Bones of the Lost: A Temperance Brennan Novel tb-16
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“You buy that?”
The pink-lemonade face darkened. “I believe the government’s star witness is being less than forthcoming. But, thanks to you, our investigation has shifted focus. We will learn more. Much more.”
“What about Dominick Rockett?”
Dew was quiet a moment, probably deciding what best to say.
“The mummified dogs will be returned to Peru. Mr. Rockett’s files have been confiscated to check for information on other illegally trafficked antiquities.”
“Dom Rockett never smuggled human beings.” I’d given that question a whole lot of thought.
“It seems not.”
“Rockett met John-Henry Story through his nephew?”
“Mr. Rockett and Lieutenant Gross served together in Desert Storm. Perhaps out of pity, perhaps at his nephew’s urging, John-Henry hired the disfigured vet. Rockett was compensated in part with shares in the company. At least that’s the version Archer Story gives.”
“What did Rockett do for S&S?”
“Whatever needed doing. Driving. Security. Hiring contractors and workers for maintenance and repair. Rockett also sold articles at S&S flea markets, items legally imported from South America.”
“Rockett had no involvement with SayDo?”
“It looks that way.”
“But CC Creach saw him at the Passion Fruit.”
Dew raised both palms, dropped them back to his knees. “Due to his condition, Mr. Rockett enjoyed limited access to women.”
Delicately put.
“Why did Rockett make the trips to Texas?” I asked.
“He was assisting Story in the closing of his car dealerships. John-Henry was selling off inventory, and, occasionally, delivery was required. Rockett would fly to Texas and drive cars wherever they needed to go.”
“What was Rockett doing at the warehouse last Thursday?”
“According to Mrs. Tarzec, he showed up at the Passion Fruit that evening very agitated and wanting to look around. She told him no one was there. He demanded the truth about the girls, said he knew they were trafficked because the cops had told him. Then he asked where they’d been taken. When threatened at gunpoint, Mrs. Tarzec revealed the location. After Rockett stormed off, she phoned Majerick.”
“Rockett went looking for Gross. Or maybe he just planned to free the girls. Either way, he’d had enough. He died trying to undo at least some of the evil.”
“I believe you are correct.”
“What will happen to the girls now?”
“That must be worked out. If they are deported back to Afghanistan, there is an NGO-run shelter in Kabul for victims of trafficking.”
“Will Ara’s body be returned to Sheyn Bagh for burial?”
“If funds allow.”
“I’m happy to help if money is an issue.”
A sad promise kept.
“Your offer is very generous, Dr. Brennan. I’ll do all in my power to assure that is not necessary.”
Dew smiled sadly.
“We accomplish what we can. But, worldwide, human trafficking generates billions of dollars annually. Think of this. A gram of cocaine or heroin can be sold only once. A human being can generate income for years. Did you know that North Carolina is the eighth most likely state in the U.S. for trafficking to take place?”
“At least the problem is gaining attention.”
“Yes. It is. But the picture is still bleak. In December of 2012, the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime published a global report on trafficking in persons. Almost one third of all trafficking victims are children. Two thirds are girls.”
Dew rose to his feet with Baryshnikov grace.
“On a more positive note, one hundred and fifty-four governments have now ratified the UNDOC Trafficking in Persons Protocol, and eighty-three percent of countries now have a law that criminalizes trafficking in persons that is in accordance with the protocol.”
Dew really did speak as though reading aloud.
“Including the U.S.,” I said.
“Yes. United States Code Title 18, Section 1591 stipulates severe penalties for anyone involved in human trafficking, and, as you no doubt know, North Carolina also has very strong laws. The difficulty comes in catching the traffickers because victims are so powerless and afraid.”
“It’s a start,” I said.
“It’s a start,” Dew agreed.
Wishing me a speedy recovery, Dew departed.
That evening it was Pete. His ninety-pound fruit basket had arrived on Saturday, so he came bearing Chinese takeout and at least one of everything sold at Dean and DeLuca.
As I watched him stock my pantry and fridge, I wondered why Summer was elsewhere. Didn’t ask.
While Pete opened little white cartons, I set two places at the table. Then we helped ourselves to brown rice, seafood lo mein, cashew chicken, and eggplant in garlic sauce.
Way to go, Pete. My Baoding favorites.
Over dinner, we discussed Katy, Majerick, Rockett, the Story brothers, D’Ostillo, Ara, and her mother. And of course John-Henry Gross.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into the whole mess, sugarbritches.”
“Don’t be.”
“It seems impossible that Hunter has a nephew capable of such cruelty. He’s such an ethical person.”
“John’s behavior is no reflection on Hunter.”
A few beats passed. When Pete spoke his voice was taut.
“John Gross dishonored his oath. And shamed the Corps.”
“Gross was an aberration. He shamed himself, not the Corps. When Eggers made accusations, the Corps played it by the book, did Gross no favors. The command investigated and prosecuted in an honest and forthright manner.”
Pete’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t disagree.
