Онлайн книга Monday Mourning

Elongated pubic portion with a tiny, elevated ridge coursing across the belly side. Obtuse subpubic angle. Wide sciatic notch.

I checked off these features on the “gender evaluation” page, and penned my conclusion.

Female.

Flipping to the “age evaluation” section, I noted that the basilar suture, the gap between the occipital and sphenoid bones at the base of the skull, had recently fused. That told me the girl was probably in her mid to late teens.

Back to the pelvis.

Throughout childhood, each pelvic half is composed of three separate elements, the ilium, the ischium, and the pubis.

This pelvis had seen puberty come and go.

I noted furrows running across the pubic symphyses, the faces where the two pelvic halves meet in front. I flipped the bone.

The superior border of the hip blade showed squiggles, indicating the absence of a finishing crescent of bone. Squiggles were also evident on the ischium, near the point at which the body is supported when sitting.

I felt the familiar cold creep into my belly. I would check the teeth and long bones, but all indicators supported my initial impression.

Dr. Energy’s stowaway was a girl who had died in her mid to late teens.

Replacing 38426 on the cart, I turned to the bones I’d selected from 38427. Then 38428.

The world retreated into a different dimension. Phones. Printers. Voices. Carts. All disappeared. Nothing existed but the fragile remains on my table.

I worked straight through lunch, my sense of sadness mounting with each observation.

I am often accused of feeling more warmth toward the dead than toward the living. The charge isn’t true. Yes, I grieve for those on my table. But I am also keenly aware of the sorrow visited on those left behind. This case was no exception. I felt great empathy for the families who had loved and lost these girls.

At exactly one thirty-four the phone shrilled. Lowering my mask, I crossed to the desk.

“Dr. Brennan.”

“You have finished?” Though he did not identify himself, I knew the voice.

“I have some preliminary information. Room four.”

“I am waiting in your office.”

Sure, Claudel. That’s fine with me. Make yourself at home.

“Would you like to observe what I’ve found?”

“That will not be necessary.”"

"Claudel’s aversion to autopsies is legendary. I used to play on this, think up ruses to force him belowdecks. I no longer bothered.

“I’ll need a few minutes to clean up,” I said.