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We both leaned in.
Seconds passed.
Our eyes met.
Reflected mutual shock.
THE SKULL WAS NESTLED IN ONE CORNER, WITH THE REST OF the skeleton packed above and around it. Every element was dappled yellow and brown. Nothing special. Exposure to sunlight bleaches bone. Contact with soil and vegetation darkens it.
It wasn’t the state of the remains that shocked us.
It was the object wedged behind an infolded flap of cardboard rimming the inside of the box.
“Is that a dog tag?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“That shouldn’t be in there.”
“You think not?” Sarcasm not directed at me.
After wiggling the tag free, Da
“Can you make out a name?” I asked.
“No.” He thumbnail-scratched one side, flipped the tag, scratched the other.
“There’s a thick accretion covering both surfaces. Let’s try some water.”
At the sink, Da
“If the raised lettering is abraded or squashed, usually I can dig out and read the indentation on the back. But this gunk’s like cement. Let’s give it a whirl in the sonicator.”
Sonicators are used to clean jewelry, optical parts, coins, watches, dental, medical, electronic, and automotive equipment. The gizmos rely on ultrasound, usually in the 15–400 kHz range. No rocket science. Using liquid cleanser, you just shake the crap out of whatever is dirty.
Da
We were both staring at the thing, pointlessly, when a thought occurred to me.
“Who was the last person to examine this case?” I asked.
“Excellent question.”
Da
Katy.
Invasion!
Ants? A marching army?
Home shortly, I texted back.
Fast.
What?
This blows.
Great. A new crisis.
Problem?
Unbelievable.
???? I was clueless as to the basis of Katy’s current discontent.
Vacation over, she replied.
???? I repeated.
A minute passed with no response.
What the hell?
I called Katy’s cell.
Got voice mail.
Terrific. She’d turned off or was ignoring her phone.
I was clipping the BlackBerry onto my belt when Da
“Dimitriadus,” he said. “Back in nineteen ninety-eight.”
“Could Dimitriadus have missed seeing the tag?”
“It might have been jammed way up under the lip of the box. When the cardboard loosened with age, it could have slid into view.” He didn’t sound convinced.
Da
Seconds passed. A full minute.
Scrub.
Glasses off.
Squint.
Glasses on.
Scrub.
Repeat.
Agitated by Katy’s texting, I almost snatched the tag from his hand.
At last, the glasses came off and the myopic eyes narrowed.
“Holy shit.”
Da
“What?” I asked.
Da
“Let me see.” I shot out a hand.
Da
He was right. The stamped info was easier to discern as an indentation.
I reversed the letters and digits in my mind.John Charles Lowery477 38 5923A pos Bapt
Did Baptists commonly have A positive blood?
Inane, but that’s the first question that formed in my mind.
“That’s a Social Security number, right?”
Da
“This can’t be our John Lowery.” I knew as I said it that I was wrong. But what were the chances?
“Let’s check.”
We hurried to Da
Pulled Spider’s file.
The SS number belonged to John Charles Lowery from Lumberton, North Carolina. Spider.
But Spider Lowery died in Quebec.
Forty years after crashing in Long Binh.
Sweet Mother Mary, could the situation possibly grow more confused?
“Shall we lay the guy out?” Da
My eyes flicked to my watch.
Five fifty.
I was anxious to get home to Katy. And I wanted to learn whether Ryan had found an alternate source of DNA for Spider.
“Let’s do it first thing tomorrow.”
“It’s a date.”
“You’re on, big guy.” I mimicked Da
I called out, explored.
Katy was not in the house.
At the pool.
On the lanai.
I found no note explaining her whereabouts.
I strolled down to the beach.
No Katy.
I was changing to shorts when a door slammed.
The cadence of conversation drifted to my room. Voices, one male, one female, not my daughter.
Had Katy made friends?
“Katy?”
“She’s gone for a bike ride,” the male voice called out.
Boing!
Katy’s texts now made sense.
Had I asked her opinion?
I was half asleep, had acted on impulse.
Bonehead move, Bre
Had I given her a heads-up?
I’d had none myself.
Lame.
Slipping on sandals, I hurried downstairs.
Ryan’s shirt featured turquoise bananas and lavender palms. His board shorts were apricot and had Billabong scrawled across the bum. Add flip-flops, Maui Jims, a “Hang Loose” cap, and a two-day stubble. You get the picture. Miami Vice meets Hawaii Five-O.
Lily held a string-handled shopping bag in each hand. By joint effort, her miniskirt and tube top covered maybe twenty inches of her torso. Ninety-inch wedge sandals, Lolita shades, maraschino lips.
Oh, boy.
“Aloha, madame.” Ryan crushed me with a bear hug. “Comment ça va?”
“I’m good.” Freeing myself, I turned to Lily. “How was your flight?”
Lily shrugged one very bare shoulder.
“I hope it’s OK that we just showed up,” Ryan said.
“How did you find us?”
Ryan gri
I knew his meaning. “You’re a detective. You detect.”
“Katy seemed a bit flustered at seeing us,” Ryan said.
“I may have forgotten to mention your arrival.”
Rolling mascara-laden eyes, Lily threw out one hip.
“Everything happened so last-minute, the judge granting permission, booking seats, racing to Dorval,” Ryan said. “In all the rush, I forgot to charge my cell. Damned if it didn’t die at the airport.”
“They do that,” Lily said.
“Did Katy get you settled?” I asked.
“She did. I’m down, Lily’s in the spare bedroom up. This place is killer, by the way.”
“Can I go?” Lily. Not whiny, but close.
Ryan looked an apology my way.
I glanced at my watch. Six thirty. “Katy should be back any minute.” Please, God. “How about we meet at seven thirty and head out for di
“My treat,” Ryan said.
“No way,” I said.
“I insist,” he said.
“Katy can hurt you,” I said. “I think she checks the right-hand column, then orders the highest-priced item on the menu.”
“That’s why God gave us credit cards.” Ryan smiled and tapped his back pocket.
The choice of restaurant involved stimulating dialogue. Lily wanted steak. Katy was avoiding red meat. Katy craved fish. Lily was over her quota on mercury. Katy suggested Thai. Too spicy. Lily proposed Indian. Katy wasn’t in the mood.
We compromised on Japanese.
During di