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“Pictures won’t do?”

I looked at the sketch of Johnny that Susan had drawn. “Nope.”

“Let’s go. I’ll drive.

The bones had been taken to the Tucson medical examiner’s office. I knew the chief medical examiner, Gretta Hess. She was good at what she did. So was everyone who worked with her. There had been a rush on the first set of bones. The second, clearly older, set was still being tested, though it had been moved into a priority position too.

When there had been no dental or DNA match in any of the systems, the investigation was still going on via lab tests that would help with, among other things, precise aging of the bones, telling us how long they’d been in the ground, maybe even give us a clue as to the location of their burial. I wondered if Verro and Jenna might find some information that would help regarding the teeth, but I doubted it.

Mostly, I wondered if I could help.

I resisted looking at the pictures I’d taken as we made our way north. I remembered what I’d seen, but I knew about memory and how it wasn’t always accurate. I also knew that if the pictures didn’t match my memory, I’d be disappointed. If they did match it, I’d want to see the bones again anyway just to confirm.

This wasn’t as easy as a picture. I didn’t even want to ask clarifying questions over the phone. I needed to see what I needed to see.

“Dr. Hess isn’t here,” the receptionist said as Calloway and I entered.

“Could I still take a look?” I asked, thinking I might be compelled to break down a door if I wasn’t granted permission.

At that moment, one of technicians came out from the lab.

“Hey, Haze, what’s going on?” Brady asked. He was young and smart and had a wicked sense of humor, which could be helpful in such a serious profession.

“I need to see the second set of bones found down near Black Vulture,” I said. He’d know exactly what I was talking about.

Brady and the receptionist exchanged a look. Relief spread through me when Brady said, “Gown up.”

I put on a gown, footies, and gloves before Brady led me into the lab.

“I can’t let you touch anything,” he said.

“I just need a good, close look.”

“Have at it.”

The bones, still formed into a scorpion shape, had been placed on one exam table. The other sculpture was in the room too, on another table. The coyote.

Seeing the sculptures inside the autopsy room was different than out in the desert. The desert was the creatures’ natural habitat. Even as models, they felt out of place in this sterile room. And something else—more human.

I tried never to forget about the people who left their bones behind.

The bones belonged to people, once with flesh, bones, and a soul. Wilmot had preached this, even about animals. I always wished I could relay that to the people who despised what he did and him for doing it, but words weren’t enough. You had to live it. And I had.

I made my way to Silas’s bones first, allowing my eyes to roam over the whiteness, so clean and pristine, unless you looked closely or knew what to look for. I thought about the kid, the sketch in Susan’s notebook. I remembered the bullying he’d endured.

I muttered quietly, “I’m sorry, Silas, for …” I didn’t have a specific reason, but I was sorry for that little boy.

Brady came up next to me and nodded toward a femur. “We wondered about that slight bowing. We did some tests and found osteomalacia.”

“Really?”

Osteomalacia was a bone disease that caused bones to soften and weaken from inadequate mineralization, usually a vitamin D deficiency. Even in the sun-drenched state of Arizona, it could happen.

“I believe he was homeless for a long time. Poor nutrition,” I said.

Brady nodded.

The coyote and little boy shapes faded in my mind, and I tried to imagine Silas as a grown man. It was difficult to see anything but struggles from his time on the street. It was a rough life, but I knew that some people lived it as a choice. I had no way of knowing all that had led to Silas’s circumstances, but I hoped he found peace somewhere along the way.