Speaking in Bones by Kathy Reichs Read Free Book Online Page B

badly damaged when they arrived in 2013. What are the odds more could have survived?”
    “It’s possible.”
    “Likely?”
    I shrugged.
    “Who worked the recovery?”
    “A Burke County deputy sheriff.”
    “Have you talked to him?”
    “Her. Opal Ferris. She was unavailable. I left a message.”
    “Did the NOK file an MP report?” Larabee used the shorthand for next of kin.
    I shook my head.
    “Who put Teague up on this CLUES site?”

    “There’s no way to know. All posters are allowed to remain anonymous.”
    Larabee’s face executed something between a grimace and a scowl. Held the expression several seconds. Then he said what I’d expected.
    “I can’t commit funds or personnel to something this thin. Phone back up to Burke County. Talk to Ferris. See where that goes.”
    I nodded. Got to my feet and returned to my office.
    This time Opal Ferris took my call.
    I introduced myself. Ferris remembered me. And the bones. And her trek around the mountain with Mort. She asked if new info had surfaced.
    For what seemed the hundredth time I went through the recent time line, focusing on developments unknown to Ferris. Websleuthing. Strike’s NamUs epiphany and visit to Burke County. Cora Teague. The audio.
    Ferris listened. I think. There seemed to be a lot going on in the background.
    “This key chain thingy was just lying in the dirt?” Ferris’s voice was raspy, maybe from smoking, maybe from vocal cords working on a node.
    “So Strike claims.”
    “And the family thinks the kid’s run off with some local fella?”
    “I’m unsure of his place of residence.”
    “But the bottom line is she’s not been reported missing.”
    “Except on CLUES.”
    “Which any pig nut can access.”
    I said nothing.
    “Teague have a cellphone?”
    “No.”
    “Any Internet presence?”
    “Not according to Strike.”
    “Uh-huh. I’m sorry, Doc. But it don’t sound like you’ve got squat. A few bones in Burke, someone who may or may not be missing in Avery. That someone being eighteen and free to stay gone if she chooses.”

    It was hard to argue with that.
    “Can you make a couple of calls?” I asked. “See if the mother or one of the sisters is willing to provide a DNA sample?”
    I waited. Quite a while. When I was sure Ferris was about to blow me off, she said, “I’ll get back to you.”
    —
    Ferris didn’t. But an Avery County deputy sheriff named Zeb Ramsey did. At four that afternoon, as I was pulling into my drive.
    The mother and both sisters had refused to allow themselves to be swabbed. Though none of them had heard from Cora since 2011, all believed she was alive and doing just fine.
    Deputy Ramsey sounded about as fired up about the situation as Ferris had been. Disconnected before I could pose a single question about the Teague family.
    First Ryan, now Larabee, Ferris, and Ramsey. The enthusiasm level was sending streaks of tension straight up my back.
    I tossed my mobile onto the dash and gave it the finger. In answer, it rang. I snatched it up, thinking Ramsey was calling back.
    “Brennan.”
    “Sounds like you’re having a real bad day.”
    “I’m off duty, Ms. Strike.”
    “Mrs.”
    I sighed, considered whether to beg off or simply disconnect.
    “I won’t chew your ear, just wanted to invite you so’s everything’s on the up and up. I aim to take another pass at that overlook tomorrow.”
    “You’re returning to Burke County?”
    “Yep.”
    “You shouldn’t do that.”
    “I don’t, who will?”
    “I appreciate what you’ve done. But it’s time to hand the investigation off to professionals.”
    “Yeah? They kicked free any leads?”
    So far no one I’d contacted gave a rat’s ass. I kept that to myself.

    “Well, I have.” Strike allowed a lengthy silence, perhaps to show who was in charge. “Remember the youngest Teague kid? The one I didn’t know what become of?”
    “Eli.”
    “Little Eli died shortly after his twelfth birthday.”
    “Died how?”
    “I