Swamp Bones by Kathy Reichs Read Free Book Online Page A

to.”
    Deuce nodded.
    “You’re saying the fashion houses buy illegal?”
    “Not all.”
    “Which?”
    “Shoulda asked Kiley. She was the one all cozied up to their hoity-toity asses.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “I’m done here.”
    Yellen was about to push for more when his mobile sounded. Pointing a “Stay put” finger at Deuce, he stepped away.
    Deuce and I eyed each other.
    What the hell?
    “Why were you shooting?” I asked.
    Deuce just glared. Ernie smiled. I noticed that Ernie had a soiled gauze bandage taped around one finger. Defense wound? Knife? Chain saw?
    “Hurt yourself?” I gestured at the bound digit.
    “I got my tat.” Ernie sounded like a kid excited by a new bike. “Show her, Deuce. Show her yours. Blow her mind.” To me, “Mine will be just the same when it heals.”
    Deuce held out his hand and shot the middle finger. Underneath the nail, in ink, was acircle sliced top to bottom by three lines. On each side, within the larger circle, were three concentric curved lines. I recognized the symbol from the Miccosukee village.
    “Jesus. Is that a tattoo under your nail?”
    “Yep.” Said with macho pride.
    “Miccosukee tradition?”
    Ernie started giggling.
    “Just our clan. Takes a pair, know what I’m saying?”
    “I’m eighteen.” Ernie sounded pumped.
    I looked to Deuce for explanation. “We get ’em when we turn eighteen and can gator-wrestle for the village. You hammer the fingertip, wait for the nail to fall off, then ink the bed. Nail grows back. Tat for life.”
    “Hammer the nail.” Ernie giggled again.
    Dear God. I couldn’t imagine the pain. And the long-term wound way out here in the swamp.
    “Keep it disinfected and bandaged,” I couldn’t resist warning him.
    Hearing footfalls, I turned. Yellen was jamming his phone back into his pocket and hurrying toward us. His face could have served as an image to accompany the definition of grim.
    To Deuce he said, “You tell Buck to drop by the station or I’m coming to haul his bony ass in myself.” To me, “Let’s roll. I’m taking you home.”
    “I’ll go home when I’m ready.” I was plenty ready, but I don’t like being told what to do.
    “Your call.” Yellen turned and walked toward the cruiser. “But you’re doing another autopsy first thing tomorrow.”

Chapter Six
    Necropsy. Not autopsy. I’d explained the difference to Yellen, but he wasn’t “interested in semantics.”
    I’ve examined victims lacking both arms and legs before, but none that had been born that way. My current subject was a sixteen-foot Burmese python, weighing 130 pounds and measuring eight inches in diameter. Except for the midsection, which showed a large bulge.
    Lisa and I had risen at dawn. Over a breakfast of cold pizza on her terrace with its “angle your head just right” slash of canal view, we’d discussed possible motives for the James murder. The list had been longer than the snake.
    There was tension among the python hunt contestants. Tension between the once-a-year amateurs and the full-time professional wranglers. Tension between the legal hunters and the poachers.
    Then there was Kiley James herself. She’d been acting secretive and suspicious. She’d dropped Dusty Jordan as her python hunting partner. She’d had a violent encounter with Buck Cypress. Perhaps she’d tipped a poacher that she was on his or her trail.
    After our healthy morning meal, Lisa had gotten a lift to her lab, generously leaving me her car. By eight I was back at Miami-Dade. Elvis waved as I passed the bustle of activity in autopsy one. I picked up that a car had been dredged from a canal, and there’d been decomps inside. No problem. Instead of Elvis, I needed Aaron Lundberg by my side. Today I was playing a supporting role to his leading man.
    Yellen had issued a requisition to Fish and Wildlife. All reptiles captured in the vicinity of Hardwood Hammock were to be taken to the morgue and presented to Lundberg and