Swamp Bones Read Free

time.
    “Pythons do not attack humans,” Lundberg said, frustrated, as though he’d repeated the statement again and again.
    “Goddammit, Aaron. Your friend here says she’s got an eighteen-foot snake with human parts in its belly.” Yellen looked red-faced and grim. “I’ve been dreading this day since the damn things first started showing up.”
    “Didn’t happen,” Lundberg insisted.
    “I’ve seen these bastards down hundred-pound gators and deer. They can sure as hell handle one of us.” Yellen sounded equally fed up with the debate.
    “The chance of that happening is less than your chance of being struck by lightning while winning the Powerball.” Lundberg finger-jammed his glasses upward. They immediately resumed their spot low on the bridge of his nose.
    “The news loves to tell me about kids getting squeezed to death while they sleep,” Yellen argued.
    Lundberg spoke slowly, a teacher addressing a dull student. “Those are cases of escaped domesticated snakes attacking the first small prey they encounter. In the wild, we’ve recorded only five or six unprovoked python-on-human attacks. Only one resulting in a bite. None resulting in an attempt to wrap.”
    “One of these buggers tries wrapping me, its head is going straight up its ass.”
    So far Pierce had said nothing. Like those of a spectator at a tennis match, his eyes swung between Lundberg and Yellen. He leaned against one wall, arms crossed, more arranged than relaxed.
    Yellen flapped a hand at Lisa. “You, missy. You called this in. Did this python eat somebody?”
    “The foot bones came from the vulture.”
    Three sets of eyebrows shot up.
    “The turkey vulture ate the human remains. The python ate the turkey vulture,” Lisaexpanded.
    “A bird killed this guy?” The sheriff sounded a galaxy beyond dubious.
    “Or girl,” I interjected. Everyone ignored me.
    “Turkey vultures scavenge on carrion,” Lisa explained. “They rarely, if ever, kill prey themselves.”
    “How’d a bird find a corpse in a million-mile swamp?”
    “It stank.” Lisa stated the obvious.
    Yellen’s response was to hip-plant his hands and scowl. “The bird eats the vic, the snake eats the bird. Where’s the bloody old lady who swallowed the fly?”
    Perhaps she’ll die
winged into my mind. Not bad, Sheriff.
    “Goddammit, this is a jurisdictional nightmare. There’s flying and slithering and who the hell knows where the whole mess started? Could be Dade, Collier, Broward, or Monroe.” Yellen pronounced the last
Mon
-roe, emphasizing the first syllable of the county’s name. “Could be the park boys.”
    Pierce spoke for the first time. “The snake was caught near Hardwood Hammock. That’s outside the park, south of Broward, in Metro.” He used the slang for Miami–Dade County.
    “So I’m the lucky asshat,” Yellen said.
    “You’ve got jurisdiction, Tom, but considering it’s a mobile crime scene, NPS will cooperate fully.”
    Yellen’s jaw tightened. “Who says we’ve got a crime at all? The damn foot could have come from a graveyard.”
    “No,” Lisa said. “Turkey vultures prefer fresh corpses. Though they might wait for the skin to soften for easier consumption, they avoid putrefied meat. The victim wasn’t dead long before the vultures fed.”
    Lundberg’s face paled slightly. He swallowed. “And the python couldn’t have eaten more than a day or two before it was captured. The vulture is barely digested.”
    “Slow your roll.” Yellen raised two palms. “There’s still no reason to jump to violent crime. Could be a fall, a drowning, a heart attack. Folks die a million ways to Sunday out here.”
    “It’s a crime,” I said firmly. “Homicide.”
    This time every face swung toward me.
    “And you would be?” Yellen looked me up and down, likely taking in the lank hair andill-fitting lab coat.
    “Dr. Temperance Brennan.”
    “Dr. Brennan is a forensic anthropologist from North Carolina,” Lisa added. “She