Speaking in Bones Read Free Page A

counselor said Teague’s record indicates chronic absenteeism.”
    “Any history of problems with alcohol or drugs?”
    “Nope.”
    “Any juvie record?”
    “I don’t know. After graduation, she took a job as a nanny. Lasted a few months, then got sent packing.”
    “Why?”
    “Health issues.”
    “What sort of health issues?”
    “No one would say.”
    “Where did Teague go?”
    “Home.”
    I waited for Strike to continue. She didn’t.
    “Let me get this straight. Cora Teague hasn’t been seen in over three and a half years.”
    “That’s right.”
    “But an MP report was never filed with the police.”
    “Correct.”

    “The family believes she left on her own.”
    “They do.”
    “But you think that’s unlikely.”
    “Me and whoever posted her name on CLUES.”
    I nodded, acknowledging she had a point.
    “You suspect Cora Teague’s voice is on that recording.” Indicating the Ziploc.
    “I do.”
    “You think she was killed and dumped. And that part of her body was recovered and sent to this lab.”
    “I’m suggesting you consider the possibility.”
    “What makes you think Teague is at this facility?”
    “About a year and a half ago, you made an entry on NamUs detailing a partial torso found in Burke County. Burke is right down the road from Avery. The time line fits. The geography fits. The descriptors fit.” Strike straightened and spread her arms wide. “Call me crazy, but I think it’s worth a look-see.”
    A specimen cart rattled by in the hall. A door opened, releasing the whine of an autopsy saw cutting through bone. Closed abruptly, truncating the sound.
    In my head I heard the wretched little voice on the tape.
    Please don’t kill me.
    Please.
    Kill me.
    As before, I felt a chill crawl up my spine.
    “How did this come into your possession?” Gesturing at the key chain recorder.
    Strike leaned back into her chair.
    “As I said, I kept scanning sites listing UIDs, hoping a set of remains might link to Cora Teague. Nothing ever did. Then I got sidetracked by personal matters. Had to let it go for a while.”
    Strike paused, perhaps pondering the unnamed matters that had temporarily halted her search.
    “Last week, I got back to sleuthing. When I spotted your entry on NamUs it was like harps burst into tune. You know. Like on TV.”

    I didn’t. But I nodded.
    “Your entry included information on where the torso was found, so I decided what the heck? It’s not a long drive. Why not go up and poke around?”
    “You went to Burke County? Seriously?”
    “I did. Once I got there, it seemed obvious there was only one place a person in a hurry would off-load a body from that overlook. I walked a pattern downhill from the spot. For hours, turned up nothing but bugs. I was about to quit when I spotted a key chain wedged in the roots of a big old tree. Figured the thing was probably there by happenstance. But, being safe, I brought it home.”
    Strike’s mouth squashed up to one side, and she went silent.
    “You discovered the recording function and played the audio,” I suggested.
    “Yeah.” Tight.
    “And then?”
    “And then I called you.”
    A very long silence stretched between us. I broke it, using carefully chosen words.
    “Mrs. Strike, I’m impressed with your enthusiasm. And with your commitment to the goal of returning nameless victims to their families. But—”
    “You can’t discuss the specifics of a case.”
    “That’s correct.”
    “About what I expected.” Strike took a quick breath and set her jaw. Preparing to argue? Or to accept rejection?
    “But I promise you,” I said, “I will look into the situation.”
    “Yeah.” Strike gave a humorless sniff of a laugh. “Don’t let the door smack your arse on the way out.”
    Strike snatched up the Ziploc and pushed to her feet.
    I rose. “If you leave the key chain, I will ask someone at the crime lab to evaluate the audio.”
    Strike repeated the mirthless snort. She really had it down. “I