it?”
“Well, at the risk of contradicting myself, I think that even if it’s not admissible, it might be persuasive,” she argued. “Might persuade the judge to sign an exhumation order. Might persuade the GBI to investigate, and maybe they’d find evidence that would be admissible. So that’s one reason we’re doing it. The other reason is, I need to know what happened to Kate. If I’m wrong in thinking Don killed her, I need to let go of that idea and face the fact that she shot herself. But if I’m right—and I’m pretty sure I’m right—I want to know for damn sure.”
“It might never be possible to know for damn sure,” I pointed out.
“Maybe not. But I’m not ready to give up on that possibility yet. Not ready to give up on Kate yet.”
I admired her loyalty and bravery. “Me neither. Let’s see if this is enough to get us an exhumation order, and maybe a nibble of interest from the GBI. Now let’s get out of these bunny suits and get me to the airport.”
Chapter 4
“H oly shit .” The Tallahassee airport security screener looked like he’d seen a ghost when my bag went through the X-ray machine. I’d tried to warn him—“You’re going to see a human skull in that bag,” I’d said—but instead of taking in my meaning, he’d simply looked annoyed and told me to please step through the metal detector. By the time I stepped through, he was frantically summoning his supervisor. The pair huddled briefly over the screen, then the supervisor radioed for his boss. While awaiting the arrival of higher authority, he motioned me forward with his left hand—and laid his right hand on his weapon.
“Sir, we’ll need to open your bag,” he said. I was amused by the contrast between his mundane words and his panicky tone, but I figured it would be unwise to laugh at a man who had one hand on a gun.
“Be my guest,” I said, in what I hoped was a soothing, I’m-not-a-serial-killer voice. “I’m a forensic anthropologist—a bone detective—and I’m a consultant to the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation and the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. That skull is from an FDLE case I’m working on.” I paused to see if the wind had shifted any; he still looked suspicious, but no longer openly hostile. “There’s a TBI badge and an FDLE evidence receipt in the side pocket of my bag. I’m taking the skull up to Tennessee to get some help identifying it.” At the rate this was going, though, I wasn’t feeling confident about making my flight and getting to Knoxville, at least not on the flight that was scheduled to leave in forty minutes.
The supervisor eyed me with continuing suspicion, but his hand moved away from his gun. “I’ll still need to open the bag.”
“Of course. The skull is old and fragile, so if you unwrap it, please be really careful. You might want gloves, too.” They looked back and forth from the bag to my face. Behind him, I noticed another uniformed TSA official hustling toward us. It didn’t take a lot of brainpower to deduce that this guy was in charge. “I think your boss is here,” I said, nodding toward the fast-approaching newcomer. The two supervisors conferred briefly in hushed voices, then the higher-level manager gestured toward my bag. His underling tugged the zipper hesitantly, as if the bag might contain a live snake, and gingerly removed the cardboard box from inside and raised the lid. Within the box, the skull was swaddled in a layer of bubble wrap and surrounded by foam packing peanuts. They leaned down and peered in, shooing peanuts aside with gloved fingers. “It’s very fragile,” I pleaded. “Please be careful. If it gets broken, it’ll be harder to identify the victim and catch the killer.”
My words finally seemed to sink in. The boss looked up. “You say you’ve got some sort of documentation about this?”
“I’ve got an evidence receipt from FDLE, the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. I’ve also got my
“Well, at the risk of contradicting myself, I think that even if it’s not admissible, it might be persuasive,” she argued. “Might persuade the judge to sign an exhumation order. Might persuade the GBI to investigate, and maybe they’d find evidence that would be admissible. So that’s one reason we’re doing it. The other reason is, I need to know what happened to Kate. If I’m wrong in thinking Don killed her, I need to let go of that idea and face the fact that she shot herself. But if I’m right—and I’m pretty sure I’m right—I want to know for damn sure.”
“It might never be possible to know for damn sure,” I pointed out.
“Maybe not. But I’m not ready to give up on that possibility yet. Not ready to give up on Kate yet.”
I admired her loyalty and bravery. “Me neither. Let’s see if this is enough to get us an exhumation order, and maybe a nibble of interest from the GBI. Now let’s get out of these bunny suits and get me to the airport.”
Chapter 4
“H oly shit .” The Tallahassee airport security screener looked like he’d seen a ghost when my bag went through the X-ray machine. I’d tried to warn him—“You’re going to see a human skull in that bag,” I’d said—but instead of taking in my meaning, he’d simply looked annoyed and told me to please step through the metal detector. By the time I stepped through, he was frantically summoning his supervisor. The pair huddled briefly over the screen, then the supervisor radioed for his boss. While awaiting the arrival of higher authority, he motioned me forward with his left hand—and laid his right hand on his weapon.
“Sir, we’ll need to open your bag,” he said. I was amused by the contrast between his mundane words and his panicky tone, but I figured it would be unwise to laugh at a man who had one hand on a gun.
“Be my guest,” I said, in what I hoped was a soothing, I’m-not-a-serial-killer voice. “I’m a forensic anthropologist—a bone detective—and I’m a consultant to the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation and the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. That skull is from an FDLE case I’m working on.” I paused to see if the wind had shifted any; he still looked suspicious, but no longer openly hostile. “There’s a TBI badge and an FDLE evidence receipt in the side pocket of my bag. I’m taking the skull up to Tennessee to get some help identifying it.” At the rate this was going, though, I wasn’t feeling confident about making my flight and getting to Knoxville, at least not on the flight that was scheduled to leave in forty minutes.
The supervisor eyed me with continuing suspicion, but his hand moved away from his gun. “I’ll still need to open the bag.”
“Of course. The skull is old and fragile, so if you unwrap it, please be really careful. You might want gloves, too.” They looked back and forth from the bag to my face. Behind him, I noticed another uniformed TSA official hustling toward us. It didn’t take a lot of brainpower to deduce that this guy was in charge. “I think your boss is here,” I said, nodding toward the fast-approaching newcomer. The two supervisors conferred briefly in hushed voices, then the higher-level manager gestured toward my bag. His underling tugged the zipper hesitantly, as if the bag might contain a live snake, and gingerly removed the cardboard box from inside and raised the lid. Within the box, the skull was swaddled in a layer of bubble wrap and surrounded by foam packing peanuts. They leaned down and peered in, shooing peanuts aside with gloved fingers. “It’s very fragile,” I pleaded. “Please be careful. If it gets broken, it’ll be harder to identify the victim and catch the killer.”
My words finally seemed to sink in. The boss looked up. “You say you’ve got some sort of documentation about this?”
“I’ve got an evidence receipt from FDLE, the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. I’ve also got my
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