Bones on Ice: A Novella Read Free Page A

drawer and began excising fabric in stiff swatches.
    Down floated upward, then drifted to rest. I cut through red, yellow, lime green. Polar down jacket and pants. Gore-Tex. Fleece. Thermal long underwear. Layer after layer, like an archeologist digging through strata. No single item had been enough to protect her. Together, they’d fueled the hubris that she was armed against an environment antithetical to life.
    Ninety minutes after starting, I reached flesh. Ninety more and the victim wore only her red boots, still frozen to her feet, impossible to dislodge.
    In contrast to the dark, desiccated skin on the face and hands, the rest of the body glistened alabaster. And, now that it was unwrapped, I understood its twisted alignment. Brighton Hallis had died and frozen solid while seated, knees partly flexed, torso gently slumped, head tilted to the right, one porcelain arm angled across her chest. Defensive? Movement with her last breath? I suspected Hallis had hardened while leaning, one helpless arm dangling.
    I studied her hands, stained and dry as toughened leather. There would be no prints until I rehydrated the fingers.
    The lab phone rang. I broke free to answer. “Brennan.”
    “Progress?” It was Larabee.
    “Some.” Not really.
    Not the answer he wanted. “Is the body skeletonized?”
    “No. The extreme cold protected against putrefaction. At that altitude, there’s no scavenging.”
    “Not even bacteria? Insects?”
    “The highest-altitude organism on the planet is a moss that can grow at sixty-five hundred meters. Above that, there’s literally no life. Even if something could live that high up, the bacteria responsible for aerobic decomposition don’t function below zero Celsius.” No rodents, birds, bugs, or microorganisms. None of the usual companions to death.
    “So she’s intact.” A reformulation of his first question.
    “The protected parts of the body, yes. But the combination of frigid temperatures and high winds, with a UV assist, led to mummification of the face and hands.”
    “Like the Iceman.”
    There are numerous ancient and modern examples of bodies preserved in ice. The most famous is Iceman Ötzi, discovered in the Alps in 1991. Ötzi was so well preserved, he was first thought to be a hiker who’d succumbed to exposure the previous winter. Forensic analysis bumped his date of his passing to 3,300 B.C.
    “Exactly.”
    “That case was extraordinary. They’ve catalogued his tattoos, ascertained his last two meals, where he grew up, how he was murdered. They’ve even sequenced his DNA.” I’d rarely heard Larabee wax so enthusiastic.
    “I’ll have all of that by five.” I said.
    “Leave the report on my desk,” Larabee deadpanned back, then disconnected.
    I began a mental checklist of my next steps. Topping it was fluoroscopy, meaning a full-body scan. The victim’s pretzel position would make that difficult. I elected to wait until she was thawed enough to lay her flat.
    Fingerprints. Not easy on a mummy. Rehydration took time. I’m told I have many good qualities. Kindness. Generosity. Humor. Intelligence. Patience is not on the list. I detest waiting.
    My stomach grumbled, suggesting I add food to my to-do list. I ignored the input, anxious to get on with what I could.
    One hand was accessible. The leathery appendage looked like a workman’s glove, at the end of a gypsum arm. Returning to the drawer, I selected a tool that looked like small pruning shears. Positioning the hooked blades around the thumb, I applied pressure to the handles. A lot of pressure. No go. It was like trying to cut through steel.
    I considered my options. I didn’t like them. That “patience” thing again. But I didn’tsee a way around it. I didn’t want to damage the body.
    With nothing left but the waiting, I returned to the dentition. Though I work with bone, I’m fairly competent with teeth. Still, complicated dental analyses fall to the forensic odontologist. Given that Brighton