Swamp Bones by Kathy Reichs Read Free Book Online

did I.
    A scruffy human emerged from around the side of the house. Sinewy, bearded, a Remington twelve-gauge gripped two-handed in front of his chest. Pure swamp.
    For a moment we all looked at each other. I took in more detail. Bloodshot eyes. Inked forearms. Bulge of tobacco under the lower lip. Denim and camo that had never known laundry detergent. I guessed Deuce’s age around five years north of high school dropout.
    The dog ran to Deuce, tongue dangling, eyes hard on us. Deuce shot it a butt-kick accompanied by a nonchalant “Get on, Rooster.” The dog yelped and slunk away. I didn’t try to hide my disgust.
    “Lose the shotgun, Deuce.” Yellen spoke.
    “Don’t have to. Standin’ my ground.”
    “Where’s your brother?”
    “Ernie!” Cypress shouted, eyes never leaving Yellen. “Sheriff’s here wanting to invite you to the prom!”
    A younger version of Deuce appeared. Mirror image except for the addition of a stud in one ear and a faded Little Feat concert tee instead of camo on top.
    “Where’s Buck?” Yellen made no effort to mask his impatience.
    “Buck ain’t here,” Deuce said.
    Yellen waited.
    Deuce shrugged. “Ain’t my brother’s keeper.”
    Ernie made an odd giggling sound and looked to Deuce for approval.
    “Kiley James was found dead in the swamp.” Yellen didn’t mince words. “Murdered anddismembered. And the trail leads right here.”
    “What the hell?” Deuce looked like someone had slammed him in the chest. “White woman dies and you blame the Indian?”
    “Save it,” Yellen said. “As I recall the little lady tuned Buck up with a bottle after he groped her at Alligator Ron’s last summer.”
    “She’s a bitch.” Deuce’s eyes flashed angry and black. “She’s the one done the assaulting.”
    “Self-defense ain’t assault, Deuce. That big brother of yours has a temper and a fondness for Jimmy B. Not a good mix. Bought him more than one night in my jail.”
    “What’s your point?”
    “Where is he?”
    Deuce only glared.
    “Word is Kiley was about to nail y’all for poaching.”
    “We ain’t poachers.” This from Ernie, who was still smiling. Deuce shot him a look.
    “We got rights to hunt and fish.” Ernie went on, barely audible, and now looking at his boots.
    “Not on park land, you don’t.” Yellen was ignoring Ernie, talking only to Deuce. “Maybe Kiley caught you upping your bounty count with illegal kills.”
    Deuce’s face crimped in scorn. “You talking ’bout the staties’ Python Challenge? We ain’t into that honky shit.”
    “When’s the last time you saw Kiley James?”
    Deuce shrugged. “Been a while, I reckon.”
    Ernie’s eyes stayed glued to his footwear.
    “Word is Kiley had pics that could put y’all behind bars.”
    Deuce shrugged again. He was good at it. “Can’t have pics of what ain’t happened.”
    “I’m thinking maybe Kiley came by pointin’ fingers. You made the problem disappear. Be pretty easy way out here in the swamp.”
    “Screw you,” Deuce said. “There’s poaching goin’ down all right, but it ain’t Cypress.”
    “You got a chain saw?” Yellen switched tacks.
    “What?” Surprised.
    “Do. You. Own. A. Chain. Saw.”
    “Naw, man.”
    “Who’s poaching then?” And again.
    Yellen’s interview tactics weren’t rattling Deuce. “Maybe Kiley James. Ever think of that? Maybe it was her playing dirty tricks.”
    “Lady sure as hell didn’t kill herself.”
    Deuce seemed to roll that around in his mind. Which I was beginning to suspect was sharper than his appearance suggested. Finally, he spat, “You know the real victims?”
    Knowing the question was rhetorical, Yellen didn’t respond.
    “Pythons. And gators. Greedy pricks in Miami don’t give a rat’s ass where the skins come from. Long as they can make their fancy shoes and belts.”
    “Who are you talking about?” Yellen asked.
    For the first time, Deuce looked uncomfortable. “All of ’em.”
    “The people you sell