Boneyard (6 page)

“Odd in what way?” Kelly asked.

“If you’ll look, here…” Using a tongue depressor, he gently tilted the skull back so they had a clear visual of the remaining upper set of teeth. “You see the amount of cavities here? Significant, particularly for a young man.”

“Yup, lots of fillings.” Monica agreed.

“But that’s just the thing,” Dr. Stuart said, easing the skull back down. “These are composite resin fillings, and a few porcelain inlays as well, all notably high-end work. I’d have to draw a sample from each, but by observation alone I’d say they appear to have been done at the same time, and fairly recently.”

“So our boy here had bad teeth for years, and someone recently took him to the dentist,” Kelly said slowly.

“Exactly.” Dr. Stuart’s cheeks glowed slightly. “It’ll take a few days to get the results, but just in case I drew a DNA sample.”

“Didn’t think you could get DNA from bones,” Monica commented.

“Oh yes, in fact generally they provide the best samples. I’ve been using a relatively new isolation method that combines the use of a cetyltrimethylammonium bromide buffer and isoamyl alcohol…” Catching the expressions on their faces, Dr. Stuart concluded, “Anyway, it’s very effective.”

“Won’t do us much good unless our boy is in the system,” Monica noted.

“True, but there you might be fortunate. Massachusetts and Vermont have two of the largest DNA databases in the country. If he’s ever been arrested for a felony, you have a good chance of a match.”

“How long for the DNA results?” Kelly asked.

Stuart cast a glance at Monica. “I sent a sample to the FBI lab for processing, I hope that’s all right. I was uncertain of the protocol, and they tend to be the quickest. I can’t speak for Vermont, but I know that Massachusetts has a backlog of thousands of cases.”

“Fine by me. The sooner we find out who our boy here is, the better, far as I’m concerned.” Monica waved a hand dismissively while smiling broadly at Dr. Stuart. He shifted self-consciously under her gaze.

Kelly directed their attention back to the skull. “Lieutenant Lauer mentioned some marks on the body.”

“Right, those.” He pointed toward the gaping eye sockets with the tongue depressor. “Difficult to determine if these were administered ante-or post-mortem.”

“But they’re not animal related?”

He shook his head. “Decidedly not. These were administered by a sharp blade of some sort. There were also similar marks here—” he pointed to the sternum “—and here,” he finished, noting an indentation of the pelvic girdle.

“A knife?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Probably. Difficult to say for certain.”

“And how long was he out there?”

Dr. Stuart shrugged. “If we knew exactly where he had fallen, we could take soil samples, try to determine the level of volatile fatty acids present. But if these bones were removed from the original site by animals…”

Monica glanced sideways at Kelly. “I think we might have some idea where he was dumped.”

Kelly nodded. “I’ll send a tech out to gather soil samples.”

“Fantastic.” Dr. Stuart perked up, excited. “If the lab finds evidence of decomposition in the surrounding soil, I could possible narrow the time of death to days.”

“And if you don’t find that?”

“Unfortunately, in the wild, at this time of year, we’re looking at a range of anywhere from twelve days to a few months. Any longer, I believe we would have seen more of an environmental impact on the bones.”

“No hair or fibers?”

“I’m afraid he was too far along in the decomposition process.” Dr. Stuart paused and glanced back down at the body.

“Anything else?” Kelly pressed, watching his face.

Dr. Stuart slowly shook his head from side to side. “No, it’s just…it’s a shame, to be missing the arm from this sample. Not to mention the other remains…examining them together would be helpful. Without having something to compare to, it’s difficult to say if there is any relationship between the victims.”

“I’ll speak to someone in Massachusetts, see what we can arrange. Maybe I can get them to let you examine the bodies tomorrow.”

He looked up anxiously. “Perhaps this time I could travel by car?”

Kelly grinned. “It’ll take a lot longer than a chopper ride, but I suppose we can manage that. Would you like a lift back tonight?”

“I have a few more tests to run, if you don’t mind.” He checked his watch.

“I can hang out. My kid’s on a camping trip, so I’ve got nothing on my plate other than pizza and a hot bath,” Monica said. “Maybe the professor can give me a crash course on this bone stuff.”

