Swamp Bones Read Free Page A

spotted the human bones.”
    “Tom Yellen.” Yellen proffered one beefy hand. “Sheriff out of Miami–Dade Hammocks district office.”
    “I’m a colleague of Phil Evans.” I named the Miami-Dade County forensic anthropologist I knew through the American Academy of Forensic Sciences.
    “You used to be,” Yellen said. “Evans died last month. Heart attack.”
    Jesus. There’s blunt, but this guy was off the chart. Not knowing what to say, and feeling bad about Evans, I said nothing.
    Yellen looked at Lisa. “And you would be?”
    “Dr. Lisa Robbin, Smithsonian ornithologist. I’m assisting Dr. Lundberg with his python research.”
    “Uh-huh,” Yellen said. “Let’s get back to the foot. What makes you think we got a homicide?”
    Using my probe, I singled out the calcaneus and cuneiform. “These are tarsals. When articulated, they lie close to the point where the foot bones and the lower leg bones meet.” Overly simplistic, but close enough for this crowd.
    “The ankle?”
    “You can think of it that way.” Using the probe’s tip, I pointed to a series of gouges and striation on the superior surface of each tarsal. “These marks were made by a chain saw.”
    There was a long dead silence. Yellen broke it.
    “You sayin’ this foot was sawed off?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “I can’t answer that.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “That I can’t answer?”
    “That it was sawed off!” Exasperated.
    “I am.”
    “Sweet lord on a bicycle. I’ve got a sawed-off foot that was eaten by a bird that was eaten by a snake, and no clue where the crime went down or who the vic is.”
    “Was,” said Lisa.
    Another silence followed. This time I jumped in.
    “You can tell a lot from a foot.”
    Yellen’s eyes rolled up to mine.
    “While I can’t definitively establish gender without DNA, these bones are small and the muscle attachments aren’t overly robust, suggesting female. A smaller than average female, in fact.”
    “Could it be a kid?” Pierce asked. Children eaten by snakes—bad for park publicity.
    I picked up the third metatarsal. “This bone shows evidence of a stress fracture.”
    “Not a kid,” Yellen said.
    My opinion of the sheriff rose a hair.
    “Correct. There are two main types of metatarsal fracture: acute, due to sudden loading, and stress, due to overuse. If muscles become strained, they’re no longer able to lessen the shock of repeated impacts. When this happens, the muscles transfer the stress to the bones. This can create small cracks or fractures.” Again an oversimplification, but sufficient in this context. “The most common stress fractures result from high-impact sports, like distance running. It’s rare to see them in children.”
    “So how old are we talking?”
    “I’m limited in making an estimate because I’ve got mostly phalanges to work with. Toe bones.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” Yellen curled his fingers in an impatient “Go on” gesture.
    “I’ll need an X-ray, but the bone quality looks good and the joints show no arthritis or remodeling. And I see no evidence of recent epiphyseal fusion.” I referred to the growth caps at the ends of each bone. “Together, these features suggest young adult.”
    “That’s it?”
    “I’d say somewhere in the range twenty to thirty. A small, active woman, maybe a runner.”
    Something crossed Yellen’s face. Recognition? Before he could speak, his mobile rang. With a nod, he stepped out of the room to take the call.
    “I’ve taken what measurements I could,” I said, peeling off and tossing my gloves into a biohazard bin. “Someone can enter them into the Fordisc program for assessment of gender and ancestry. But, given what I had to work with, the results will be virtually meaningless.”
    Lundberg and Pierce stood mute.
    “See you back at the house?” I asked Lisa.
    Before she could reply, Yellen thundered back into the room. His face was grim. And he was looking at me.

Chapter Three
    I clung to my seat as