Angie looked inclined to argue with me, but Vickery didn’t give her the chance. “Look, the doc agrees that neither of the skulls came from here, so finding where the skulls did come from needs to be our top priority.”
“Well, I say let’s give the bees’ nest a good whack,” she said. “That seems like our job. I’m amazed it hasn’t gotten into the press yet. Disappointed, too.” She looked from the probe to the other crosses. “Maybe we’ll find something as we map it,” she said. “More graves than we’ve got markers. I don’t know. Hell, maybe a probe will snag on a murder weapon.”
Vickery shook his head. “The commissioner says to leave it alone. Says respect for the sanctity of a cemetery takes precedence. Photographs. That’s it, for the time being. We have to pull the plug, even on the probing.”
“Unbelievable,” she groaned.
“I’ve got people looking through the state archives and old newspaper stories,” he said. “I’m hoping Hatfield was wrong about all the records being lost in the fire. Maybe we’ll turn up something that lets us make a stronger case.” Angie shook her head angrily, and I wondered if some of that anger stemmed from her frustration about her sister, whose death had similarly fallen through the investigative cracks. “Don’t you want to hear the good news?” Angie looked skeptical. “Remember,” he said, “the cemetery’s not where the real action is.” He gave a canary-eating smile. “Our pal Deputy Sutton just phoned me. He got a call from Winston Pettis this morning. The dog’s brought home another bone.”
I felt my own face break into a smile. “Good boy, Jasper! Another skull?”
He shook his head. “Not this time. Sounds like a leg bone, maybe a femur. Long, with a big, round knob on one end.”
“Could be a femur,” I agreed, “but it could also be a humerus, an upper arm bone. And it might be animal. Horse, cow, deer. Maybe even panther or black bear; you have those down here, right?”
“A hundred years ago, yeah. Not in my lifetime.”
“You should spend more time in the crime lab,” Angie said. “I’ve had deputies bring me bear bones two or three times and swear they were human.”
“Actually, the bones of a bear’s paw look a lot like human foot bones,” I conceded.
“Yeah, well, I’ve also had deputies bring me goat bones and swear they were human.”
The idea that the bone might be animal seemed to take some of the wind out of Vickery’s sails, so I tried to steer the conversation back to a more encouraging course. “Well, Jasper seems to have a taste for humans,” I said, “and he appears to have found the mother lode.” A realization hit me. “Hey. If it is human, and if the GPS collar worked, then he’s just shown us where he found it, right?”
Vickery smiled around his cigar, his sails billowing. “Shall we go pay another visit to the Pettis mansion?”
Chapter 17
As we pulled into the clearing beside the secluded cabin, Vickery leading the way in his Jeep, I imagined the scene that had transpired in the predawn hours: the dog leaping onto the mattress in the darkness, circling a couple times as if to trample down grass, and then curling up proudly beside his owner with a ripe femur. I smiled as I pictured it.
On our prior two visits, Jasper had bounded out to greet us; I was surprised that he wasn’t racing to see us this time. I was disappointed, too, I noticed. “I guess Jasper’s gotten bored with us,” I sighed.
Angie gave the horn two quick toots as she stopped the Suburban—a friendly way to announce our arrival—and we all got out and headed up the rickety steps to the front porch. Vickery rapped on the screen door. “Mr. Pettis?” he called out. “Hello?” He waited a few beats, then opened the screen and crossed the porch. Angie and I followed, and I detoured to inspect the shelf that held Jasper’s bone collection, hoping to see the latest addition. Again I was disappointed.
Knocking on the cabin’s only door, which led into the kitchen, Vickery called out again. “Mr. Pettis, are you here?” No answer. He knocked again, hard; the two large panes of glass in the top half of the door, which were held in place by only a few remnants of brittle putty, rattled and threatened to tumble to the porch. “Mr. Pettis?” Vickery put his face to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes to cut the glare. He shifted his face to the other pane of glass for a better angle. “Oh Christ,” he muttered, then, “Get down, both of you.” He unholstered his gun and clicked off the safety.
“Stu,” said Angie in a low voice, “what is it?”