A look of mild panic crossed Dr. Stuart’s face again; he nervously ran a hand through his hair, shoving the lock back. It immediately fell forward again across his eyes. “Um, I suppose—”

“That’s settled, then. See you both tomorrow.” Kelly nodded at them and gathered up her purse.

As Kelly left, she heard Monica say, “So you specialize in bones, huh?” She smiled to herself. At last a few members of the task force seemed to be getting along.

The kid flicked his cigarette into the gutter and exhaled a long stream of smoke from his nose. He stood just inside the circle of light cast by a lamp mounted above the club door. The rest of the street was pitch-black. Inside, the drag show was finishing up, and the DJ was getting ready to take over, same as every other Wednesday night. Northampton was a college town, one of the few places where bars and clubs stayed open late. It was sixty miles southeast of the Vermont border, far enough from home that he never worried about anyone recognizing him. It would be difficult to explain himself if he did encounter someone he knew; Northampton was famous above all else for its thriving gay scene, a Gomorrah nestled in the heart of Massachusetts.

His truck was parked across the street, a few doors down from the club. From his vantage point he had a clear view of the entrance, where a velvet rope stood watch forlornly. This late in the season Club Metro would only be half-full, there was no need to keep anyone waiting outside. Aside from the boy, there was no one else around. A couple emerged, arms intertwined, weaving slightly and laughing. Too many apple-tinis, the man thought with disdain. How he despised them, with their tight jeans and mustaches. He ducked a little lower behind the steering wheel and pulled the brim of his cap down as the couple passed within five feet of his truck.

The boy stayed where he was, the light making his pale skin glow iridescent. He glanced up every time the door opened, waiting for someone who was leaving alone—someone lonely enough to purchase his company for a few hours. The kid was slight, around five-six, with light brown hair worked into complicated spikes that made his head appear even smaller than it was. His ragged jeans drooped low on his waist and fell into folds over beat-up sneakers, a black T-shirt hid a concave chest that barely rose with each inhale. He would be an easy one to take. The man had watched him for weeks. Like migrating birds the other boys had vanished, heading south to New York or further, to South Beach. But not this boy. He had nowhere else to go.

The man’s finger tapped the steering wheel. It had been almost a month now since he had taken one—too long, really. Yet he still wasn’t feeling the urgency that the act required. He needed at least another few days to prepare, especially with the recent discovery of the other bodies. It would be smart to let things calm down a little. After all, the police weren’t going to waste much time over an old pile of bones, but a fresh victim might keep them engaged. And that was the last thing he needed, especially now.

But leaving now meant waiting another full week, and enduring another long night of driving, his car chewing up the freeway centerline as dark trees whipped past, the radio chatter goading him on until morning. He couldn’t have another of those nights, wandering across hundreds of miles only to end up back at the same place, right back where he started. Plus by next week the boy might have disappeared, gone with the rest of them. Stranger things had happened, maybe one of the other fags would take pity on him and whisk him away. And then he’d be stuck, nursing the urge through all those long months. It was difficult enough waiting out the winters, unable to take one because of the inherent difficulties in disposing of the bodies. But stopping now would be like quitting smoking with one cigarette left in the pack.

He felt himself slipping into the right frame of mind. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, eyes narrowed as he watched the boy struggling with his lighter, tapping it to summon enough juice to light another cigarette. No, it had to be tonight, and with that thought a wave of relief washed over him. It was when he was at his most calm, just before possessing them. Everything came to one focal point, his mind went into a kind of fugue state when everything felt right, when he felt invincible. The panic would come later, much later, as he scoured the walls with bleach, wondering if he’d left anything behind, made any mistakes.

But right now he was the master, and the boy was waiting. He twisted, groping across the back seat until he felt the handles of the duffel bag. He tugged it forward and checked the contents. Everything he needed was right here. All he had to do was approach the kid and offer him enough money to get in the car without asking any questions. The rest would be easy.

Five

Kelly set the phone down and finished scribbling a name on the pad in front of her.

