PATRICIA CORNWELL. Unnatural Exposure

‘And we know it was really him,’ he then said.

‘Oh for God’s sake, Marino!’

‘What? You’ve seen the photos? You know it for a fact?’ he went on.

‘I’ve seen them. And yes, I know,’ I said as I stopped at the receptionist’s desk.

‘Then what’s in them.’ He would not stop.

A young woman named Shirley, who had taken care of me before, waited for Marino and me to quit disagreeing.

‘That is none of your business,’ I sweetly said to him. ‘Shirley, how are you?’

‘Back again?’ She smiled.

‘With no good news, I’m sorry to say,’ I replied.

Marino began trimming his fingernails with a pocketknife, glancing around like Elvis might walk in any minute.

‘Dr Canter’s expecting you,’ she said. ‘Come on. I’ll take you back.’

While Marino ambled off to make phone calls somewhere down the hall, I was shown into the modest office of a man I had known since his residency days at the University of Tennessee. Canter had been as young as Lucy when I had met him for the first time.

A devotee of forensic anthropologist Dr Bass, who had begun the decay research facility in Knoxville known as The Body Farm, Canter had been mentored by most of the greats. He was considered the world’s foremost expert in saw marks, and I wasn’t quite sure what it was about this state famous for the Vols and Daniel Boone. Tennessee seemed to corner the market on experts in time of death and human bones.

‘Kay.’ Canter rose, extending his hand.

‘Dave, you’re always so good to see me on such short notice.’ I took a chair across from his desk.

‘Well, I hate what you’re going through.’

He had dark hair combed straight back from his brow, so that whenever he looked down it fell in his way. He was constantly shoving it out of his way but did not seem aware of it. His face was youthful and interestingly angular, with closely set eyes and a strong jaw and nose.

‘How are Jill and the kids?’ I inquired.

‘Great. We’re expecting again.’

‘Congratulations. That makes three?’

‘Four.’ His smile got bigger.

‘I don’t know how you do it,’ I said sincerely.

‘Doing it’s the easy part. What goodies have you brought me?’

Setting the hard case on the edge of his desk, I opened it and got out the plastic-enclosed sections of bone. I handed them to him and he took out the left femur first. He studied it under a lamp with his lens, slowly turning it end over end.

‘Hmmm,’ he said. ‘So you didn’t notch the end you cut.’ He glanced at me.

He wasn’t chastising, just reminding, and I felt angry with myself again. Usually, I was so careful. If anything, I was known for being cautious to the point of obsession.

‘I made an assumption, and I was wrong,’ I said. ‘I did not expect to discover that the killer used a saw with characteristics very similar to mine.’

‘They usually don’t use autopsy saws.’ He pushed back his chair and got up. ‘I’ve never had a case, really, just studied that type of saw mark in theory, here in the lab.’

‘Then that’s what this is.’ I had suspected as much.

‘I can’t say with certainty until I get it under the scope. But both ends look like they’ve been cut with a Stryker saw.’

He gathered the bags of bones, and I followed him out into the hall as my misgivings got worse. I did not know what we would do if he could not tell the saw marks apart. A mistake like this was enough to ruin a case in court.

‘Now, I know you’re probably not going to tell much about the vertebral bone,’ I said, for it was trabecular, less dense than other bone and therefore not a good surface for tool marks.

‘Never hurts to bring it anyway. We might get lucky,’ he said as we entered his lab.

There was not an inch of empty space. Thirty-five-gallon drums of degreaser and polyurethane varnish were parked wherever they would fit. Shelves from floor to ceiling were crammed with packaged bones, and in boxes and on carts were every type of saw known to man. Dismemberments were rare, and I knew of only three obvious motivations for taking a victim apart. Transporting the body was easier. Identification was slowed, if not made impossible. Or simply, the killer was malicious.

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