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Graham pulled a laser pen from his back pocket and aimed the red dot at the forearms, the representations of the pinchers. “The radius and ulna are reversed, on both arms.”

It might be an easy miss for someone who didn’t know bones. I hadn’t noticed it yet, but I should have. “Good catch.”

Graham nodded and turned off the pointer.

I’d already concluded, to myself at least, that the earlier bones couldn’t belong to Joey. And these were potentially buried bones from some time ago—they weren’t pristine white. I couldn’t help but wonder about the empty state of the Smoots’ trailer. Where were Joey and his grandfather? I added that to the list of things I wanted to talk to Calloway about when no one else was around.

“What can you tell me?” Calloway asked me.

“Not much more than we’ve discussed. I’d love to take a close look at each …” Suddenly, I remembered, and my eyes went to the pincher hands. “Oh.”

Silently, I berated myself for missing the one very obvious thing I should have seen immediately. Stuck between two fingers of a pincher was another extra phalanx.

“Yeah, it’s another one,” Calloway said. “Can you two determine from which finger this one came?”

In tandem, Graham and I both stepped even closer to the sculpture. The bone was there, but somewhat hidden under another finger phalanx. It was almost impossible to see.

“Not with any certainty.”

“Agreed,” Graham added.

“It’s cleaner than the other bones, whiter. I need a better look.” I sniffed, confirming that there was no smell of bleach with this set of bones.

“After the Tucson folks,” Calloway said.

We stepped back and I looked at Calloway. “These really could just be found skeletons, Sheriff. This is stained with time and dirt. It was probably buried. There are laws about digging up remains, but the penalties aren’t that of murder.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that we need to find whoever is doing this. No matter what, they might be dangerous.”

“Yeah,” I said.

Graham made a noise of agreement. He considered me for a moment. “I know about your father.”

That seemed to be the theme of the day, though I couldn’t understand why. “Okay.”

“I told him about Wilmot before you got here,” Calloway said.

“Again, okay. This isn’t taxidermy.” I nodded at the bone sculpture. I wondered how many times I was going to have to repeat it.

“No.” Graham shook his head. “It isn’t.” He looked at Calloway.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“It’s why I got him here,” Calloway said.

“What is?”

Graham frowned. “Have you heard of something called rogue taxidermy?”

“I don’t think so.”

Graham gave me a long look as a distant bird’s caw added to the bizarre scene’s soundtrack. He was weathered in a way that I wouldn’t have associated with a university professor. His face was tan, but his neck was white. I wondered if he had long hair but had tucked it up under the cap.

“Are you going to explain?” I asked.

“There’s not a lot to know, but I’m familiar with it.”

“Share,” Calloway said, though I knew he’d already heard whatever Graham was about to say. This round was for my benefit.