Bosch had not objected to this. He knew they were facing limited returns for a large amount of effort and he deferred to the experts. He was also anxious to proceed with the investigation and identification of the bones—elements which were largely stalled as he and Edgar had worked exclusively on Wonderland Avenue during the two days, supervising the collection of evidence, canvassing the neighborhood and putting together the initial reports on the case. It was all necessary work but Bosch wanted to move on.
On Saturday morning he and Edgar met in the lobby of the medical examiner’s office and told the receptionist they had an appointment with Dr. William Golliher, the forensic anthropologist on retainer from UCLA.
“He’s waiting for you in suite A,” the receptionist said after making a call to confirm. “You know which way that is?”
Bosch nodded and they were buzzed through the gate. They took an elevator down to the basement level and were immediately greeted by the smell of the autopsy floor when they stepped out. It was a mixture of chemicals and decay that was unique in the world. Edgar immediately took a paper breathing mask out of a wall dispenser and put it on. Bosch didn’t bother.
“You really ought to, Harry,” Edgar said as they walked down the hall. “Do you know that all smells are particulate?”
Bosch looked at him.
“Thanks for that, Jerry.”
They had to stop in the hallway as a gurney was pushed out of an autopsy suite. There was a body on it, wrapped in plastic.
“Harry, you ever notice that they wrap ’em up the same way they do the burritos at Taco Bell?”
Bosch nodded at the man pushing the gurney.
“That’s why I don’t eat burritos.”
“Really?”
Bosch moved on down the hall without answering.
Suite A was an autopsy room reserved for Teresa Corazon for the infrequent times she actually left her administrative duties as chief medical examiner and performed an autopsy. Because the case had initially garnered her hands-on attention she had apparently authorized Golliher to use her suite. Corazon had not returned to the crime scene on Wonderland Avenue after the portable toilet incident.
They pushed through the double doors of the suite and were met by a man in blue jeans and a Hawaiian shirt.
“Please call me Bill,” Golliher said. “I guess it’s been a long two days.”
“Say that again,” Edgar said.
Golliher nodded in a friendly manner. He was about fifty with dark hair and eyes and an easy manner. He gestured toward the autopsy table that was in the center of the room. The bones that had been collected from beneath the acacia trees were now spread across the stainless steel surface.
“Well, let me tell you what’s been going on in here,” Golliher said. “As the team in the field has been collecting the evidence, I’ve been here examining the pieces, doing the radiograph work and generally trying to put the puzzle of all of this together.”
Bosch stepped over to the stainless steel table. The bones were laid out in place so as to form a partial skeleton. The most obvious pieces missing were the bones of the left arm and leg and the lower jaw. It was presumed that these were the pieces that had long ago been taken and scattered distantly by animals that had rooted in the shallow grave.
Each of the bones was marked, the larger pieces with stickers and the smaller ones with string tags. Bosch knew that notations on these markers were codes by which the location of each bone had been charted on the grid Kohl had drawn on the first day of the excavation.
“Bones can tell us much about how a person lived and died,” Golliher said somberly. “In cases of child abuse, the bones do not lie. The bones become our final evidence.”
Bosch looked back at him and realized his eyes were not dark. They actually were blue but they were deeply set and seemed haunted in some way. He was staring past Bosch at the bones on the table. After a moment he broke from this reverie and looked at Bosch.
“Let me start by saying that we are learning quite a bit from the recovered artifacts,” the anthropologist said. “But I have to tell you guys, I’ve consulted on a lot of cases but this one blows me away. I was looking at these bones and taking notes and I looked down and my notebook was smeared. I was crying, man. I was crying and I didn’t even know it at first.”
He looked back at the outstretched bones with a look of tenderness and pity. Bosch knew that the anthropologist saw the person who was once there.
“This one is bad, guys. Real bad.”
“Then give us what you’ve got so we can go out there and do our job,” Bosch said in a voice that sounded like a reverent whisper.
Golliher nodded and reached back to a nearby counter for a spiral notebook.
“Okay,” Golliher said. “Let’s start with the basics. Some of this you may already know but I’m just going to go over all of my findings, if you don’t mind.”
“We don’t mind,” Bosch said.
“Good. Then here it is. What you have here are the remains of a young male Caucasoid. Comparisons to the indices of Maresh growth standards put the age at approximately ten years old. However, as we will soon discuss, this child was the victim of severe and prolonged physical abuse. Histologically, victims of chronic abuse often suffer from what is called growth disruption. This abuse-related stunting serves to skew age estimation. What you often get is a skeleton that looks younger than it is. So what I am saying is that this boy looks ten but is probably twelve or thirteen.”
Bosch looked over at Edgar. He was standing with his arms folded tightly across his chest, as if bracing for what he knew was ahead. Bosch took a notebook out of his jacket pocket and started writing notes in shorthand.
“Time of death,” Golliher said. “This is tough. Radiological testing is far from exact in this regard. We have the coin which gives us the early marker of nineteen seventy-five. That helps us. What I am estimating is that this kid has been in the ground anywhere from twenty to twenty-five years. I’m comfortable with that and there is some surgical evidence we can talk about in a few minutes that adds support to that estimation.”
