Bones of the Lost

fluoresced more intensely than others.
    “Multiple donors?” I asked.
    “We’ll need DNA to confirm,” Larabee said. “But that’s my impression.”
    “We talking rape?” Slidell’s mouth was right at my ear.
    “I found no vaginal tearing or abrasions. No sign of anal entry.”
    “So we’re back to my first guess.” I heard Slidell straighten. “The kid was on the stroll.”
    I bit back a response.
    Larabee thumbed off his flash. “Get the switch?”
    Slidell did.
    “Think you can narrow the age estimate?” Larabee spoke to me as the fluorescents buzzed to life.
    “Has Joe taken dentals?” I was referring to Joe Hawkins, most senior of the lab’s autopsy techs.
    Larabee indicated a brown envelope lying on a countertop light box.
    I crossed to it and poured the small black squares onto the box’s viewing plate. After pushing the on button, I arranged the films anatomically and studied the illuminated dentition.
    “All four second molars are in occlusion, with the roots fully formed down to the tips. That puts her, minimally, above twelve. The third molars are unerupted and show little root development. I’m not an odontologist, but, dentally, I’d say she’s in the range of thirteen to seventeen.”
    The men waited as I continued to study the X-rays.
    “Left first molar’s got a mean abscess. Lots of caries, but not a single restoration.”
    “No evidence she ever saw a dentist.” Larabee got my meaning.
    “So I don’t bust my ass chasing dental records.” Slidell parked his hands on his hips. “An abscess. Wouldn’t that hurt like a sonofabitch?”
    “People have different thresholds for pain,” Larabee said. “But yes, probably. What are you thinking?”
    “Maybe she went to one of those free clinics. You know, looking for drugs or something.”
    “Good idea, detective.”
    Like a mail-order toy, the human skeleton comes with assembly required. Most bones are present at birth but lack the knobs, bumps, and borders that make them complete. Throughout infancy and adolescence, these fiddly bits, called epiphyses, appear and fuse to the shafts or main bony elements. The fusion takes place with age predictability.
    I shifted my attention to the skeletal X-rays. More than a decade of working with me had made Joe Hawkins savvy to the exact views I needed. As usual, he’d nailed them.
    I started with a plate showing the girl’s hand and arm bones. Slidell’s insistence she was a hooker had my nerves on edge. Knowing it would annoy him, I went all “jargony.” Petty, but I did.
    “The distal radial epiphysis is in the process of fusion, the distal ulnar epiphysis has recently fused. The rest of the hand bones are complete.”
    I moved to a film showing the shoulder and left arm.
    “The acromial epiphyses are present on both scapulae, but remain unfused.”
    I pointed to the broken humerus.
    “The medial epicondyle and the distal composite and proximal epiphyses are in the process of fusing.”
    On to the pelvis.
    “The iliac crest is present but still separate.” I was referring to a sliver of bone that would eventually form the superior border of the hip bone.
    The upper leg.
    “The femoral head and trochanter are fused. The distal epiphysis is in the process of fusing.”
    Lower leg.
    “The proximal and distal epiphyses of the tibiae and fibulae are in the process of fusing.”
    The foot.
    “The proximal phalanges—”
    “So what’s it all mean?” Slidell cut me off.
    “She was fourteen to fifteen years old when she died.”
    Far too young to catch a hint of what life had to offer. Fifteen years. She should have had eighty.
    Rotten teeth. Needle tracks. Semen stains. Fifteen crappy years.
    For a full minute the only sounds in the room were the fluorescents overhead and the air whistling in and out of Slidell’s nose.
    “Might be I could work the clothing, track down where it was sold.” Slidell shoved his notepad into his jacket. “Boots might be a goer.”
    My mind had moved from how to who. Who had left this kid facedown on the asphalt? A drunk too impaired to see her in the dark? Too callous to stop? Or a killer fully intending the result?
    “Anything else?” Barely trusting my voice.
    Larabee gave a tight shake of his head.
    Nodding to Slidell, I returned to my office. Sat at my desk. Antsy. Uneasy.
    Slidell was a good cop. But he had a habit of falling captive to defeatist mind-sets. Convinced the girl was undocumented, a prostitute, and a junkie, would