“I mean it. The Marine Corps dealt with Gross’s actions in Sheyn Bagh in a straightforward way. As did I in looking at the bones of his victims. Eventually Gross’s involvement in trafficking would have come to light. And the same impartial process would have kicked into gear.”
“Hopefully with better results.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
Pete tipped his head.
“Rockett and Gross. The man who seemed a monster was the one with a conscience. The man who seemed a patriot warrior had venom in his veins.”
We talked about Katy. About the fact that the military had reversed its traditional stance and was now opening frontline combat positions to women.
Seeing I found the subject less than calming, Pete changed tack.
“So this troll Blanton was actually harmless?”
“Just one weird dude.”
“What was Blanton’s beef with Welsted?”
“Just didn’t like each other.”
“What’s with the cockatiel?”
“He’s visiting.”
“Where’s the birdcat?”
“Holler ‘lo mein.’ He’ll be here in the flick of a whisker.”
Thursday night, I’d closed Birdie in the closet when digging out the erasable board. Consumed by the firestorm swirling in my brain, I’d mistaken his scratching for sounds outside the annex. By the time I got home, the cat had been captive for hours. Since that distressing misadventure, he’d ventured downstairs only to eat.
Or maybe it was Charlie. The two had never really bonded.
Pete shouted. In seconds Birdie padded through the door.
Pete placed noodles and shrimp on a saucer, smiled as he watched the feline scarf it up. Then the smile faded. When Pete spoke again, his voice carried a tone I hadn’t heard before.
“That night.” Pete stopped to regroup. “I came here Thursday night. You were outside on the walk.”
Ryan. The embrace. Headlights sweeping the drive, continuing past.
“That was you?”
Pete nodded.
“Why didn’t you stop?”
“You were with someone.”
I said nothing.
Pete studied his napk
in as though he’d never seen one before. Then his eyes rolled up to mine.
“I’ve called off the wedding.”
I chuckled. “As I predicted. Wait a few—”
“I’ve broken our engagement.”
“What?” I hadn’t expected that.
“The marriage wouldn’t have worked. I’ve known that for a while. When I saw you with—” Pete raised a hand. “It wouldn’t have worked.”
“Where’s Summer?”
“Gone back to her place.”
“How is she?”
“Not happy.”
“Oh, Pete. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s better this way.”
Pete dropped the upraised hand onto my good one. Our eyes locked. His thumb began stroking my skin.
The moment became embarrassingly long.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Slipping free of Pete’s grasp.
“You already have.”
Pete left me sitting in my chair, staring at half-empty cartons of my Chinese favorites.
As I got up to clear the table, a sudden thought struck me. Had Pete filed the divorce papers? Was he at long last officially my ex?
When finished with the dishes, I went up to my room. Lying in bed with Birdie, I thought about loss.
Aqsaee and Rasekh.
Ara and Rosalie.
Lily.
ICE agents would care for Gross’s victims. Find out who they are, where they came from, what happened to them. They would return the girls to their homes. Or set them on the road to better lives.
La Police Nationale would track Jean Pruet and the girls he had trafficked into France.
Canadian authorities would probe Lily’s death. They would shut down the shooting gallery where she died. Arrest the dealers who led her to that time and place.
All three investigations would involve grim, gut-wrenching tasks.
Cuddling with my cat, I resolved one thing.
The world is rife with evil and misfortune, but it is also full of good people determined to right wrongs. I would not sink into sadness. I would celebrate those who refuse to give up. Those who battle to make things better.
But who, I wondered, would battle for Ryan in his agony?
Ryan.
Pete.
I needed to be alone.
Needed time to consider and digest all that had happened.
FROM THE FORENSIC FILES OF DR. KATHY REICHS
OF BONES, BODIES, BULLETS, BLACK HAWKS, AND BONDAGE
Spoiler alert! If you haven’t yet finished Bones of the Lost,
you might want to read this later.
As with each Temperance Brennan novel, the ideas for Bones of the Lost came from both the professional and personal parts of my life.
My professional background offers no shortage of inspiring material. Most everyone knows what forensic anthropologists do. In the opening chapter Tempe explains the job while being questioned for jury duty. Forensic anthropology is all about bones and compromised bodies.
Here’s a surprise: Now and then my colleagues and I examine fleshed individuals, sometimes even living, breathing people.
Occasionally the subject is an adolescent whose exact age is unclear. Should he or she be tried as an adult? Granted asylum? Allowed to make his or her own medical decisions? In such cases anthropological analysis focuses on whether the individual is above or below an age significant for legal reasons.
Occasionally the subject has died recently but remains unidentified, and age or ethnicity is uncertain. Or the fracture patterning due to trauma is complicated. In such cases, skeletal analysis can add valuable information to the soft-tissue autopsy.
A real-life situation inspired Tempe’s involvement with the hit-and-run Jane Doe. A driver was found dead on the floor of a large truck depot. One story had him accidentally struck by a vehicle while standing upright. Another had him intentionally run over while lying facedown, following a fistfight.
