Carved in Bone by Bill Bass, Jon Jefferson Read Free Book Online Page A

would start at the head and work my way down.
    My eyes drifted to the neck, and something just below it caught my gaze—a slight bulge at the top of the chest. Just then Miranda brought in the X-rays. “Look,” I said, “I think she’s wearing something around her neck.” She leaned in and we both studied what appeared to be a flat, oblong pendant hidden beneath a veneer of adipocere. Whatever chain or cord it had once hung from had long since crumbled to a greenish-white line of oxide encircling the waxy neck.
    “Oh, that,” she said. “I saw that on the X-rays.” There was an odd note in her voice. On the surface, she sounded nonchalant—practically bored—but underneath, she was almost quivering with excitement. I waited. After a tantalizing pause, she added, “That’s not all I saw on the X-rays.” She switched on a light box on the wall by the door and slipped one of the films into place. Her head blocked my view.
    She turned toward me, still blocking my view, then, with her eyes locked on mine, leaned sideways to reveal the image. “Holy Mary Mother of God,” I breathed.
    “Well, that’s probably not how you should word it in the report, but it is worth noting.”
    “Let’s get to it.”
    We turned back to the gurney and the waiting corpse. The hair mat had slid backward on the skull, shifting the hairline back to the top of the head. Despite being matted with adipocere and discolored by mold, the hair still showed traces of its original fineness and straw-blond color. The ears were mostly gone—with no bone to support them, they had gradually collapsed and merged with the waxy tissue of the scalp. The face looked almost masklike: the adipocere had separated slightly from the underlying bone, creating an eerie effect, as if a skeleton were masquerading as a mummy for some bizarre costume party of the dead. Although the lips were parted in an eternal scream, the teeth were tightly clenched. The eye orbits were filled with lumpy disks of wax, which stared blindly up at me, at Miranda, and at the harsh fluorescent lights that had taken the place of the cave’s velvety blackness.
    The gurney had a lip of stainless steel running completely around its edge, as well as a screened drain near its foot. With the cart latched in place, the drain hung directly above the sink—a morbid but inspired design feature suggested by the person who’d cleaned more decomp spatters off walls and floors than anyone else in the world: me. A spray head, a twin to the one in my kitchen at home, hung from a bracket on the wall. I turned on the water, keeping the volume low but cranking the heat up almost to scalding. The adipocere’s texture was somewhere between wax and soap. Hot water would melt it like a cake of Ivory in a Jacuzzi.
    Working gently, I played the water back and forth across the face. At first there was no effect—the adipocere was cold and almost rock-hard—but gradually it softened and sagged, then began to run, dripping greasily through the drain and down the sink. In the cave, and even when I had unzipped the body bag just moments earlier, I’d noticed almost no odor, but as the hot water began dissolving the adipocere, it unleashed the stench of decomp, mixed with acrid overtones of ammonia.
    In less than a minute, the lump that had been the nose was gone, exposing the nasal openings in the skull. It didn’t take much longer for the zygomatic arches, the cheekbones, to emerge through the molten cheeks. The maxilla and mandible, the upper and lower jawbones, appeared next. As the connective tissues attaching the mandible to the skull gave way, I held the bone in place with my left hand until it was completely free, then gave it to Miranda, who turned and placed it on a counter lined with absorbent surgical pads. When I finished washing the adipocere off the bones, we’d do an initial examination of the entire skeleton to determine the race and estimate the stature and age. Then Miranda would