Part 6 (1/2)

5.

BY NOON ON T TUESDAY I I WAS FINIs.h.i.+NG MY REPORT. WAS FINIs.h.i.+NG MY REPORT. I' I'D WORKED past nine the night before, knowing Ryan would want answers. Surprisingly, I'd yet to see him. past nine the night before, knowing Ryan would want answers. Surprisingly, I'd yet to see him.

I read what I'd written, checking for errors. Sometimes I think gender agreements and accent marks are Francophone curses specifically designed for my torment. I try my best, but I always blow a few.

In addition to a biological profile of the unknown, the report included an a.n.a.lysis of trauma. On dissection I found the radiopaque fragments in the femur were the result of postmortem impact. The small bits of metal were probably blasted into the bone by the explosion of a propane tank. Most of the other damage was also due to the fire.

Some was not. I read my summary.

Wound A is a circular defect, of which only the superior half is preserved. It is localized to the midfrontal region, lying approximately 2 centimeters above glabella and 1.2 centimeters to the left of midline. The defect measures 1.4 centimeters in diameter and presents characteristic beveling of the inner table. Charring is present along the margins of the defect. Wound A is consistent with a gunshot entrance wound.Wound B is a circular defect with characteristic beveling of the outer table. It measures 1.6 centimeters in diameter endocranially, and 4.8 centimeters in diameter ectocranially. The defect is localized to the occipital bone, 2.6 centimeters superior to opisthion and 0.9 centimeters to the left of the midsagittal line. There is focal charring of the left, right, and inferior margins of the defect. Wound B is consistent with a gunshot exit wound.

While fire damage made a complete reconstruction impossible, I was able to piece together enough of the vault to interpret the fractures lacing between the exit and entrance holes.

The pattern was cla.s.sic. The old woman had suffered a gunshot wound to the head. The bullet entered the middle of her forehead, traversed her brain, and exited at the back. It explained why the skull had not shattered in the flames. A vent for intracranial pressure had been created before heat became a problem.

I walked the report to the secretarial pool and returned to find Ryan sitting across from my desk, gazing out the window behind my chair. His legs stretched the length of my office.

”Nice view.” He spoke in English.

Five floors down the Jacques Cartier Bridge arched across the St. Lawrence River. I could see minuscule cars crawling across its back. It was was a nice view. a nice view.

”It distracts me from thinking about how small this office is.” I slipped past him, around the desk, and into my chair.

”A distracted mind can be dangerous.”

”My bruised s.h.i.+ns bring me back to reality.” I swiveled sideways and propped my legs on the ledge below the window, ankles crossed. ”It's an old woman, Ryan. Shot in the head.”

”How old?”

”I'd say she was at least seventy. Maybe even seventy-five. Her pubic symphyses have a lot of miles on them, but folks are variable up in that range. She has advanced arthritis and she's osteoporotic.”

He dipped his chin and raised his brows. ”French or English, Brennan. Not doctor talk.” His eyes were the shade of blue on the Windows 95 screen.

”Os-te-o-po-ro-sis.” I spoke each syllable slowly. ”I can tell from the X-rays that her cortical bone is thin. I can't see any fractures, but I only had parts of the long bones. The hip is a common site for breaks in older women because a lot of weight is transferred there. Hers were O.K.”

”Caucasian?”

I nodded.

”Anything else.”

”She probably had several kids.” The laser blues were fixed on my face. ”She has a trench the size of the Orinoco on the back of each pubic bone.”

”Great.”

”Another thing. I think she was already in the bas.e.m.e.nt when the fire started.”

”How's that?”

”There was absolutely no floor debris below the body. And I found a few tiny sc.r.a.ps of fabric embedded between her and the clay. She must have been lying directly on the floor.”

He thought for a moment.

”So you're telling me someone shot Granny, dragged her down to the bas.e.m.e.nt, and left her to fry.”

”No. I'm saying Granny took a bullet in the head. I don't have a clue who fired it. Maybe she did. That's your job, Ryan.”

”Did you find a gun near her?”

”No.”

Just then Bertrand appeared in the doorway. While Ryan looked neat and pressed, his partner's creases were sharp enough to cut precious gems. He wore a mauve s.h.i.+rt keyed to the tones of his floral tie, a lavender and gray tweed jacket, and wool trousers a precise half note down from shade four in the tweed.

”What have you got?” Ryan asked his partner.

”Nothing we didn't already know. It's like these people were beamed down from s.p.a.ce. No one really knows who the h.e.l.l was living in there. We're still trying to track down the guy in Europe that owns the house. The neighbors across the road saw the old lady from time to time, but she never spoke to them. They say the couple with the kids had only been there a few months. They rarely saw them, never learned their names. A woman up the road thought they were part of some sort of fundamentalist group.”

”Brennan says our Doe is a Jane. As in Baby Jane. A septuagenarian.”

Bertrand looked at him.

”In her seventies.”

”An old lady?”

”With a bullet in her brain.”

”No s.h.i.+t?”

”No s.h.i.+t.”

”Someone shot her and torched the place?”

”Or Granny pulled the trigger after having lit the barbecue. But, then, where's the weapon?”

When they'd gone I checked my consult requests. A jar of ashes had arrived in Quebec City, the cremains of an elderly man who died in Jamaica. The family was accusing the crematory of fraud, and had brought the ashes to the coroner's office. He wanted to know what I thought.

A skull was found in a ravine outside the Cote des Neiges Cemetery. It was dry and bleached, and had probably come from an old grave. The coroner needed confirmation.

Pelletier wanted me to look at the baby for evidence of starvation. That would require microscopy. Thin sections of bone would have to be ground down, stained, and placed on slides so I could examine the cells under magnification. While high turnover of bone is typical of infants, I'd look for signs of unusual porosity and abnormal remodeling in the microanatomy.

Samples had been sent to the histology lab. I'd also study the X-rays and the skeleton, but that was still soaking to remove the putrefied flesh. A baby's bones are too fragile to risk boiling.

So. Nothing urgent. I could open elisabeth Nicolet's coffin.