Bones of the Lost

After a lot of diplomatic maneuvering, they’ve now reversed their position.”
    I had a sudden suspicion where this was heading.
    “They’ve agreed to an exhumation,” I guessed.
    “Yes. But there’s no guarantee they won’t change their minds again. So speed is of the essence. The Article 32 hearing has been recessed to allow time for the exhumation to take place.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “How well preserved do you think the bodies will be?”
    “What was done with them postmortem?”
    “Hunter’s intel says the men were bathed, shrouded, and buried. Just laid on their right sides, heads toward Mecca.”
    “A year in the ground. No caskets. I’d expect advanced decomp, if not full skeletonization.”
    “U.S. experts will only get one shot at these bodies. If base personnel aren’t top-notch, John could be screwed.”
    “Determining bullet trajectory is not rocket science.”
    “You know that. Will they? According to Hunter, this is John’s best hope to clear himself. The defense wants a say in who will exhume and examine, and the prosecution has told them to propose someone who might be mutually acceptable.”
    “You want me to go to Afghanistan.” Said with the enthusiasm I reserve for boils and sties.
    “Yes. Your prosecution background will satisfy the government and the defense will go along with Hunter’s recommendation.”
    Pete leaned back, eyes intense on mine. He’d presented his case. Now he waited.
    Deep breath.
    “Don’t get me wrong, Pete. I feel for John and his family. But military physicians have a lot of experience—too much—with traumatic injury. Any doctor in Afghanistan will have seen hundreds of gunshot wounds.”
    “In fresh tissue. You just said it. The only thing left will probably be bone. That’s you. That’s your thing. You’re the best. Plus, the Article 32 hearing is in North Carolina.”
    “I have commitments. I can’t just take off for the other side of the world.”
    “You do it all the time.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “JPAC?”
    Pete was referring to my role as a civilian consultant to the Joint POW-MIA Accounting Command, the military’s central identification laboratory in Honolulu.
    “That’s different. Those visits are scheduled.”
    “That’s another reason it has to be you. You know how the military functions, and your JPAC connection is another big reason the government will agree to you as the forensic expert.”
    “Pete—”
    He reached across and took both my hands in his.
    “I’m asking this as a personal favor. Please. Oversee the exhumation. Do the analysis.”
    “This is ridiculous. The logistics would be a nightmare.”
    He smiled. “You’ve already been cleared.”
    “By whom?”
    “The DOD, the Pentagon, the friggin’ White House.”
    “Are you kidding me?”
    Pete pantomimed crossing his heart. “Digging up corpses on foreign soil is serious business, especially when they’re evidence in the investigation of an American soldier.”
    “No way.” I pulled my hands free. “I’ve got a teenage Jane Doe in my cooler and no one gives a flip. If I don’t press her case, who will?”
    “How’s that going?” Not full-out sarcastic, but close.
    “It’s going.” Clipped. Why was I even discussing this?
    “It’s your choice, of course. Stay here and keep pressing. Go to Afghanistan and help an American who’s maybe getting screwed. An American who risked his life serving his country.”
    Pete paused to allow the unspoken implication its full impact. Katy.
    “You can do either, buttercup. But ask yourself. Will staying here really help your Jane Doe?”
    Annoying as it was, Pete had a point. Slidell would keep chipping away at the hit and run. Not as fast without me nagging, but he’d do the work. Luther Dew? No nagging needed there. The DNA? I could fly around the world and still beat the results to my inbox.
    “John Gross needs one person he can trust to be impartial and competent. He needs the best.”
    “What if I find that these men were shot in the back?”
    “Then I will have fulfilled a commitment to a friend, and you will have found the truth, wherever it leads.”
    Then Pete the litigator brought his argument home.
    “The incident took place at a village called Sheyn Bagh. You’ll go there to oversee the exhumation. You’ll do the analysis at Bagram.”
    Where Katy is stationed. Again, it didn’t need saying.
    “I’ll think about it.”
    Dear God, was I really considering this?
    Pete passed me