The pathologist wanted to know if analysis of the cranial trauma could resolve the question. It did. A skull subjected to enormous weight loading while compressed against concrete fractures differently from one striking concrete as a result of a fall.
So. Change the trucker to a young girl on a lonely two-lane.
And what of the bullet trajectory dilemma?
Some years ago I was asked to serve as an expert adviser for a public inquiry into the 1969 death of a police detective. The man was found in his car, dead of a gunshot wound to the chest. When the manner of death was ruled suicide, the family cried foul, insisting their father/husband had been murdered for testifying about police corruption. They claimed he’d been shot in the back and that the wound on his chest was from a bullet exiting, not entering, as stated by the coroner. Twenty-seven years postmortem they found a pathologist who agreed with their version of events, based on his viewing of the old black-and-white autopsy and scene photos.
A government commission formed and a team was assembled to exhume the deceased. Michael Baden was the pathologist. I was the forensic anthropologist.
Though three decades underground had reduced the remains to bone, the fracture patterning on the sternum was classic. The bullet had entered anteriorly and exited posteriorly, taking breakaway fragments with it. Dr. Baden and I were in agreement concerning a front-to-back trajectory.
Suicide? Homicide? Not our call. But the man had not been shot in the back.
Desperate, the family’s pathologist then argued that the defect was a developmental anomaly called a sternal foramen, and, later still, that the damage was produced not by a projectile at all but by our analysis.
To no avail. The original finding of suicide stood.
So. Change the police detective to an Afghan man and boy. Change the question of suicide versus homicide to one of murder versus self-defense.
But why Afghanistan?
That’s where the personal enters the picture.
In the fall of 2011 I was honored and privileged to be invited by the USO (United Services Organizations) and the ITW (International Thriller Writers) to travel with Clive Cussler, Mark Bowden, Sandra Brown, and Andrew Peterson to Afghanistan and Kyrgyzstan to thank our troops for their courage and dedication. I was overwhelmed by the bravery, selflessness, and optimism of every service member I met.
My time in the Middle East remains a collage of vivid memories. Rising at five and dropping into my bunk at midnight. Trekking from our B-hut to the head with my roomie, Sandra. Plunging earthward in a pitch-black C-130J Hercules. Riding in Black Hawk helicopters with Mark Bowden, author of Black Hawk Down. (We good, Mark?) Wearing a helmet and forty pounds of body armor.
But mostly I remember the people: The army sergeant penning his first novel. The air force mother-daughter team who’d enlisted, trained, and deployed together. The marine lieutenant serving in a war zone as her baby was cutting his first teeth.
Being part of Operation Thriller II was humbling, moving, and gratifying. Before touching down stateside I’d decided to share the experience with my readers.
Why human trafficking?
Same answer. Personal.
In many of my books I use Tempe’s exploits to illuminate an important societal issue: The predatory nature of cults. Trafficking in endangered species. The tragedy of human rights abuse. Black marketeering in human body parts. Child pornography on the Internet. Bones of the Lost follows in this tradition.
My daughter Courtney Reichs Mixon is a nurse. BA, BSN, RN, ONC. (Point of information: My offspring maintain a friendly rivalry over post-signature credentialing. Though both of her siblings are attorneys, at the moment Courtney holds the lead in alphabetic certification.)
Since obtaining her RN, Courtney has pursued an interest in forensic nursing and has worked alongside sexual assault nurse examiners (SANE). She has come to understand that sexual assault victims are often severely psychologically traumatized, and she feels a particular calling to help those who have suffered as a result of human
trafficking.
Courtney belongs to several organizations dedicated to this goal, including NC Stop Human Trafficking (www.ncstophumantrafficking.wordpress.com) and All We Want Is Love: Liberation of Victims Everywhere (www.allwewantislove.org). She labels soap with a trafficking hotline number for placement in hotel, motel, and truck-stop bathrooms; organizes fund-raising events; answers hotline calls; and is training to be a speaker/educator for school groups, book clubs, churches, and other organizations.
It was Courtney’s passion on the subject of human trafficking (along with her relentless nagging each time I started a new book) that spurred me to highlight this tragic and heartbreaking problem.
Professional. Personal. Free-ranging data bytes in my brain. Disconnected facts, memories, and impressions reconfigured.
Voilà: a new Temperance Brennan novel is born.
© BEN MARK HOLZBERG
KATHY REICHS, like her character Temperance Brennan, is a forensic anthropologist, formerly for the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in North Carolina and currently for the Laboratoire de sciences judiciaires et de médecine légale for the province of Quebec. One of only ninety-nine forensic anthropologists ever certified by the American Board of Forensic Anthropology, she is past Vice President of both the American Academy of Forensic Sciences and the American Board of Forensic Anthropology, and serves on the National Police Services Advisory Council in Canada. Reichs’s first book, Déjà Dead became a New York Times bestseller and won the 1997 Ellis Award for Best First Novel. Her latest Temperance Brennan novel, Bones Are Forever, was an instant New York Times bestseller. Her website is www.kathyreichs.com.
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