“I need some air,” he said abruptly, rising and staggering. “Air.”
The fireman grabbed his arm. “Let me help you out, sir.”
As Chivers exited the fire scene and reeled down the walkway, he saw — out of the corner of his eye — a pale man, dressed in black, no doubt the local coroner, standing beyond the edge of the crowd, staring at him. He made a huge effort to pull himself together.
“I’m all right, thanks,” he said to the firefighter, shedding the embarrassing arm. He looked around, located Chief Morris at the makeshift command center, surrounded by the gathering forensic teams — photographers, hair and fiber, latent, ballistics, DNA. They were suiting up, preparing to go in.
Take it easy, he said to himself. But he could not take it easy. His legs felt like rubber, and it was hard to walk straight.
He approached the chief. Morris was sweating, despite the cold. “What did you find?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“It’s a crime scene,” said Chivers, trying to control the quaver in his voice. Faint lights were dancing in front of his eyes now. “Four victims. At least, four so far.”
“Four? Oh, my God. So they were in there. The whole family…” The chief wiped his brow with a shaking hand.
Chivers swallowed. “One of the remains is of a…a juvenile who was…tied to a bed, doused with accelerant…and set on fire. Another was burned in…in…”
As Chivers tried to get out the words, the chief’s face went slack. But Chivers barely noticed. His own world was getting darker and darker.
And then, as he was still trying to finish his sentence, Chivers folded to the ground, collapsing in a dead faint.
14
Corrie had risen before dawn, gathered her equipment, and headed up to Roaring Fork. Now, as noon approached, she was ensconced in the warehouse at The Heights and well into her work. The remains of Emmett Bowdree were carefully arranged on a plastic folding table Corrie had bought at Walmart, under a set of strong studio lights. She had her stereo zoom in place, hooked to her laptop, the screen displaying the view from the microscope. Her Nikon stood on its tripod. It was like a little piece of heaven, being able to work carefully and thoroughly, without being half scared out of her wits and worrying about detection at any moment.
The only problem was, she was freezing her ass off. It had been below zero when she began the long drive from Basalt — having refused the free room at the Hotel Sebastian, courtesy of Pendergast. She had skipped breakfast to save money, and now she was starving as well as cold. She’d set up a cheap electric heater at her feet, but it was rattling and humming and the stream of warm air seemed to dissipate within inches of its grille. It was doing a good job of warming her shins, but that was about it.
Still, not even the cold and hunger could dampen her growing excitement at what she was finding. Almost all the bones showed trauma in the form of scrape marks, blunt cuts, and gouges. None of the marks showed signs of an osseous reaction, inflammation, or granulation — which meant the damage had been inflicted at the actual time of death. The soft, cancellous or spongy bone tissue showed unmistakable tooth marks — not bear but human, judging from the radius of the bite and the tooth profile. There were, in fact, no bear tooth or claw marks at all.
Inside the broken femur and inside the skull, she had discovered additional scraping and gouging marks, indicating that the marrow and brains had been reamed out by a metal tool. Under the stereo zoom, these defleshing marks disclosed some very faint parallel lines, close together, and what looked like iron oxide deposits — which suggested the tool was iron and, quite possibly, a worn file.
The initial blow to the cranium had definitely been inflicted by a rock. Under the microscope, she had been able to extract a few tiny fragments of it, which a cursory examination showed to be quartz.
The rib cage had been split open — also with a rock — and pulled apart, as if to get at the heart. The bones showed little evidence of trauma inflicted by a sharp edge — such as an ax or knife — nor were there any injuries consistent with a gunshot wound. This puzzled her, as most miners of the time would no doubt have been armed with either a knife or a pistol.
The contemporary newspaper account of the discovery of Emmett Bowdree’s body indicated that his bones had been found scattered on the ground a hundred yards beyond the door of a cabin; he had been “almost entirely eaten” by the so-called bear. The newspaper article, perhaps for reasons of delicacy, didn’t go into much detail on exactly what had been eaten or how the bones were disarticulated, except to note that “pieces of the heart and other viscera were discovered at a distance from the body, partially consumed.” The article made no mention of a fire or cooking, and her examination of the remains showed no evidence of heat.
Emmett Bowdree had been eaten raw.
As she worked, she began to see, in her mind’s eye, the sequence of injuries that had been inflicted on the body of Bowdree. He had been set upon by a group — no single person could have pulled a human body apart with such an extremity of violence. They struck him on the back of the head with a rock, causing a severe depressed fracture. While it may not have killed him instantly, it almost certainly rendered him unconscious. They gave the body a savage beating that broke almost every bone, and then proceeded to chop and pound at the body’s major articulations — there was evidence of disorganized, haphazard hacking with broken rocks, followed by separation via a strong lateral force. After breaking the joints, they pulled the arms and legs from the torso, separated the legs at the knees, broke open the skull and removed the brains, stripped the flesh from the bones, broke up the larger bones and reamed out the marrow, and removed most of the organs. The killers appeared to have only one tool, a worn-out file, which they supplemented with sharp pieces of quartz rock, their hands, and their teeth.
Corrie surmised that the killing started out as a product of fury and anger, then evolved into — essentially — a cannibal feast. She stepped back from the remains for a moment, thinking. Who was the gang who did this? Why? Again, it seemed exceedingly strange to her that a gang of murderers would be roaming the mountains in the 1870s without guns or knives. And why didn’t they cook the meat? It was almost as if they were a tribe of Stone Age killers, merciless and savage.
Merciless and savage.As she warmed herself in front of the heater, rubbing her hands together, Corrie’s mind wandered once again to the terrible fire that had taken place the evening before — and the death of the girl, Jenny Baker. It was beyond horrible, the entire family perishing in the fire like that. A maintenance worker had stopped by the warehouse an hour earlier and given her the news. No wonder she’d managed to breeze through The Heights security at ten that morning with barely a nod, left to her own devices without a minder.
The horror of it, and the face of Jenny Baker — so earnest and pretty — haunted her. Focus on your work, she told herself, straightening up and preparing to place another bone on the stage for examination.
What she really needed was to get her hands on more sets of remains for comparison. Pendergast had said he was going to help her track down more descendants. She paused for a moment in her work, trying to figure out what it was about this that annoyed her. The force of his personality was such that he dominated any situation he was in. But this was herproject — and she wanted to do it on her own. She didn’t want to have people back at John Jay, especially her advisor, dismissing her work because of the help of a big-time FBI agent. Even the smallest amount of assistance from him might contaminate her achievement, giving them an opening to dismiss it all.
Then Corrie shook this thought away as well. The guy had just saved her career and maybe even her life. To get so possessive, so proprietary, was churlish. Besides, Pendergast always shunned credit or publicity.