocked it, lifted the lid. Its contents were jumbled like kindling. Only the vertebrae had been articulated with wire, and lay coiled on the heap like the skeleton of a snake. Mungan showed me where the neck bone had been severed by a cutting instrument.
The larger bones had been labeled: left femur, left fibula, and so on. Mungan picked out a heavy bone about a foot long; it was marked “right humerus.”
“This is the bone of the upper arm,” he said in a lecturer’s tone. “Come along on over to the window here. I want to show you something.”
He held the bone to the light. Close to one knobbed end, I made out a thin line filled and surrounded by deposits of calcium.
“A break?” I said.
“I hope in more senses than one. It’s a mended fracture, the only unusual thing in the entire skeleton. Dineen says it was probably set by a trained hand, a doctor. If we could find the doctor that set it, it would answer some of our questions. So if you’ve got any ideas …” Mungan let his voice trail off, but his eyes stayed hard on my face.
“I’ll do some telephoning.”
“You can use my phone.”
“A pay phone would suit me better.”
“If you say so. There’s one across the street, in the hotel.”
I found the telephone booth at the rear of the dingy hotel lobby, and placed a call to Santa Teresa. Sable’s secretary put him on the line.
“Archer speaking, the one-man dragnet,” I said. “I’m in Luna Bay.”
“You’re where?”
“Luna Bay. It’s a small town on the coast south of San Francisco. I have a couple of items for you: a dead man’s bones, and a live boy. Let’s start with the bones.”
“Bones?”
“Bones. They were dug up by accident about six months ago, and they’re in the sheriff’s substation here. They’re unidentified, but the chances are better than even that they belong to the man I’m looking for. The chances are also better than even that he was murdered twenty-two years ago.”
The line was silent.
“Did you get that, Sable? He was probably murdered.”
“I heard you. But you say the remains haven’t been identified.”
“That’s where you can help me, if you will. You better write this down. There’s a fracture in the right humerus, close to the elbow. It was evidently set by a doctor. I want you to check on whether Tony Galton ever had a broken right arm. If so, who was the doctor that looked after it? It may have been Howell, in which case there’s no sweat. I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes.”
“Wait. You mentioned a boy. What’s he got to do with all this?”
“That remains to be seen. He thinks he’s the dead man’s son.”
“Tony’s son?”
“Yes, but he isn’t sure about it. He came here from Michigan in the hope of finding out who his father was.”
“Do you think he’s Tony’s son?”
“I wouldn’t bet my life savings on it. I wouldn’t bet against it, either. He bears a strong resemblance to Tony. On the other hand, his story is weak.”
“What story does he tell?”
“It’s pretty long and complicated for the telephone. He was brought up in an orphanage, he says, went to college under an
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