“So there’s nothing there you can work with?”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that. We’ve got somebody’s name, rank, and serial number here, which might—just possibly—be considered a clue. It’s not your corpse’s name, unless she was called ‘Thomas,’ but—”
“Wait. Did you say Thomas? First name or last?”
“First.”
“Here, let me see.” I scanned the tag, half-expecting to read the last name Kitchings—and feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment when I didn’t. That would have been straight out of the Twilight Zone. Even the coincidence of the first names seemed odd, somehow: a backwoods sheriff named Tom finds a corpse wearing the dog tags of another guy named Tom. I pointed it out to Art—who had already noticed it on his own, of course. “You think there’s any connection?”
“With the sheriff?” Art shrugged. “Still, we know this is somebody who was connected to her somehow, and he’ll have a pretty good paper trail, at least while he was in Uncle Sam’s army.” It wasn’t the dramatic revelation I’d been hoping for, but it was a start. “I’ve got a old pal in Army Records,” Art said.
“Want me to see what he can find out for us?”
“Sure. Thanks. You need to hang onto the tag?”
“Naw, just get the guy at the front desk to make me a big photocopy on your way out. You keep it with the rest of the evidence. I’d hate to have Da Grease come after me for evidence tampering in a case that’s completely outside my jurisdiction.”
“So I shouldn’t tell him how you tried to destroy this thing with a blowtorch.”
“If he gets wind of it, send him over. I’ll demonstrate my torch technique on his testicles.”
“You really could have kept that little fantasy all to yourself.”
“Hey, I’m a generous guy. I like to share.”
“I’ll remember that. Thanks for the warning. And thanks for the help.”
“Anytime.”
As I left, I glanced back just in time to see Art relight the torch. I paused to watch him. First he eased the tip of the flame close to his forearm, a look of curiosity on his face. Wisps of smoke began to curl up from the hair on his arm, then suddenly he yelped and jerked the torch back with a rueful, goofy grin. Then his gaze lit on the crime scene photos strewn across the counter. Reaching over, he plucked one from the stack. It was a mug shot of the man suspected of abducting young Stacy Beaman. Holding the photo by one corner, Art brought the torch close. Wisps of smoke curled up, and the man’s face burst into flame.
CHAPTER 9
THE PHONE RANG JUST as I was contemplating the structure of the female pelvis, and I jumped, then hissed a curse before putting on my telephone manners.
“Hello, this is Dr. Brockton.”
“It’s Sheriff Kitchings.”
“Hey, Sheriff, I’ve spent some time going over these remains, and I’ve got some mighty interesting things to tell you. First of all—”
He cut me off. “Hang on, Doc. I’m not sure we should discuss this on the phone. This could turn out to be a pretty sensitive case.”
This was a first. I always wrote up my findings in a formal report, but I’d never yet encountered a lawman who didn’t want to know what I’d found out as soon as possible. “Well, shall I just write up what I found and mail it to you?”
“No, sir, I believe we should move a little faster than that. Could I send Williams to get you again? And could you bring the, uh, the material with you?
The material you’ve got there in Knoxville?”
I sighed but decided to play along. “Well, it’s possible for me to come see you, if you think it’s urgent, but I can’t bring the, uh, material just yet. I need to simmer on that for another day or two, if you catch my drift.” After a moment, he allowed as how he caught my drift. “Look,” I suggested, “I’ve got a class to teach in a few minutes, but I’ll be through at noon if you want to send your deputy sometime after that.”
“Any chance you could skip that class? Maybe get somebody to fill in for you?”
“Sorry, Sheriff. I don’t cut my own class. Besides, it’s at least an hour’s drive down here.”
“Thing is, Williams is already in Knoxville.” They must think I had nothing to do but wait to be summoned to Cooke County.
“Well, I can find something to keep him busy for an hour or so,” I said. “We’ve got a few skeletons that need digging up, if he wants to lend us a hand out at the Body Farm. He knows how to find it now.”