“So we’ve got a ten- to thirteen-year-old kid killed twenty to twenty-five years ago,” Edgar summarized, a note of frustration in his voice.
“I know I am giving you a wide set of parameters, Detective,” Golliher said. “But at the moment it’s the best the science can do for you.”
“Not your fault, Doc.”
Bosch wrote it all down. Despite the wide spread of the estimation, it was still vitally important to set a time frame for the investigation. Golliher’s estimation put the time of death into the late seventies to early eighties. Bosch momentarily thought of Laurel Canyon in that time frame. It had been a rustic, funky enclave, part bohemian and part upscale, with cocaine dealers and users, porno purveyors and burned out rock-and-roll hedonists on almost every street. Could the murder of a child have been part of that mix?
“Cause of death,” Golliher said. “Tell you what, let’s get to cause of death last. I want to start with the extremities and the torso, give you guys an idea of what this boy endured in his short lifetime.”
His eyes locked on Bosch’s for a moment before returning to the bones. Bosch breathed in deeply, producing a sharp pain from his damaged ribs. He knew his fear from the moment he had looked down at the small bones on the hillside was now going to be realized. He instinctively knew all along that it would come to this. That a story of horror would emerge from the overturned soil.
He started scribbling on the pad, running the ballpoint deep into the paper, as Golliher continued.
“First of all, we only have maybe sixty percent of the bones here,” he said. “But even still, we have incontrovertible evidence of tremendous skeletal trauma and chronic abuse. I don’t know what your level of anthropological expertise is but I’m going to assume much of this will be new to you. I’m going to give you the basics. Bones heal themselves, gentlemen. And it is through the study of bone regener
ation that we can establish a history of abuse. On these bones there are multiple lesions in different stages of healing. There are fractures old and new. We only have two of the four extremities but both of these show multiple instances of trauma. In short, this boy spent pretty much most of his life either healing or being hurt.”
Bosch looked down at the pad and pen clutched tightly in his hands. His hands were turning white.
“You will be getting a written report from me by Monday, but for now, if you want a number, I will tell you that I found forty-four distinct locations indicating separate trauma in various stages of healing. And these were just his bones, Detectives. It doesn’t cover the damage that could have been inflicted on vital organs and the tissue. But it is without a doubt that this boy lived probably day in and day out with a lot of pain.”
Bosch wrote the number down on the pad. It seemed like a meaningless gesture.
“Primarily, the injuries I have catalogued can be noted on the artifacts by subperiosteal lesions,” Golliher said. “These lesions are thin layers of new bone that grow beneath the surface in the area of trauma or bleeding.”
“Subperi—how do you spell that?” Bosch asked.
“What does it matter? It will be in the report.”
Bosch nodded.
“Take a look at this,” Golliher said.
Golliher went to the X-ray box on the wall and flipped on the light. There was already film on the box. It showed an X-ray of a long thin bone. He ran his finger along the stem of the bone, pointing out a slight demarcation of color.
“This is the one femur that was collected,” he said. “The upper thigh. This line here, where the color changes, is one of the lesions. This means that this area—the boy’s upper leg—had suffered a pretty strong blow in the weeks before his death. A crushing blow. It did not break the bone but it damaged it. This kind of injury would no doubt have caused surface bruising and I think affected the boy’s walk. What I am telling you is that it could not have gone unnoticed.”
Bosch moved forward to study the X-ray. Edgar stayed back. When he was finished Golliher removed the X-ray and put up three more, covering the entire light box.
“We also have periosteal shearing on both of the limbs present. This is the stripping of the bone’s surface, primarily seen in child abuse cases when the limb is struck violently by the adult hand or other instrument. Recovery patterns on these bones show that this particular type of trauma occurred repeatedly and over years to this child.”
Golliher paused to look at his notes, then he glanced at the bones on the table. He picked up the upper arm bone and held it up while he referred to his notes and spoke. Bosch noticed he wore no gloves.
“The humerus,” Golliher said. “The right humerus shows two separate and healed fractures. The breaks are longitudinal. This tells us the fractures are the result of the twisting of the arm with great force. It happened to him once and then it happened again.”
He put the bone down and picked up one of the lower arm bones.
“The ulna shows a healed latitudinal fracture. The break caused a slight deviation in the attitude of the bone. This was because the bone was allowed to heal in place after the injury.”
“You mean it wasn’t set?” Edgar asked. “He wasn’t taken to a doctor or an emergency room?”
“Exactly. This kind of injury, though commonly accidental and treated every day in every emergency room, can also be a defensive injury. You hold your arm up to ward off an attack and take the blow across the forearm. The fracture occurs. Because of the lack of indication of medical attention paid to this injury, my supposition is that this was not an accidental injury and was part of the abuse pattern.”
Golliher gently returned the bone to its spot and then leaned over the examination table to look down at the rib cage. Many of the rib bones had been detached and were lying separated on the table.
