fabric didn’t belong to this corpse.”
She’d thought about that too, briefly.
“It’s just a consideration. We’ve got everything out to the state lab in Meridian. You can talk to Joe Uberuaga. He’s the doc in charge of forensics, but I’m not sure he’s done much yet. We got a serious backlog.”
She recalled Mendiola’s desk that morning. Her mother’s file wasn’t the one on top. She understood about heavy caseloads. Still she felt murder, even one from fifteen years ago, took precedence over a cow case. “Just what have you done?”
His eyes narrowed. “Look, I understand you’re upset, but I’ve been working my ass off for the last week. Pardon my French.”
From the look of him, he’d been partying for the last week.
“Maybe detectives out in Florida are psychic—just pick up a bone, a scrap of fabric, and a bracelet and say, hey I got it. Give or take thirty years, they can zero in on the person’s name, date, and time of death. You guys probably don’t even need a skull or dental records.”
“On the contrary, we are human.” She grimaced. “Obviously, you are, too.”
“Yeah, well, I spent eight hours a day, in between a few other emergencies, reading through old case files of missing persons.”
“Thanks for doing your job and I mean that. It’s just, I don’t want this treated like a million other cold cases, shoved in some drawer when the heat dies down.”
His mouth drew into a tight line, and he eyed her with cool speculation. “I don’t know what you expected to find out here or why exactly you came.”
Her boss had predicted that she’d step on their toes, and that’s what she’d done. She fixed on Mendiola’s dark eyes. He would not soon forget her. “I came because I had to.”
“Well, don’t expect it’ll be easy.” He slipped his hands in his pockets. “And I wouldn’t be telling too many people you’re back in town. Wouldn’t discuss the case with anyone. ‘Course that goes without saying. Standard procedure, right?”
She felt every pressurized inch of Boise’s altitude like an anvil on her chest. “Of course.”
“We’ll need the DNA samples before we head to the lab in Meridian. We’ll draw your blood there.”
“Of course,” she said again, realizing she must sound like a recorded message.
She too put her hands in her pockets; then she sat on the concrete base beneath the cross. Her gaze swept the valley. The Warm Springs golf course spread out to her left in stripes of fading grass. On the other side, the city nestled in a sweep of fall colors. Early French trappers had named it les boises , the woods. Beyond, Boise River meandered easily as it had two hundred years ago, when settlers pulled wagon trains across this stretch of the Oregon Trail. She was a descendant of those pioneers, on a very different journey of discovery.
She sighed, chewed on her bottom lip which was already cracking from the high-desert air. “You think some religious zealot did this? I mean, the placement beneath the cross resembles a sacrifice at an altar.”
Mendiola sat down beside her, his eyes like hers were on the valley. “I can’t say. I’ve seen a lot in the last sixteen years, but nothing like this. I’m telling you again, we don’t know who belongs to these bones. Keep that in mind. It may be your mom, maybe not. But whoever set this up had her bracelet and wants us to think it’s her. It’s probably the guy who killed her. And, well, he might be wanting you out here.”
Mendiola cocked his head in Meri Ann’s direction. “Ever think of that?”
Chapter Six
B ecky Schuster hemmed and hawed over a stash of aspen tree limbs leaning against a wall in the basement. A dusty window above shed light on their paper-white bark. Her forefinger trailed along one, turned another and so on down the line, trying to decide which one most perfectly matched the limb upstairs. For all she was worth, she felt like Michelangelo selecting marble for
She’d thought about that too, briefly.
“It’s just a consideration. We’ve got everything out to the state lab in Meridian. You can talk to Joe Uberuaga. He’s the doc in charge of forensics, but I’m not sure he’s done much yet. We got a serious backlog.”
She recalled Mendiola’s desk that morning. Her mother’s file wasn’t the one on top. She understood about heavy caseloads. Still she felt murder, even one from fifteen years ago, took precedence over a cow case. “Just what have you done?”
His eyes narrowed. “Look, I understand you’re upset, but I’ve been working my ass off for the last week. Pardon my French.”
From the look of him, he’d been partying for the last week.
“Maybe detectives out in Florida are psychic—just pick up a bone, a scrap of fabric, and a bracelet and say, hey I got it. Give or take thirty years, they can zero in on the person’s name, date, and time of death. You guys probably don’t even need a skull or dental records.”
“On the contrary, we are human.” She grimaced. “Obviously, you are, too.”
“Yeah, well, I spent eight hours a day, in between a few other emergencies, reading through old case files of missing persons.”
“Thanks for doing your job and I mean that. It’s just, I don’t want this treated like a million other cold cases, shoved in some drawer when the heat dies down.”
His mouth drew into a tight line, and he eyed her with cool speculation. “I don’t know what you expected to find out here or why exactly you came.”
Her boss had predicted that she’d step on their toes, and that’s what she’d done. She fixed on Mendiola’s dark eyes. He would not soon forget her. “I came because I had to.”
“Well, don’t expect it’ll be easy.” He slipped his hands in his pockets. “And I wouldn’t be telling too many people you’re back in town. Wouldn’t discuss the case with anyone. ‘Course that goes without saying. Standard procedure, right?”
She felt every pressurized inch of Boise’s altitude like an anvil on her chest. “Of course.”
“We’ll need the DNA samples before we head to the lab in Meridian. We’ll draw your blood there.”
“Of course,” she said again, realizing she must sound like a recorded message.
She too put her hands in her pockets; then she sat on the concrete base beneath the cross. Her gaze swept the valley. The Warm Springs golf course spread out to her left in stripes of fading grass. On the other side, the city nestled in a sweep of fall colors. Early French trappers had named it les boises , the woods. Beyond, Boise River meandered easily as it had two hundred years ago, when settlers pulled wagon trains across this stretch of the Oregon Trail. She was a descendant of those pioneers, on a very different journey of discovery.
She sighed, chewed on her bottom lip which was already cracking from the high-desert air. “You think some religious zealot did this? I mean, the placement beneath the cross resembles a sacrifice at an altar.”
Mendiola sat down beside her, his eyes like hers were on the valley. “I can’t say. I’ve seen a lot in the last sixteen years, but nothing like this. I’m telling you again, we don’t know who belongs to these bones. Keep that in mind. It may be your mom, maybe not. But whoever set this up had her bracelet and wants us to think it’s her. It’s probably the guy who killed her. And, well, he might be wanting you out here.”
Mendiola cocked his head in Meri Ann’s direction. “Ever think of that?”
Chapter Six
B ecky Schuster hemmed and hawed over a stash of aspen tree limbs leaning against a wall in the basement. A dusty window above shed light on their paper-white bark. Her forefinger trailed along one, turned another and so on down the line, trying to decide which one most perfectly matched the limb upstairs. For all she was worth, she felt like Michelangelo selecting marble for
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