The Breaking Point: A Body Farm Novel by Jefferson Bass Read Free Book Online Page B

the man in the NTSB cap. “Patrick Maddox, National Transportation Safety Board.” He unfolded his arms and shook McCready’s hand with understandable coolness. In less than thirty seconds, Maddox had been demoted from head honcho to hired help. Henceforth, he was a consultant who might provide useful insights, but his investigative procedures and priorities now carried far less weight than they had before our arrival.
    Wriggling out of my harness, I lurched out of the cabin with my bag. Kimball and Boatman were close on my heels, nimble despite their load of gear and baggage.
    As the rotor spun up again, Maddox surveyed the lot of us, then shrugged. “It’s all yours,” he shouted. “Knock yourself out.” The helicopter lifted off and spun away, wheeling westward and dropping down toward Brown Field. Maddox watched it, then turned to McCready again. “By the way,” he added, as the rotor’s noise faded in the distance, “do you realize that you guys nearly made history?”
    “How’s that?” asked McCready.
    “First crash ever witnessed—in person, in real time—by an NTSB investigator. You’d’ve been famous at the Safety Board. Legends, all of you.”
    I had to admit, he had a point—and maybe a sense ofhumor, too. “No offense,” I chimed in, “but I’d much rather be a living legend.”
    McCready and Maddox both smiled, and I hoped I’d helped ease the tension.
    McCready pointed at me. “Mr. Maddox, this—”
    “Call me Pat,” said Maddox.
    “Okay, Pat. Call me Special Supervisory Agent McCready.” Maddox stiffened again, but then McCready laughed. “I’m kidding, Pat. Call me Mac. Sorry to get in your business here.” He gestured at the two young agents. “Pat, meet Agents Kimball and Boatman. They’ll use a Total Station to map the site.” He indicated me. “And this is Dr. Bill Brockton, a forensic anthropologist from the University of Tennessee. Doc here specializes in human identification and skeletal trauma.”
    Maddox shook my hand, nodding in the direction of the crash. “Plenty of trauma here, but probably not much human left to identify.” He furrowed his brow at me. “Remind me? How many bones in the human body?”
    “Two hundred and six, in adults.”
    “Uh- huh . Ever work one of those thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles?”
    I shook my head. “Never had the patience.”
    “Well, better start cultivating some,” he said. “Just a guess—but it’s a fairly educated guess—you’ve got one hell of a puzzle waiting down there, and the pieces are gonna be damned tiny.”
    “You mean ‘we,’ don’t you? We’ve got a puzzle. You’ll be down there with us, right?”
    He shook his head. “I wish. Can’t.” He hoisted up the left leg of his pants to reveal a contraption of straps, buckles, and hinges that resembled a medieval implement of torture.“Knee surgery three weeks ago. I’m not supposed to be walking on anything rougher than wall-to-wall carpet. My orthopedist went ballistic when I asked what to do if I had to climb around on a mountainside. ‘Schedule a knee replacement,’ he said.”
    “Knee surgery’s tricky stuff,” I said. “Your doctor’s right to be cautious.”
    Maddox sighed. “I hate being on the sidelines, though.”
    “Not to worry, Pat,” said McCready, clapping me on the shoulder. “If anybody can put the pieces together, it’s this man right here. The best there is.” Then he frowned. “I have a question, though. That little kaboom a minute ago—what the hell was that? It rang our chimes pretty good.”
    “I’ve seen planes brought down by less,” said Maddox. “A lot less.”
    “Hovering beside a burning aircraft.” McCready looked rueful. “Kinda dumb, I guess.”
    “You said it.”
    “So what was it?” persisted McCready.
    Maddox shrugged. “Won’t know till we start combing through the debris. Just guessing, though, I’d say an overheated oxygen cylinder.”
    “That’s what the helicopter pilot said,