Bones of the Lost

propping the board on the mantel in the parlor, I collected every picture I’d accumulated over the past two and a half weeks. Snapshots, crime-scene photos, Polaroids, printouts, mug shots.
    I started by taping up a picture of Candy, the hit-and-run victim whose real name we still didn’t know. Beside it I placed one of the snapshots I’d liberated from John-Henry’s Tavern. Pictured was John-Henry Story, the man whose US Airways club card Candy had inside her purse lining.
    Using the marker, I drew a line between Candy and John-Henry.
    Next I posted the second “borrowed” snapshot, Dominick Rockett at the tavern with John-Henry Story. Rockett, the smuggler who traveled to South America and made mysterious trips to Texas. Rockett, customer or maybe more than a customer at the Passion Fruit Club, owned by John-Henry and his brother Archer via SayDo. And employer of Candy.
    I drew lines connecting Candy and Rockett, Rockett and John-Henry Story.
    After jotting the name Passion Fruit on the right side of the board, I drew lines connecting the massage parlor to Candy, Rockett, and John-Henry.
    Next in the lineup went the mug shot of CC Creach. Creach’s semen was found on Candy. Creach was a patron of the Passion Fruit, and said Candy and the other girls were afraid of Rockett. And of Roy Majerick, who was often there.
    I added Majerick to the row. Majerick’s semen was also found on Candy. Majerick had a history as a sexual predator.
    I drew lines between Candy and Creach, Candy and Majerick, Majerick and Creach, Majerick and Rockett, Majerick and John-Henry Story. Then between both Creach and Majerick and the words “Passion Fruit.”
    I paused to consider.
    Majerick had been seen at the Passion Fruit and had sex with Candy. Did that mean he knew John-Henry Story? I erased parts of that line, converting it to a dotted connector.
    The last photo to go up was Rosalie D’Ostillo. My stomach still tightened on seeing the hideous mutilation.
    D’Ostillo saw Candy at the Mixcoatl. The taquería was located close to the Passion Fruit. Like Creach, D’Ostillo thought Candy and the other girls spoke Spanish. D’Ostillo was murdered within hours of talking to me. Her tongue was left on my doorstep.
    I drew a line from D’Ostillo to Candy, a dotted link to the words “Passion Fruit.”
    Then I stepped back and surveyed my work.
    The board showed a maze of interconnections. Which ones were meaningful? Which were spurious? Was Candy’s killer one of the men whose pictures I’d posted? Was I staring at his face right now?
    How did the lines link up?
    I moved my eyes from photo to photo.
    Candy, lying on her morgue gurney. How did John-Henry Story’s US Airways club card end up in her purse? How did semen from Creach and Majerick end up on her skin? Turning tricks? Voluntary sex? Rape?
    Dom Rockett and John-Henry Story sharing a beer. The two were partners in S&S. How had Rockett acquired the money to invest? Aware of his illegal trafficking in antiquities, did Story approach Rockett about doing the same with humans? Rockett was a smuggler, knew the routes, the cops and agents who could be bribed, the border crossing points most easily breached.
    Or had it gone the other way? Had Rockett proposed a moneymaking scheme to John-Henry, knowing Story had the infrastructure to make it work?
    I thought of something. Jotted the identifier citizenjustice on the left side of the board.
    The bearer of that name had sent threatening e-mails to me. Had that same person murdered D’Ostillo and delivered her tongue as a warning?
    I stared at D’Ostillo’s ravaged face. Wondered. Who was the man in the hat and upturned collar she’d served in the taquería? Rockett was only a best guess.
    Roy Majerick? Someone of whom we were unaware? A male counterpart to Mrs. Tarzec?
    I jotted Mrs. Tarzec’s name and drew lines to Candy, John-Henry, and the words “Passion Fruit.”
    I squeezed my eyes shut. Pinched the bridge of my nose.
    A tiny itch in my brain kept pestering. Asking to be scratched.
    What was I missing?
    The lines were crisscrossing like an Etch A Sketch pattern gone wrong. What threads were important? What intersections?
    Clearly the Passion Fruit. A lot of lines converged there. Candy. Creach. Majerick. Story. Rockett. D’Ostillo. Tarzec.
    Ditto for Candy. Every line led to her.
    Still the itch.
    What was the subliminal memory I couldn’t call up? What hidden data byte dozed in my id?
    I stared at the crazy quilt