Page 9 of Fire and Bones

“What about fingerprints?”

Images of charred corpses bombarded my mind. I saw the scorched flesh. The curled and blackened limbs. The distorted or missing digits.

“One can always hope, but the hands would have to be in printable condition, and even if they were, the prints would have to be in some database to be useful.”

“Of course. I’m told that family members will be asked to provide DNA samples. Is it possible to get genetic information from a burned skeleton?”

“It’s possible.” The subject was far too complex, so I left it at that.

“What are your thoughts when you’re doing this kind of work? Are the victims always foremost in your mind?” Bright red lips pressed grimly together.

“Yes. But at the scene or in the lab I remain focused. Completely objective. My goal is to get every victim back to his or her family, whatever may be left of them.”

“What can you say to those anxious for word on their loved ones?”

“I know that waiting must be unbearably hard. But proper recovery and identification takes time. It’s heartbreaking, but be patient. Those working are doing the best they can.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Brennan.”

“My pl— You’re welcome.”

When we’d disconnected, I sat a moment replaying my comments in my head. Decided it wasn’t a great interview, not a bad one, either.

Still, the exchange with Ivy Doyle hadn’t altered my view that only woe comes from media exposure.

Within hours that view would be proven correct.

CHAPTER 2

My cell phone rang as I was packing.

The caller’s number began with the digits 202. The area code for Washington, DC.

Normally, I ignore unknown numbers. Something told me to make an exception.

I looked at Birdie.

If a cat could shrug, he did.

Tossing a swimsuit into the rollaboard, I tapped the green icon.

“Temperance Brennan.”

“Dr. Brennan. I’m so glad I caught you. It’s Jada Thacker.” The voice was female, and clearly nervous.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if you remember me. We met years ago at an AAFS meeting in Seattle. I’d just graduated med school and was about to begin a residency in pathology.”

“Of course.” Total blank.

“I asked your opinion on a field course in forensic archaeology that I planned to take.”

A vague recollection began to coalesce. A very large young woman with enormous earrings and hair the shiny black of crow’s feathers.

And far too much bubbly enthusiasm for that late in the day.

Now that woman sounded pinched and anxious.

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