Dance of the Bones

“No thanks on the coffee,” Brandon said, taking a seat at a patio table with a fully unfurled umbrella. Next to the umbrella was a closed banker’s box. “Just had some. What I’d really like is to know about your father.”


“John Lassiter is my birth father,” Amanda corrected. With that, she tossed her gloves into the scooter’s basket, then rode over to join him at the table. “I consider the man who raised me to be my father. By the way, my adoptive parents are both deceased,” she added. “They died several years ago and only months apart. My birth mother perished in a car wreck, so as far as relatives are concerned, John Lassiter is the last of the Mohicans.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“Only what’s in public records and court records,” she said. “I know that he’s in prison for murder and that he has MS. That’s one thing we have in common—-MS. It’s hereditary; it’s also what started me off on the search for my birth parents in the first place. I’d been having symptoms, and my doctors suggested that I track down my birth family’s medical history. I had always known I was adopted, but it came as a big surprise to me to learn that my birth father was in prison just up the road.”

“You grew up in Tucson, then?”

Amanda nodded. “I’m guessing that’s why my parents kept that information from me—-because Florence isn’t very far from here. But yes, I’ve lived in Tucson all my life. I attended Palo Verde High School and the University of Arizona. I’m still there by the way—-at the U of A. I’m a reference librarian in the main library.”

“I understand from Mr. Glassman that you’re the one who brought JFA into the game. Did your father ask you to do that?”

She laughed at that, but it was laughter without humor. “Hardly,” she said. “I did that all on my own. Besides, when would he have asked? I’ve never met the man. He’s in prison for life without parole, and he refuses to allow me to visit.”

Brandon was taken aback. “You’ve never met him?”

“Not once.”

“Then why did you go to the trouble of enlisting JFA’s help?”

“I already answered that. John Lassiter is my last living relative—-the only one. If I can get him released from prison, maybe I’ll have a chance to get to know him.”

“How did all this come about then?”

Amanda shrugged. “I’m a librarian. What can I tell you? When I learned who my birth father was and he then refused to see me, I started doing what librarians do best—-research. I went back through newspaper accounts of everything I could find related to Amos Warren’s homicide and the resulting criminal trials. I also learned everything I could about John Lassiter and his circle of acquaintances.” She reached over, removed the top from the box, extracted a single item—-a book—-and moved the box in Brandon’s direction. “This contains hard copies of everything I found. I’ve made digital copies as well.”

Peering inside, Brandon saw that the box was jammed with files.

“This is the only thing for which I don’t have a digitized copy.”

She handed him the book. It was a paperback with a plain gold cover. The only words on the cover were Lawmen Gone Bad, by Randall Hardy. Uncorrected proof.

“I thought that book was never published?” Brandon asked.