CHAPTER 42
I reached the edge of the bridge and balanced the ossuary on the narrow round railing just as Reverend Jonah emerged from the tower. Half a step in front of him was Miranda; with his left hand, he clutched her left arm; with his right, he pushed her ahead of him like a shield.
“Let her go, Reverend,” I called. “Let go of her arm and keep walking toward me, with both hands where I can see them.”
He brought his right hand from behind her back, and I saw it held a gun, which he pressed to Miranda’s ribs. “Show me the bones.”
My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth, but I knew I had to speak with apparent calmness and strength. “Let go of her first. And put down the gun.”
“No, Doctor.”
“That was our deal, Reverend. I get her; you get the bones.”
“Our deal counts for nothing. My loyalty is to a far higher power than you. Now show me the bones, or by that power, I’ll pull this trigger.”
My mind was screaming, but I couldn’t make out any of the words. “If you shoot her, the bones go into the river. And if you shoot me, the bones go into the river. You’ll notice that they’re balanced rather precariously here on the edge, Reverend. In fact, the only thing keeping them from falling right now is that I’m keeping a tight grip on them. But since you insist, I’ll show you.” I lifted the lid of the ossuary and set it down on the bridge, propping it against the knee-high lower railing. Keeping my eyes on him, I reached into the box and felt for a femur. Grasping it by the femoral head — the “ball” at the upper end of the thighbone — I lifted it from the box. “This is the left femur, Reverend. The left femur of the Son of the Most High. Now let her go.” He shook his head and took a step toward me, pulling Miranda with him. I waved the femur at him warningly. “How will you explain this to your God, Reverend?” With that, I let the bone hang down alongside my leg, then I gave my wrist a quick snap. The bone flipped upward, tumbling end over end as it arced upward toward the far side of the bridge. Still spinning, it dropped below the railing and hit the dark water below with a faint splash.
Reverend Jonah gave a strangled cry and rushed to the railing. Then he whirled and leveled the gun at me. Anything could happen in the next instant, I knew, but at least Miranda was no longer in his grasp, with a gun to her ribs. “You…you…” His voice was shaking, and so was the gun.
“Remember, Reverend, if you shoot me, the rest of the bones fall into the water. And Reverend? This stone box is heavy, and my hand’s getting tired.” To underscore the point, I let the box wobble a bit on the railing. As it tilted farther toward the water, the bones shifted inside, grating slightly as they slid. “You probably know this, Reverend, but if you’re looking for DNA in an old skeleton, the best places are the teeth and the long bones. They encapsulate the DNA better than the smaller bones do; they protect it from bacteria and pollutants and the ravages of time. The best of the long bones for what you hope to do is the femur.” Reaching into the box again, I found the other femur and took it out, just as I had the first. “Unfortunately, by breaking your word, you’ve already lost one femur. It’d be a real shame to lose the other.” I waved the end up and down, as if I were winding up to toss it.
“Don’t,” he gasped.
“Then put the gun down. I’m counting to three — the number of the Holy Trinity, Reverend. God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit. They’re all watching, all wondering if you’re about to fail them. If these bones go into the river, do you really think they’re going to welcome you with open arms and say, ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant?’ Somehow I doubt it, Reverend. But I guess your faith is stronger than mine. One.” I gave the bone an upward snap, but did not release it. “Two.” Another snap. “Three.” I dipped my arm lower this time, so I could put plenty of force in the toss.
“Stop! All right, all right.” He laid the gun on the cobblestones and held out both hands.
“That’s better,” I said. “Miranda, walk away.”
“I’m not going without you,” she said.
“Go on, Miranda. I’ll be right behind you. As soon as you’re off the bridge, I’ll give the bones to the Reverend, and I’ll be with you in sixty seconds. Now go.”
“I can’t, Dr. B.” To my surprise, she was crying. “I can’t leave you here with him.”
“Yes you can. You have to.” Surprised and moved by her vulnerability, I suddenly felt on the verge of coming undone myself. “Don’t be afraid, Miranda. I’ll be fine.” I wasn’t sure I believed that, but I needed her to believe it, at least long enough to walk out of harm’s way. “I love you, Miranda. Now go.”
“I love you, too, Dr. B.” It came out as a whisper, but it bored into me more strongly than if she’d shouted it.
She began to walk, slowly at first, then faster, her heels clopping on the stones. Finally she broke into a run, her clattering footfalls echoing off the rock bluff from which the bridge seemed to grow. When she reached the tower and started down the stairs, I nodded to the preacher. “Okay, Reverend, come get your precious bones. But don’t forget, they’re still hanging in the balance here. It’s not too late for me to let them go if I think you’re trying anything.”
He was ten feet away, walking slowly and stiffly, almost as if he were marching in a slow-motion procession; his eyes were gleaming, his breathing was fast, and his lips were forming whispered words that I couldn’t hear. When he was two steps away, I said, “Stop.” He stopped, swaying slightly as he stood. “Hold out your arms. I’m going to hand this to you. Brace yourself; it’s heavy.”
“Could you set it on the ground? I’ve got a bad back.”
I wanted his hands occupied for a few seconds. “Have faith, Reverend. Remember the words of Isaiah: ‘They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as eagles. They shall run and not be weary. They shall walk and not faint.’ Hold out your arms and get ready to take this, Reverend, because I’m about to lose my grip.”
He took another step, and I swung the ossuary off the rail and into his outstretched arms. As he staggered under the weight, I darted across the bridge to the other side, snatched up the gun he’d laid down, and pointed it at him. “Liar,” he hissed. “Deceiver. Son of Satan.” He squatted and set down the ossuary with a thud.
“Not so, Reverend. I mean you no harm. I just want to make sure I get off this bridge alive.” Keeping the gun and my gaze trained on him, I backed away from him, toward the tower and staircase at the end of the bridge. I’d made it halfway when a scream — Miranda’s scream — split the night.
I turned and ran for the stairs, calling, “Miranda? Miranda!”
At that moment she emerged onto the bridge again, slung over the shoulder of Reverend Jonah’s goon, who appeared like some twisted, evil version of Saint Christopher carrying the Christ child. How had he gotten back on the road so quickly, I wondered, after his crash in the mountain tunnel? Had he flagged down a passing motorist? If so, what had become of the misguided Good Samaritan?
In person, Junior looked far bigger than the security-camera photo had suggested; he was a giant of a man, with a neck the diameter of a tree trunk and arms as thick as live-oak limbs. Miranda was writhing and struggling in his grip, with no more effectiveness than a toddler.
“Vengeance is mine,” crowed Reverend Jonah behind me. “Thus sayeth the Lord.” I turned to face him again. He was walking toward me, a second gun in his hand. He raised it, took aim at me, and I saw a flash from the muzzle, then felt myself flung backward as the fist of God slammed into my chest. I hit the wall of Saint Bénézet’s Chapel with my back and head; my legs gave way and I slid down the rough wall and onto the stones of the bridge. “Vengeance is mine,” I heard Reverend Jonah repeat. “Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory.” My vision was fading as he stepped toward me, but I could see him closing in, leveling the gun at my head. “Prepare to meet thy God.” Dimly I heard a shot, and then another.