“Good news?” Monica asked, raising an eyebrow. It was Thursday. Over the past week they’d settled into a routine at their command center in the Berkshire State Police barracks. Monica had set up a post at the main table, while Kelly had taken the desk. The two of them were digging through the ViCAP results. The search parameters, murdered young males found in the woods, had elicited an enormous stack of similar cases, and they’d spent days filtering out those that were way off mark. Doyle still worked from his cubicle in the main detective unit, periodically gracing them with his presence. He would stand in the door smirking while reporting the inconclusive results of tests on the other bones. For all his talk of the crack forensics team at the Massachusetts State Police lab, Kelly was starting to have her doubts. Odder still was his smugness about their lack of leads. Kelly had worked with plenty of lazy cops who did the bare minimum while waiting for their pensions to kick in, but they usually made at least a nominal effort to look busy. Doyle didn’t seem to fit that mold—if anything he flaunted the fact that he wasn’t participating. If they didn’t turn up anything in the next few days, she’d have McLarty petition for the unidentified remains, or maybe see if she could get Massachusetts to assign a different cop to the task force. Even if neither move worked, it might motivate Doyle to become more involved.

Kelly grinned at Monica. “We got lucky. There was a hit on the DNA sample Dr. Stuart sent to the Bureau lab, from John Doe number one.” She looked down at the notepad. “His name was Randy Jacobs, age twenty-four. Northampton is faxing over a copy of his sheet.”

“Yeah? So he’s got a record?”

Kelly nodded. “Solicitation, shoplifting, nothing too serious.”

“Nothing you’d think would get him killed.” Monica noted.

“Maybe he stepped it up a notch.” And maybe this wouldn’t turn out to be a serial case, Kelly thought hopefully, which meant she could pack her bags and head home. If the kid had had a dispute with a partner in crime, and the other John Does weren’t identified, she might be off the hook. It still wasn’t too late to start her vacation.

“I’ll grab the fax.” Monica pushed back from the desk. “Should I fill in Little Mary Sunshine, or should we let him sweat it out a bit?”

“Bring him in,” Kelly said. “Let’s show him what a real lab can do.”

As Kelly waited, her phone rang. She picked it up and glanced at the screen. When she saw the number she frowned and shook her head slightly. She couldn’t deal with that conversation, not right now. She’d been putting it off for days already, a few more hours couldn’t hurt. Kelly raised her arms above her head, arching her back in a stretch.

As Doyle shuffled in behind Monica, she quickly assumed a more formal pose. “What now?” he complained. “I was on my way to lunch.”

Monica brandished a sheaf of papers in one hand. She rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah, I heard it was ‘bonehead day’ at Bennigans—two appetizers for the price of one, right?” Doyle started to respond but she cut him off. “Man, record is right. This kid Randy got around.” She handed the papers to Kelly.

The kid’s mug shots glared up at her accusingly. He was sullen looking but attractive, with big doe eyes and a cowlick. He looked to be about eighteen in the photo, hair bleached blond, eyebrows thick and bushy. Slight, like Dr. Stuart had surmised. His stats were five foot eight, just a hundred and forty pounds. He looked like a kid who’d never known anything but hard times. Kelly flipped quickly through the rap sheet—lots of arrests, mainly for solicitation. Some days he was released from jail, then thrown back in the same night. Each arrest form listed him as living at a different address.

Doyle peered over her shoulder and grunted. “Looks like a little punk.”

“So he deserved to die? And to get dumped in the woods like yesterday’s garbage?” Monica said reproachfully.

Doyle rolled his eyes. “Check out Ms. P.C. I’m just saying, a kid that’s gone in and out of the system like this, don’t expect me to shed any tears.”

Kelly furrowed her brows. “No arrests since April, so apparently he started behaving himself.”

“Or left town,” Doyle noted.

“Let’s do a national search for any arrests. We might as well start trying the local dentists, too, see if we can find out who paid for Mr. Jacobs’s pricey dental work.”

“There’s probably a hundred dentists in a twenty-mile radius,” Doyle protested.

“Now that we’ve got a name, it shouldn’t take too long. We’ll divide them up.”

“I still think this is a waste of time,” Doyle grumbled.

Kelly frowned at him. “Yes, Lieutenant, you’ve made that abundantly clear over the past week. But until you get reassigned, you’re still a member of this task force, and you might as well make yourself useful for a change.”