“An adulteress should not be allowed to defile such a sacred symbol of marriage,” he’d said.
Chad’s hand had risen to his face and, when he asked about the ring, he was already working his fingers back and forth along his scarred jaw as he stared down at the contents of the box.
“No,” the tall crime-scene technician said.
“Are you sure?”
I expected the investigator to interpret Chad’s words as a challenge to his competence, to stiffen his body and snap out a response. But he didn’t. Chad was staring down into the box, so he didn’t see the flicker of sympathy that I saw on the tall tech’s face.
“No ring,” he said, and no hint of sympathy colored his voice. “No jewelry of any kind. And we were thorough.”
I was fairly certain that Chad hadn’t mentioned his suspicions about finding his mother’s remains to anyone but me. But cops were a gossipy brotherhood and I knew that this particular tale of duty and devotion had reached near-legendary status statewide. Although few were acquainted with the actual man or even the specific circumstances of the murder, the story of the young cop and his unrelenting search for his mother’s body was well-known. I’d heard the story several times and, each time, the facts had been just enough off that I could tell they weren’t based on first-or even secondhand information.
Apparently the tale had traveled as far as the Illinois State Police crime lab. Or maybe, I told myself, Chad’s chief had simply made a call to the crime lab on behalf of one of his favorite deputies.
“But it’s probably not a complete skeleton,” the stockier tech added as he began placing lids on top of the boxes of bones.
I noticed nothing about his manner or tone suggesting that he’d heard the story.
“I found a few bones on the second ledge,” he continued, “but I suspect some of the tiny bones from the hands and feet have been washed away by the rain. Or carried off by rodents. It’s surprising, really, that all the major bones are intact.”
“We have enough to confirm the obvious,” his partner said. “And maybe eventually come up with a description of the victim.”
The stockier man nodded, then lifted the skull from the last open box and held it upright in his palm.
“Here’s what we can tell you now,” he said matter-of-factly, “which is probably nothing that you haven’t already figured out. GSW to the head.”
He turned the skull to display the hole I’d noticed the night before above the bony ridge of the left eye.
“Entry wound.”
Then he rotated it to reveal a much larger hole at the back of the head.
“Exit wound.”
For a moment, he lifted his hand a little higher, briefly looked into what had once been a face.
“Alas, poor Yorick! I knew h—”
It was the kind of humor that Chad and I both understood, black humor that kept cops one step removed emotionally from the tragedies they investigated. But this time, at least one of the state investigators knew that the tragedy was personal. He interrupted his partner’s soliloquy.
“Actually, our vic is a female,” he said quickly, his eyes flickering to Chad’s expressionless face.
Taking the skull from the hands of his unresisting partner, the taller man hunkered down on one knee beside the box and placed the skull carefully inside. After putting the lid on the box, he rested his right hand on it for the briefest of moments.
A benediction, I thought, though I couldn’t have proved it.
“Yeah, definitely a woman,” he said as he stood, then concentrated on brushing soil and bits of vegetation from his knees. “Pelvis gave us that much. And based on the general conformation of the face, my bet’s Caucasian. Of course, the lab’ll have to confirm all that.”
“Any idea about her age?” Chad asked.
Both of the state guys shook their heads.
“Adult,” the stocky tech said. “Lab guys will look at her teeth and pelvis more carefully, narrow it down for you. But you probably already know that your gal won’t get priority treatment. Lab’s already got a backlog of recent deaths to deal with. It may be weeks before you’ll get a formal report.”
Chad nodded. So did I.
“Whatever you can give us informally would be appreciated,” I said.
“Yeah. No problem,” the tech said.
“Any idea how long she’s been here?” Chad asked.
The taller tech lifted his chin in the direction of his partner.
“Nature boy,” he said, as if that explained something. And when his partner spoke, I realized it did.