Bones Never Lie Read Free Page B

“They look like friggin’ clones.”
    “Both victims were roughly the same height and weight,” Rodas said. “No bangs. No glasses. No braces, which I’d guess are fairly common in that age group.”
    It was true. Both girls had fair skin, fine features, and long dark hair center-parted and drawn back from the face. Gower had hers tucked behind her ears.
    I looked at Lizzie Nance. At the face I’d studied a thousand times. Noted the dusting of caramel freckles. The red plastic bow at the end of each braid. The hint of mischief in the wide green eyes.
    And felt the same sorrow. The same frustration. But new emotions were stirring the mix.
    Unbidden, images genied up in my mind. An emaciated body curled fetal on a makeshift bench. Yellow-orange flames dancing on a wall. Blood-spattered crystal casting slow-turning shadows across a dimly lit parlor.
    My gaze drifted past Slidell toward the back of the room.
    Though I couldn’t see the view from where I was seated, I knew the window looked out over the parking lot. And the buildings of uptown. And the interstate snaking through the power grids of the Northeast. And the far distant Canadian border. And a dead-end street beside an abandoned railroad yard. Rue de Sébastopol.
    The sound of silence brought me back to the present.
    “You need a break?” Barrow was studying me with an odd expression. They all were.
    I nodded, rose quickly, and left the room.
    As I hurried up the hall, more images popped. A dog collar circling a willowy neck. Dark refugee eyes, round and terrified in a morgue-white face.
    I locked the lavatory door, crossed to the sink, and held my hands under the faucet. Watched and didn’t watch as water ran over them. A full minute.
    Then I cupped my fingers and drank.
    Finally, I straightened and looked in the mirror. A woman looked back, knuckles white as the porcelain she was clutching.
    I studied the face. Not young, not old. Hair ash blond but showing gray feelers. Eyes emerald green. Revealing what? Grief? Rage? Congestion and fever?
    “Pull yourself together.” The reflected lips mouthed the words. “Do your job. Nail the bitch.”
    I shut off the tap. Yanked paper towels from the dispenser and dried my face. Blew my nose.
    Returned to the CCU squad room.
    “—just saying it’s unusual to find no sexual component.” Tinker sounded steamed.
    I resumed my seat.
    “Who knows what’s sexual to these fuckwads.” Slidell slumped back in his chair, dragging a balled fist across the tabletop.
    “If the perp’s female, we could be looking at a whole different ball game,” Tinker said.
    “Yeah, well, it’s
our
ball game,” Slidell snapped. After a pause, “Gower was 2007.”
    “So?”
    Slidell slid Tinker a withering look. “Gower was 2007. So there’s a three-year gap between Vermont and what went down earlier in Montreal. Another year and a half goes by and Nance is grabbed here.”
    “What’s your point?”
    “Time line, you dumb shit.” Slidell shot to his feet before Tinker could fire off a cutting retort. “I’m done here.”
    “Let’s call it a morning.” Barrow, trying to defuse what was escalating toward open combat. “We’ll reconvene when Detective Slidell and the doc have reviewed the Nance file.”
    A look passed between Barrow and Slidell. Then Skinny was gone.
    “Send in the clowns.” Giving a tight shake of his head, Tinker pushed up from his chair.
    Rodas watched Tinker disappear through the door before eyebrowing a question at Barrow. Barrow gestured at him to stay put. Rodas settled back. So did I.
    Slidell reappeared minutes later, a manila folder in one hand. Attached to the folder was a snapshot.
    Dropping into the closest chair, Slidell thumbed off the paper clip and placed the photo beside the two school portraits.
    I felt adrenaline flutter anew.
    The girl had brown eyes and light olive skin. Her long chestnut hair was center-parted and drawn up in combs. I guessed her age at twelve to