Bare Bones by Debra Dunbar Page B

photo back into the folder. “Where were you the evening before?”
    Huang took several deep breaths, his leg starting its bounce again. “I was at the museum from five to midnight. We had the exhibit to prep, plus there were some loaned artifacts coming in from a museum in South Carolina. Elsa Cartwright, the curator of the weapons exhibit, was there with me. We catalogued the loaned items and readied the displays. I went home at midnight and was back at the museum at eight to get things ready for the donor reception.”
    Thorough, and he had witnesses to his alibi. But there still was time after he’d left the museum to have killed and skinned the victim. I was assuming he had keys to the building, and that his wife might not notice that he’d arrived home closer to two than twelve thirty or one.
    Wait. He wasn’t a suspect. He was supposedly the victim by his knee replacement ID. The guy probably had nothing to do with this. Tremelay had him here just to gather information, not accuse the man. As Huang had said, he could hardly have removed his own implant and put it in the victim. This was just a bizarre coincidence.
    Tremelay obviously felt the same. He noted the man’s comments, then stood, thanking him for coming in. The detective was escorting him to the door just as the officer arrived with the man’s soda.
    Huang took it and nervously fiddled with the pull tab, then followed Tremelay out of the interview room.
    “What do you think?” Norwicki asked.
    I shrugged. “Someone screwed up coding the guy’s medical device. Probably someone getting a knee replacement the same week as our victim.”
    Norwicki nodded in agreement. “Try convincing Tremelay that. He’s gonna be a dog with a bone on this case, and the man doesn’t believe in coincidences.”
    The detective might not, but I couldn’t see how this was anything else. No other explanation made sense. We were looking for a psychotic killer who skinned his victim, and I truly doubted Brian Huang had anything to do with the murder, in spite of his eccentricities.

Chapter 7
     
    N ORWICKI AND I had reopened the cookie box and helped ourselves by the time Tremelay made it back in.
    “Hey,” he protested, shutting the lid after grabbing another chocolate chip for himself. “Well, Huang was a bust, and we’re back to square one. I still think something is fishy with that guy, though.”
    Norwicki gave me a knowing look reached for another cookie, jerking his hand back as two beeps went off. Like a synchronized water ballet, both detectives checked their cell phones and exchanged tired glances.
    “Got a murder, this one with her skin still on,” Norwicki announced as he stowed his cell phone in his pants pocket.
    “Yeah,” Tremelay grumbled, looking through the big glass window into the now-empty interview room. “Guess our John Doe has to step aside until we get another lead.” He looked over at me and smiled. “Wanna ride along, Ainsworth? I feel bad that this wasn’t more exciting.”
    I had nothing else to do today. “Sure. I think a dead woman is a fair trade for a couple dozen cookies.”
    At the mention of the baked goods, both detectives eyed the box. “We won’t be back for hours,” Tremelay announced. “I leave these at the station and there won’t be any left.”
    Oh for Pete’s sake. You’d think the guy never had a cookie before in his life. “Share, you selfish pig. You’re gonna get fat if you eat all those cookies yourself.”
    Tremelay and Norwicki both instinctively sucked in their stomachs and looked down. Vanity knew no age limit.
    “Oh all right.” Tremelay finally capitulated. They each took a few more cookies and deposited the nearly-empty box on a desk just outside the door to the interview room. Within seconds, other cops had descended on it like a pack of piranhas.
    We walked out to the unmarked car, Tremelay still chewing over the not-Huang case. “You know if it’s a serial killer, he’s going to kill