Icy Clutches by Aaron Elkins Read Free Book Online Page B

finally brought his chair to a halt. “I'm relieved to hear that. Fine, then. I just wanted to hear you say it."
    "Well, then,” Gideon said, “maybe we ought to have a look at the bones."
    Parker shot him a grateful look and was out of his chair before Tibbett had a chance to do any more vacillating. “Here they are, right here."
    They were in a Del Monte tomato-sauce carton on top of the bookcase. Parker took the box down, used his forearm to clear a space in the center of the table, and put the box there. Tibbett unobtrusively pushed off with his feet to roll his chair a few inches farther away.
    Gideon got up to look into the open carton. There wasn't much. A warped, split shoe, still damp, with the bony remains of a foot inside; the upper third of a right femur; and most of a mandible with a single tooth still in place. There were some animal bones too: part of a sacrum and two ribs—mountain goat, probably.
    He handed the animal bones to Parker. “Not human."
    One at a time the ranger flipped them basketball-style at a wastepaper basket. The sacrum took a second try. Tibbett watched the acoustical-tiled ceiling with practiced forbearance.
    "Well, there isn't much,” Gideon said, “but I think we ought to be able to come to a few general conclusions about just who we have here. Tell me, do you lose many people out there?"
    "We don't lose any," Tibbett said defensively. “Well, a few every year, of course, what with crevasses, and slides, and people who refuse to take commonsense precautions, but as far as I know, the only people who ever died right there, right on Tirku Glacier, were the ones in 1960."
    "So these pretty much have to be from the expedition?"
    "Well, yes, certainly, I'd say so. Narrows it down, doesn't it?"
    "To three people,” Gideon agreed. He pulled some old newspapers from the top of a file cabinet, spread them on the table next to the box, and took the boot out. “Got something that will cut through this?"
    Parker produced a utility knife. Gideon used it to cut the still-knotted leather thong, then slit the boot itself down the middle from toe to heel, and peeled the two halves downward. The mildewy smell that had hung in the air thickened noticeably.
    Tibbett made a face and rolled himself a little farther back. Parker flinched but held his ground.
    "The smell's not from the bones,” Gideon reassured them. “It's just rotting wool.” He tugged gently at the soggy, moldering tufts of material and pulled them easily apart, revealing a complete set of tarsals—ankle bones somewhat crushed but still pretty much in place, and most of the metatarsals and phalanges—the foot and toe bones—considerably jumbled. Here and there were shreds of brown skin and shriveled ligament.
    "Ah, would you prefer that we leave while you examine them?” Tibbett asked hopefully. “We wouldn't want to get in your way."
    "It's up to you. This'll probably take no more than half an hour, but I don't really think you'll find it too fascinating."
    Tibbett leaped at the opportunity. “Well, then, we'd better get going. We have things to do."
    "What things?” Parker asked.
    "Things,” Tibbett said.
    "Actually,” Gideon said, “if you wouldn't mind, maybe one of you could do me a favor and get some information from Tremaine, or maybe from Judd or Henckel."
    Parker brightened. “Sure, what do you need?"
    "I want to know what the three people who were killed looked like. Height, weight, build, that kind of thing. Distinguishing physical characteristics. And if they know about any old injuries that might show up on the bones."
    Parker nodded. “Sure, you bet.” He hesitated, frowning. “Am I wrong, or didn't I read somewhere that you didn't want to be told those things when you were working on a case?"
    "No, you're right. Anthropologists are like anybody else. Other things being equal, they see what they expect to see. I'm more objective if I don't know who I'm supposed to be looking at. But by the time you