The Apprentice: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

of them surgically fused together, formed a knobby chain down the center of the table to the hollow ring of the pelvis, shaped like a macabre crown for a king. Arm bones formed spindly limbs that ended in clusters of what looked like dirty pebbles but were in reality the tiny bones that give human hands such miraculous versatility. Immediately obvious was evidence of an old injury: steel surgical pins in the left thigh bone. At the head of the table Dr. Pepe placed the skull and disarticulated jawbone. Gold teeth gleamed through crusted dirt. All the bones now lay displayed.
    But the box was not yet empty.
    He turned it over, pouring the last of the contents onto a cloth-draped tray. A shower of dirt and leaves and clumps of matted brown hair spilled out. He directed the exam light onto the tray and, with a pair of tweezers, began picking through the dirt. Within seconds, he found what he was looking for: a tiny black nugget, shaped like a fat grain of rice.
    “Puparium,” he said. “Often mistaken as rat droppings.”
    “That’s what I would’ve said,” said Korsak. “Rat poop.”
    “There are lots of them in here. You just have to know what you’re looking for.” Dr. Pepe plucked out a few more black grains and set them aside in a small pile.
    “
Calliphoridae
species.”
    “What?” said Korsak.
    Gabriel Dean said, “Blowflies.”
    Dr. Pepe nodded. “These are the casings the blowfly larvae develop in. They’re like cocoons. It’s the exoskeleton for the third-stage larvae. They emerge from these as adult flies.” He moved the magnifier over the puparia. “These are all eclosed.”
    “What does that mean? Eclosed?” asked Rizzoli.
    “It means they’re empty. The flies have hatched.”
    Dean asked, “What’s the developmental time for
Calliphoridae
in this region?”
    “At this time of year, it’s about thirty-five days. But notice how these two puparia differ in color and weathering? They’re all from the same species, but this casing’s had longer exposure to the elements.”
    “Two different generations,” said Isles.
    “That would be my guess. I’ll be interested to hear what the entomologist has to say.”
    “If each generation takes thirty-five days to mature,” said Rizzoli, “does that mean we’re talking seventy days of exposure? Is that how long this victim has been lying there?”
    Dr. Pepe glanced at the bones on the table. “What I see here is not inconsistent with a postmortem interval of two summer months.”
    “You can’t get more specific than that?”
    “Not with skeletonized remains. This individual may have been lying in those woods for two months. Or six months.”
    Rizzoli saw Korsak roll his eyes, so far unimpressed by their bone expert.
    But Dr. Pepe was just getting started. He shifted his focus to the remains on the table. “A single individual, female,” he said, surveying the array of bones. “On the small side—not much taller than five-foot-one. Healed fractures are obvious. We have an old comminuted femoral fracture, treated with a surgical screw.”
    “Looks like a Steinman pin,” said Isles. She pointed to the lumbar spine. “And she’s had a surgical fusion of L-2 and L-3.”
    “Multiple injuries?” asked Rizzoli.
    “This victim has had a major traumatic event.”
    Dr. Pepe continued his inventory. “Two left ribs are missing, as well as . . .” He shuffled through the collection of tiny hand bones. “. . . three carpals and most of the phalanges from the left hand. Some scavenger made off with a snack, I’d say.”
    “A hand sandwich,” said Korsak. No one laughed.
    “Long bones are all present. So are all the vertebrae. . . .” He paused, frowning at the neck bones. “The hyoid’s missing.”
    “We couldn’t find it,” said Isles.
    “You sifted?”
    “Yes. I went back to the site myself to look for it.”
    “It may have been scavenged,” said Dr. Pepe. He picked up a scapula—one of the wing bones that flare out behind the shoulder. “See the V-shaped punctures here? They were made by canine and carnissial teeth.” He looked up. “Was the head found separated from the body?”
    Rizzoli answered, “It was lying a few feet from the torso.”
    Pepe nodded. “Typical of dogs. For them, a head is like a big ball. A plaything. They’ll roll it around, but they can’t really sink their teeth into a head, the way they can a limb or a throat.”
    “Wait,” said Korsak. “Are we talking Fifi and Rover