FDLE SEEKS TO IDENTIFY CHILD’S SKULL FOUND IN APALACHEE COUNTY
On May 17, a citizen contacted the Apalachee County Sheriff’s Office (ACSO) to report finding a skull on his property. After responding to the scene and determining that the skull appeared to be human, an ACSO deputy contacted the Apalachee County Medical Examiner, who in turn contacted the Florida Department of Law Enforcement (FDLE) for forensic assistance.
A forensic examination at the central FDLE crime laboratory in Tallahassee confirmed that the skull was of human origin, and that the individual had been deceased for a substantial period of time—months or years, perhaps even many years. Further examination by a forensic anthropologist indicated that the skull was that of a white juvenile, approximately ten to twelve years of age, of unknown gender. A fracture in the skull indicates that the child died from blunt-force trauma to the left side of the head. FDLE and ACSO are investigating the case as a homicide.
Anyone with information on this case, including the identity of a missing boy or girl approximately ten to twelve years of age, is encouraged to call FDLE or the Apalachee County Sheriff’s Office.
The press release ended with contact phone numbers and e-mail addresses for FDLE and the sheriff’s office. Attached were three additional pages bearing eight-by-ten enlargements of frontal, profile, and half-profile photos of the reconstruction. “Looks good,” I said. “Any decent leads yet?”
“It’s a little early yet.” Vickery shrugged. “We’ve had a few calls, including one from a guy who says that he’s the missing child.”
I laughed. “Did he say how he manages without his skull?”
“No,” Vickery deadpanned, “but I’m guessing the lack of a skull makes it a lot easier to go through life with his head up his ass.”
Any additional jokes were cut off by the whoop of a police siren, which turned out to be Vickery’s cell phone ringing. He scanned the number on the display and raised his eyebrows. “Vickery speaking” he said. “You must have radar or ESP, Deputy. I’m in the lab right now with the forensic anthropologist, who just brought the skull back with the clay facial reconstruction . . . What? Slow down, I can’t understand you . . . Hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker.” He flipped open the phone. “You still there?”
“I’m here,” came an agitated male voice. The sound was distorted—loud but muffled, the way it might sound if the deputy was shouting into the phone. “I’m out here at the Pettis place. The damn dog’s done it again.”
“Done what?”
“Brought in another one.”
“Another bone? Well, that’s a start,” said Vickery. “Now, if he’ll just bring us another couple hundred—is that about right, Doc? Aren’t there two-hundred-something bones in the body?” I nodded. “If he’ll just bring us another couple hundred, we can put this kid back together.”
“Not another bone,” yelled the deputy. “Another kid. A different kid.”
“Deputy, this is Dr. Bill Brockton,” I interrupted. “I’m the forensic anthropologist. What makes you think it’s somebody different?”
“Because unless that first kid had two heads, it has to be somebody different. Pettis’s dog just dragged in another skull.”
Chapter 7
Highway 90 shimmered and melted in the afternoon heat. Just ahead, it was a straight, flat ribbon of asphalt that became a straight, rippling river in the middle distance, then seemed to flow directly into the sky as it neared the western horizon. I half expected the pavement to evaporate beneath our wheels, molten and miragey as it appeared, but somehow the margins between asphalt and liquid, between liquid and sky, skittered ahead of us at a steady sixty-five miles an hour, the same speed the Chevy Suburban was traveling.