His parents didnt want to believe it. I was their last hope.
Bummer.
Yes, but I know about hope. And when they see the way Bobbys features fit the skull, theyll know its over. Theyll accept the fact that their child is dead and it may bring closure. She glanced at the image on her computer screen. Chicago P.D. had given her a skull and a picture of seven-year-old Bobby. Working with visual equipment and her computer, she had su-perimposed Bobbys face on the skull. As she had said, the match was very close. Bobby had looked so alive and sweet in the picture it was enough to break your heart.
They were all heartbreakers, she thought wearily. Are you on your way home?
Yep.
And just dropped by to yell at me?
I feel its one of my primary duties in life.
Liar. Her gaze was on the black leather case in his hands. Is that for me?
We found a skeleton in the woods in North Gwinnett. The rain unearthed it. The animals got at it, so theres not much left, but the skull is intact. He snapped open the case. Its a little girl, Eve.
He always told her right away if it was a girl. She supposed he thought he was shielding her.
She carefully took the skull and studied it. Its not a little girl. Shes a preteen, maybe eleven or twelve. She indicated a lacy crack on the upper jaw. Shes been exposed to the cold of at least one winter. She gently touched the broad nasal cavity. And she was probably black.
That will help. He grimaced. But not much. Youll have to sculpt her. We dont have any idea who she is. No pictures for superimposition. Do you know how many girls run away from home in this town? If she was a slum kid, she might not have even been re-ported missing. The parents are usually more con-cerned with getting their crack than keeping track of their He shook his head. Sorry. I forgot. Open mouth, insert foot.
A habit with you, Joe.
Only around you. I tend to lower my guard.
Should I be honored? Her brow knit with con-centration as she studied the skull. You know Mom hasnt been on crack for years. And there are a lot of things Im ashamed of in my life, but growing up in the slums isnt one of them. I might not have sur-vived if I hadnt had it tough.
Youd have survived.
She wasnt so sure. She had been too close to going under to take either sanity or survival for granted. Want a cup of coffee? We slum kids make great java.
He flinched. Ouch. I said I was sorry.
She smiled. Just thought Id take a jab or two. You deserve it for generalizing. Coffee?
No, I have to get home to Diane. He stood up. Theres no hurry with this one if shes been buried that long. Like I said, we dont even know who were looking for.
I wont hurry. Ill work on her at night.
Yeah, you have so much time. He looked at the pile of textbooks on the table. Your mom said you were studying physical anthropology now.
Only by correspondence. I dont have time to go to classes yet.
For Gods sake, why anthropology? Dont you have enough on your plate?
I thought it might help. Ive tried to find out all I can from the anthropologists Ive worked with, but theres still too much I dont know.
Youre working too hard as it is. Your schedule is booked up for months.
Thats not my fault. She made a face. It was that damn mention your commissioner gave me on 60 Minutes. Why couldnt he keep his mouth shut? I was busy enough without getting all this out-of-town stuff.
Well, just remember who your friends are. Joe headed for the door. Dont go moving away to some highfalutin college.
Dont talk to me about highfalutin, when you went to Harvard.
That was a lifetime ago. Now Im a good ol southern boy. Follow my example and stay where you belong.
Im not going anywhere. She got up and set the skull on the shelf above her workbench. Except to lunch with Diane next Tuesday. If shell have me. Will you ask her?
You ask her. Im not running interference again. I have my own problems. Its not easy for her being a cops wife. He paused at the door. Go to bed, Eve. Theyre dead. Theyre all dead. Its not going to hurt them if you get a little sleep.
Dont be stupid. I know that. You act like Im neurotic or something. Its just not professional to ig-nore a job.
Yeah, sure. He hesitated. You ever been con-tacted by John Logan?
Who?
Logan. Logan Computers. Hes a billionaire racing on the heels of Bill Gates. Hes been all over the news lately because of the Republican fund-raisers hes been throwing out in Hollywood.
She shrugged. You know I barely keep up with the news. But she did recall seeing a picture of Logan, perhaps in the Sunday paper the previous week. He was in his late thirties or early forties with a California tan and close-cut dark hair with a dusting of gray at the temples. He had been smiling down at some blond movie star. Sharon Stone? She couldnt remember. Well, he hasnt been soliciting me for money. I wouldnt give it to him if he did. I vote Inde-pendent. She glanced at her computer. Thats a Logan. He makes a good computer, but thats the closest Ive ever come in contact with the great man. Why?
Hes been making inquiries about you.
What?
Not personally. Hes going through a high-powered West Coast lawyer, Ken Novak. When they told me down at the precinct, I did some checking and Im almost sure Logans behind it.
I dont think so. She smiled slyly as she punned, It doesnt compute.
Youve handled private inquiries before. He grinned. A man in his position has to have left a trail of bodies on his way to the top. Maybe he forgot where he buried one of them.
Very funny. She wearily rubbed the back of her neck. Did his lawyer get his report?
What the hell do you think? We know how to protect our own. Tell me if he gets hold of your pri-vate number and bothers you. See you. The door shut behind him.