Last Ditch by G. M. Ford Read Free Book Online

however, lasting only until a single-engined float plane
taxied into
view from the north, its red wing lights whirling, its long hollow feet
gouging
a cold reminder of darkness into the bright skin of the water.
    Rebecca
leaned
over and kissed me on the ear.
    "You
okay?" she asked, rubbing the back of my neck.
    I
sighed.
"This is embarrassing."
    She
patted me
on the shoulder. "Believe me, Leo, I know what you mean," she said.
"I had to call my own office to send a forensic team."
    I
threw an arm
across her shoulders and pulled her close to me. We'd been sitting
together on
the back steps for a couple of hours, twiddling our thumbs, trying to
keep out
of harm's way.
    It
was three
hours since I'd stuffed the Boys into a cab and sent them on their way,
and the
backyard looked like an archeological dig. Tommy Matsukawa led a team
of three
forensic technicians who, one trowel at a time, had removed the sawdust
covering the skeleton, sifted the removed material through four
successively
finer screens and then checked what they had left with a metal detector.
    They'd
set up a
small bank of halogen lights at either end of the dig and now, when it
seemed
like they must be just about down to the bones, they brought in a shop
vac to
suck up the last of the dust. I was feeling about as whiny as the sound
of the
electric motor.
    It
had been hard
on Rebecca too, sitting there, not interfering, letting the people who
worked
for her do then-jobs. To make matters worse, Jeff Byrne, the medical
examiner
himself, had showed up about a half an hour ago, given us a curt nod
and now
hovered about the line between the light and the darkness like a
vampire.
Around here, the ME is an elected official, just another politician.
Jeff Byrne
hadn't cut into a cadaver in twenty years, but he knew a potential
photo op
when he saw one. Tommy turned off the vacuum cleaner, and suddenly all
was
quiet. The machine rattled as he pushed it over toward Mary Kenny, who
stood
with her hands thrust deep in the pockets of her bright yellow medical
examiner's jacket, transfixed, staring off into space.
    "Go
through this, will you, please, Mary," he said.
    Mary
rolled it
over to the side and began to remove the bag from the machine, as the
other two
technicians set up a thirty-five millimeter camera on a tripod and
began taking
pictures. I counted the flashes as they moved around the bones.
Thirty-two
flashes.
    When
they'd
finished, Jeff Byrne wandered over into the light and stood next to
Tommy,
looking down. He was a taciturn man of about sixty with a full head of
curly
hair, once blond, now turned a sour yellow. He wore a spotless gray
suit with a
burgundy silk tie pulled down and a pair of cordovan loafers. I
suspected he'd
been on his way to dinner when he got the call. Together, they made a
complete
circle of the foundation, pausing for a long while at the north end of
the skeleton,
kneeling, pointing and whispering between themselves and then
continuing on
around, checking the bones from all angles. When they were back where
they
began, Tommy shaded his eyes from the harsh light and cried out like a
carnival
barker.
    "Don't
be
shy, folks," he called. "Step right up and see the wonder of the
ages, Queen Anne Man."
    I
stayed put.
Rebecca nudged me with her elbow. She knew I didn't trust Tommy. "It's
just bones," she said. Yeah, sure.
    Nothing
gave
Tommy Matsukawa greater pleasure than grossing me out. He'd trained the
clerical staff to buzz him whenever I'd stop by the ME's office to see
Rebecca.
Then he'd come trotting out .of the pathology lab with some rancid
piece of
festering flesh to wave under my nose.
    Rebecca
grabbed
my elbow and hauled me to my feet. "Come on," she whispered.
Together, we walked down into the yard.
    I
don't know
what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I saw. I guess I'd been hoping
that
the body had been that of some unfortunate tramp, drunk, fallen into a
sawdust
bin and unknowingly dumped with that long-ago load of cedar