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Dead Past

Dead Past

Titel: Dead Past Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Beverly Connor
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long bones using a bone board. The left leg bones—the femur, tibia, and fibula—taken together were shorter than the right by half an inch. He may have had a slight limp. Other than that, the long bones were unremarkable.
    Two thoracic vertebrae were missing. The coccyx—the tail bone—had a small healed crack. At some point in his life he had fallen and cracked it. It probably gave him trouble the rest of his young life. Diane examined each vertebra. There were no healed breaks, nor were there any signs of lipping or degenerative disease. Other than his teeth, he was basically healthy.
    In the middle of the examination David came in and pulled up a chair.
    “Neva came back. She told us about your car. You have a hard time with vehicles, don’t you,” he said.
    “Apparently,” said Diane not looking up from the bones.
    “I had a long talk with both Neva and Jin,” he said. “I assume you would like to be filled in, as Garnett didn’t tell them not to talk to me about the case and he certainly didn’t tell me not to talk to you about it.”
    David cast a glance at the skeleton on the table. “Is that the guy who was under the bed?”
    “That’s him. I thought I’d analyze his bones. It’s rather relaxing.”
    “What do you know about him?” asked David.
    “Other than he is male in his early twenties? Caucasian, from the look of his skull and the indexes of his other measurements. He had a slight limp that he was born with. He was fairly healthy; broke his tailbone at one time; stood about five feet six, and was left-handed. I’m going to have a stable isotope analysis done on a sample of his bone to see what I can find out about where he grew up and what kind of diet he might have had.”
    “Garnett won’t spring for that,” said David.
    “The primate lab will,” said Diane. “What’s the use of being director of the museum and curator of the primate lab if I can’t order a SIA once in a while?”
    “Who do you think he is?” asked David.
    “Who do I think he is?” Diane repeated. “I have no idea.”
    “How long has he been dead?”
    “My guess right now, from the dry feel of his bones, would be over a hundred years. We’ll learn more after some tests on the bones. There’s a possibility he may be a Civil War veteran. That’s just a guess. Probably, someone accidently found the coffin, thought it was cool, robbed the bones, and sent him to college.”
    “Interesting,” said David. “Poor fellow gets shot in the head and then a hundred years later gets caught in an explosion and fire. He’s one unlucky dude.”
    “Speaking of unlucky dudes,” said Diane, “Tell me about Blake.” She stripped off her gloves, washed her hands, pulled up a chair, and sat down across from David and leaned forward.
    “Blake,” sighed David. “Unlucky is right. You know, being born rich should give you an edge, but it didn’t in his case. Now, I should have been born rich. I wouldn’t have been such a pissant.”
    “You would if you had his parents,” said Diane. “I actually feel sorry for him.”
    “Yeah, so do I. OK, here’s what we know. Blake went from the hospital to arraignment. The judge released him to his parents, even though he is an adult. Money does buy a lot around here. Anyway, he went home with them. Sometime in the night his father woke up. He doesn’t know why. His mother had taken sleeping pills and she was zonked. The father went to Blake’s room and he wasn’t there. He went back to bed.”
    “He didn’t look for him?” asked Diane.
    “He said his son is an adult,” said David.
    “He was released into their custody,” said Diane.
    “I didn’t say his parents were consistent.” David rubbed the top of his head. “Look, these chairs aren’t very comfortable. Can I sit on the couch in your office?”
    “Sure.” Diane rose and stretched, easing the strain in her back. Followed by David, she went to her Osteology office.
    “This is much nicer,” he said, dropping himself onto her stuffed sofa. “Where was I? AWOL, right. Anyway, the father thought the son leaving the house was what woke him up, so he went back to bed—thinking, I suppose, that a one-handed kid just out of the hospital could handle himself.”
    “Where did he go?” asked Diane.
    “Not far. He was found by the maid in the boathouse, shot in the head—no stippling.”
    “What kind of gun?”
    “Don’t know. Didn’t find a bullet. No exit wound, so it’s still in his

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