“The ribs,” Golliher said. “Nearly two dozen fractures in various stages of healing. A healed fracture on rib twelve I believe may date to when the boy was only two or three. Rib nine shows a callus indicative of trauma only a few weeks old at the time of death. The fractures are primarily consolidated near the angles. In infants this is indicative of violent shaking. In older children this is usually indicative of blows to the back.”
Bosch thought of the pain he was in, of how he had been unable to sleep well because of the injury to his ribs. He thought of a young boy living with that kind of pain year in and year out.
“I gotta go wash my face,” he suddenly said. “You can continue.”
He walked to the door, shoving his notebook and pen into Edgar’s hands. In the hallway he turned right. He knew the layout of the autopsy floor and knew there were rest rooms around the next turn of the corridor.
He entered the rest room and went right to an open stall. He felt nauseous and waited but nothing happened. After a long moment it passed.
Bosch came out of the stall just as the door opened from the hallway and Teresa Corazon’s cameraman walked in. They looked warily at each other for a moment.
“Get out of here,” Bosch said. “Come back later.”
The man silently turned and walked out.
Bosch walked to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. His face was red. He bent down and used his hands to cup cold water against his face and eyes. He thought about baptisms and second chances. Of renewal. He raised his face until he was looking at himself again.
I’m going to get this guy.
He almost said it out loud.
When Bosch returned to suite A all eyes were on him. Edgar gave him his notebook and pen back and Golliher asked if he was all right.
“Yeah, fine,” he said.
“If it is any help to you,” Golliher said, “I have consulted on cases all over the world. Chile, Kosovo, even the World Trade Center. And this case . . .”
He shook his head.
“It’s hard to comprehend,” he added. “It’s one of those where you have to think that maybe the boy was better off leaving this world. That is, if you believe in a God and a better place than this.”
Bosch walked over to a counter and pulled a paper towel out of a dispenser. He started wiping his face again.
“And what if you don’t?”
Golliher walked over to him.
“Well, you see, this is why you must believe,” he said. “If this boy did not go from this world to a higher plane, to something better, then . . . then I think we’re all lost.”
“Did that work for you when you were picking through the bones at the World Trade Center?”
Bosch immediately regretted saying something so harsh. But Golliher seemed unfazed. He spoke before Bosch could apologize.
“Yes, it did,” he said. “My faith was not shaken by the horror or the unfairness of so much death. In many ways it became stronger. It brought me through it.”
Bosch nodded and threw the towel into a trash can with a foot-pedal device for opening it. It closed with an echoing slam when he took his foot off the pedal.
“What about cause of death?” he said, getting back to the case.
“We can jump ahead, Detective,” Golliher said. “All injuries, discussed and not discussed here, will be outlined in my report.”
He went back to the table and picked up the skull. He brought it over to Bosch, holding it in one hand close to his chest.
“In the skull we have the bad—and possibly the good,” Golliher said. “The skull exhibits three distinct cranial fractures showing mixed stages of healing. Here is the first.”
He pointed to an area at the lower rear of the skull.
“This fracture is small and healed. You can see here that the lesions are completely consolidated. Then, next we have this more traumatic injury on the right parietal extending to the frontal. This injury required surgery, most likely for a subdural hematoma.”
He outlined the injury area with a finger, circling the forward top of the skull. He then poin
ted to five small and smooth holes which were linked by a circular pattern on the skull.
“This is a trephine pattern. A trephine is a medical saw used to open the skull for surgery or to relieve pressure from brain swelling. In this case it was probably swelling due to the hematoma. Now the fracture itself and the surgical scar show the beginning of bridging across the lesions. New bone. I would say this injury and subsequent surgery occurred approximately six months prior to the boy’s death.”
“It’s not the injury causing death?” Bosch asked.
“No. This is.”
Golliher turned the skull one more time and showed them another fracture. This one in the lower left rear of the skull.
“Tight spider web fracture with no bridging, no consolidation. This injury occurred at the time of death. The tightness of the fracture indicates a blow with tremendous force from a very hard object. A baseball bat, perhaps. Something like that.”
Bosch nodded and stared down at the skull. Golliher had turned it so that its hollow eyes were focused on Bosch.
“There are other injuries to the head, but not of a fatal nature. The nose bones and the zygomatic process show new bone formation following trauma.”
Golliher returned to the autopsy table and gently placed the skull down.
“I don’t think I need to summarize for you, Detectives, but in short, somebody beat the shit out of this boy on a regular basis. Eventually, they went too far. It will all be in the report to you.”
He turned from the autopsy table and looked at them.
“There is a glimmer of light in all of this, you know. Something that might help you.”
“The surgery,” Bosch said.
“Exactly. Opening a skull is a very serious operation. There will be records somewhere. There had to be follow-up. The roundel is held back in place with metal clips after surgery. There were none found with the skull. I would assume they were removed in a second procedure. Again, there will be records. The surgical scar also helps us date the bones. The trephine holes are too large by today’s standards. By the mid-eighties the tools were more advanced than this. Sleeker. The perforations were smaller. I hope this all helps you.”
Michael Connelly Page 5
