Bones Never Lie by Kathy Reichs Page B

could take the silence no longer, “Wonder what the weather’s like in Charlotte.”
    “Continued dark overnight, widely scattered light by morning.”
    Recognizing the George Carlin quote, I smiled to myself. The old Ryan was still in there somewhere.
    Then I was out.
    I awoke to the captain announcing our landing. And wishing his passengers and crew a happy Thanksgiving.
    As we wound down the ramp from the airport parking deck, I offered Ryan the guest room.
    “A hotel close to the law enforcement center will be fine.”
    I wasn’t surprised. So why the hollow feeling? Relief? Resignation? Sadness that at last I had full confirmation?
    Yes. Definitely sadness.
    I said nothing.
    “It’s better this way.” In response to my silence.
    “I’m good with it,” I said.
    “I’m not the same person, Tempe. Not the man I was.”
    I dropped him at the Holiday Inn on College.
    It was after ten when I hit the annex. The place seemed incomplete without Birdie. After downing the takeout burritos I’d grabbed en route home, I phoned Barrow.
    He was impressed that I’d bagged my quarry. And pleased. Suggested a meet at eight the next morning. Said he’d call Rodas and Slidell.
    After disconnecting, I dialed the Holiday Inn. Asked for Ryan. Shocker—they connected me. He’d actually checked in.
    I offered a ride in the morning. Ryan said he’d find his own way to the CCU.
Or back to the airport
, I thought cynically.
    That was all I could handle.
    Exhausted, I fell into bed.
    “Wish I could say you look good.” Slidell was eyeing Ryan with an expression of amusement.
    Ryan shrugged.
    “What the fuck’s with your hair?”
    “Been touring with Shaggy.”
    The reggae reference was lost on Slidell, whose musical taste ran to C&W and sixties rock and roll.
    Barrow cleared his throat. “The sooner we start, the sooner we get home to leftover turkey.”
    “Or back on the street,” Slidell said.
    “This will be short. There’s nothing new on Pomerleau. Leal is still missing; Detective Slidell says so far, the tech boys have recovered nothing from her Mac. They’re still at it.”
    “The computer’s not out there.” This was Slidell’s way of saying, “Don’t discuss it with the press.”
    “Right,” Barrow affirmed. “The media’s starting to turn ugly. Mainly, I wanted to get us all face-to-face—”
    “Without that fuckwad Tinker.”
    Barrow slid a look to Slidell before continuing. “I wanted Detective Ryan to meet Detective Rodas.”
    The men nodded at each other, acknowledging earlier introductions.
    “Dr. Brennan has briefed Detective Ryan on details of the Vermont and Charlotte cases.” Question, not statement.
    “Yes.” I’d done it with zero feedback on the drive from the airport to Ryan’s hotel.
    “I’m only here as an observer.” Ryan favored me with a sideways glance. “And to appease Dr. Stalker.”
    Hurt and anger reared up in equal proportions. I fought both down.
    “Two murders,” Barrow said. “And Shelly Leal is missing one week today.”
    “Still, the link is weak.” Ryan often played devil’s advocate.
    “DNA connects Gower to Nance and both to Pomerleau. The MO for Leal is identical.”
    Ryan rubbed a thumbnail along the edge of the table. Thinking about long-ago girls in a cellar? His dead daughter? A bottle of Scotch he’d left in his room?
    “Ryan—” I started.
    “I’ll be no good to you.”
    “You know Pomerleau,” I said.
    “I’m a mess.”
    Slidell snorted. “Should take the heat off my ass.”
    “I’m sorry.” Ryan wagged his head. “I’m done with cracked skulls and slit throats and cigarette burns. No more dead kids.”
    “What about live ones?”
    Ryan’s thumb continued its slow back-and-forth. I wanted to slap him, to shake him to his senses. Instead I kept my voice even and neutral. “Pomerleau’s thrill didn’t come from killing. You know that. She fed her victims just enough to keep them alive so she could torture and rape them. She