and filing them away in the vault with the pieces of bone.
The only skeleton not yet analyzed was the antique individual who was shot in the head. Diane laid him out in anatomical position on one of her tables. She placed the skull on a doughnut ring. She eyed the brown and black bones a moment, then began examining each one.
Most of the bones were present, with the exception of some very small ones. The tips of all the fingers of the left hand, except the thumb and index finger, were missing. All the distal phalanges were missing from the right hand. Three of the carpal bones—wrist bones—were missing from the left side and one from the right. All the foot bones were present. Diane thought that amazing under the circumstances.
The hyoid bone—the bone in the throat that supports the base of the tongue—was missing. All the long bones were present. They’re harder to lose, of course, if you’re keeping a box of bones. Human skeletons have twelve ribs on each side. The eleventh and twelfth—called floating ribs because they are not attached ventrally—were missing from the left side; the twelfth was missing from the right.
She checked all the ribs for nicks and cuts that might have come from a knife or gunshot wound. She found none. She measured the long bones using a bone board. The left leg bones—the femur, tibia, and fibula—taken together were shorter than the right by half an inch. He may have had a slight limp. Other than that, the long bones were unremarkable.
Two thoracic vertebrae were missing. The coccyx—the tail bone—had a small healed crack. At some point in his life he had fallen and cracked it. It probably gave him trouble the rest of his young life. Diane examined each vertebra. There were no healed breaks, nor were there any signs of lipping or degenerative disease. Other than his teeth, he was basically healthy.
In the middle of the examination David came in and pulled up a chair.
“Neva came back. She told us about your car. You have a hard time with vehicles, don’t you,” he said.
“Apparently,” said Diane not looking up from the bones.
“I had a long talk with both Neva and Jin,” he said. “I assume you would like to be filled in, as Garnett didn’t tell them not to talk to me about the case and he certainly didn’t tell me not to talk to you about it.”
David cast a glance at the skeleton on the table. “Is that the guy who was under the bed?”
“That’s him. I thought I’d analyze his bones. It’s rather relaxing.”
“What do you know about him?” asked David.
“Other than he is male in his early twenties? Caucasian, from the look of his skull and the indexes of his other measurements. He had a slight limp that he was born with. He was fairly healthy; broke his tailbone at one time; stood about five feet six, and was left-handed. I’m going to have a stable isotope analysis done on a sample of his bone to see what I can find out about where he grew up and what kind of diet he might have had.”
“Garnett won’t spring for that,” said David.
“The primate lab will,” said Diane. “What’s the use of being director of the museum and curator of the primate lab if I can’t order a SIA once in a while?”
“Who do you think he is?” asked David.
“Who do I think he is?” Diane repeated. “I have no idea.”
“How long has he been dead?”
“My guess right now, from the dry feel of his bones, would be over a hundred years. We’ll learn more after some tests on the bones. There’s a possibility he may be a Civil War veteran. That’s just a guess. Probably, someone accidently found the coffin, thought it was cool, robbed the bones, and sent him to college.”
“Interesting,” said David. “Poor fellow gets shot in the head and then a hundred years later gets caught in an explosion and fire. He’s one unlucky dude.”
“Speaking of unlucky dudes,” said Diane, “Tell me about Blake.” She stripped off her gloves, washed her hands, pulled up a chair, and sat down across from David and leaned forward.
“Blake,” sighed David. “Unlucky is right. You know, being born rich should give you an edge, but it didn’t in his case. Now, I should have been born rich. I wouldn’t have been such a pissant.”
“You would if you had his parents,” said Diane. “I actually feel sorry for him.”