Speaking in Bones Read Free

image of Mama flashed and was gone.

    I nodded to indicate I was listening.
    “According to a posting on CLUES.net, about three and a half years back Cora mysteriously vanished.”
    “CLUES.net?”
    “Citizens Looking Under Every Stone. The site permits anyone to post about a missing person. It’s like NamUs, only privately hosted.”
    “You found a listing on CLUES for Cora Teague.” I wanted to be sure I was getting this straight.
    “Yes.”
    “Who posted it?”
    “There it gets tricky.” Strike planted an elbow on each thigh and let her hands dangle between her knees. “CLUES allows users complete anonymity.”
    “Is that standard for websleuthing sites?”
    “No. But the guy who runs CLUES thinks folks will be more likely to come forward with information if they’re not required to identify themselves.”
    “So a user doesn’t have to provide a name to post an MP or to participate in a forum discussion.”
    “Correct. And those listed as missing don’t have to have gone through official channels.”
    “Meaning a police report is not required.” This was sounding flaky.
    “You’ve got it. So not every MP has an investigating agency attached. When that’s the case, the site operator acts as a clearinghouse for tips.”
    “So any wingnut on the planet can enter any rubbish he or she wants.”
    “It’s not quite that loose.” Defensive.
    “But you have no idea who listed Teague.”
    “Do you want to hear this?”
    “Go on.”
    “Since Cora Teague was never officially reported as missing, her case got zero media coverage. And no attention on the site. I figured if she had turned up dead somewhere, and she was in some database of unidentified remains, no one was working to match her up. She was all mine.”

    “Your challenge.”
    “Yep.”
    “And you like a challenge.” I was starting to get a really bad vibe.
    “Something wrong with that?”
    “So what happened?”
    “According to the posting, Teague dropped off the radar midsummer of 2011.”
    “Her LSA?” I used the acronym for last seen alive.
    “Avery County. That’s about as much as anyone knows.”
    “Did Teague have an Internet presence?”
    “None that I could find. No Facebook, Twitter. No email addresses. No use of Buzznet, Blogster, Foursquare, LinkedIn. No iTunes—”
    “Cellphone?”
    “No.”
    An eighteen-year-old kid with no cellphone? That sounded odd. “You spoke to the family. What do they say?”
    “They believe she ran off with her boyfriend.”
    “That’s often the case.”
    “I talked to a few folks up that way. The picture I got doesn’t track with that theory.”
    “How so?”
    “Teague was a loner. Not the dating type. And I found not one single solitary person ever heard of or laid eyes on a boyfriend. No BFF. No neighbor. No bus driver. No coach.”
    “Just the family.”
    “Just them.”
    “Who is he?”
    “They don’t know. Or don’t say.”
    “So she kept the relationship secret. Kids do that.”
    “Hard to pull it off in the sticks. And Teague moved in a very small circle. Family. Home. Church.”
    “Perhaps she met the boy at school.”

    Strike shook her head. “No way, according to those I contacted.”
    “Was Teague a good student?”
    “Not really. She attended a Catholic school for the lower and middle grades. Managed to graduate from Avery County High. No one there remembers much about her. She was on no sports team, participated in no extracurricular activities. The woman I spoke with, a guidance counselor I think, said she was dropped off and picked up daily by a sibling or parent.”
    “Wait. You called the school?”
    “Claimed I was helping the family.”
    Jesus. This woman was something.
    “One odd twist.” Strike continued, oblivious to my disapproval. “Teague’s not pictured in the yearbook.”
    “There could be any number of reasons for that. She’d had a bad hair day and hated the shot. She was out sick when photos were taken.”
    “Maybe. The guidance