#1 New York Times bestselling author and producer of the FOX television hit Bones
KATHY REICHS
masterfully uncovers forensic details that “chill to the bone” (Entertainment Weekly) in this suspense-charged bestseller featuring Dr. Temperance Brennan.
There are 206 bones in the human body. And one shattering secret hidden among them. . . .
Cold and alone, bound hands to feet, Tempe Brennan regains consciousness locked in a dark cell—or is she buried alive in a tomb?—and begins to reconstruct the twisted chain of events that led her to this terrifying place. Tempe and Lieutenant Ryan had recently accompanied the remains of a missing heiress from Montreal to the Chicago morgue, and suddenly Tempe is accused of mishandling the autopsy. After an incriminating phone call and another shocking death, Tempe’s unseen enemy closes in—even as the corpse of a second, and then a third, elderly woman turns up in the woods of Montreal. Who wants Tempe dead, or at least out of the way, and why? Who would resort to sabotage to destroy the secrets hidden in the bones? Only Tempe can uncover the truth—if she can escape the deadly fate someone has designed for her.
Includes a conversation with Kathy Reichs and an excerpt from Spider Bones, her new Tempe Brennan novel!
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AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH BY MARIE-REINE MATTERA
KATHY REICHS is a producer of the FOX television hit Bones. Like her fictional creation Temperance Brennan, she is a board-certified forensic anthropologist for the Laboratoire de Sciences Judiciaires et de Médecine Légale for the province of Quebec, a position she also held at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, State of North Carolina. Dr. Reichs is past Vice President of the American Academy of Forensic Sciences and serves on the National Police Services Advisory Council in Canada. A professor of anthropology at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, she received her Ph.D. at Northwestern University. Her debut novel, Déjà Dead, brought her fame when it became a New York Times bestseller, a #1 international bestseller, and winner of the 1997 Ellis Award for Best First Novel. Spider Bones, her thirteenth Temperance Brennan novel, is published in hardcover by Scribner.
Her website is www.kathyreichs.com.
“A genius at building suspense” (New York Daily News), Kathy Reichs delivers page-turning forensic excitement in these acclaimed bestsellers
206 BONES
“With her usual blend of cutting-edge forensic science and a stubborn, compelling heroine, Reichs manages to juggle several story lines without losing an ounce of momentum.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“The forensic procedures take center stage as they always do in this cleverly plotted and expertly maintained series.”
—The New York Times
DEVIL BONES
#1 New York Times bestseller!
“Reichs keeps the roller coaster on track and speeding along, page after page.”
—Jeffery Deaver, New York Times bestselling author of The Burning Wire
“Her expertise is snappily and entertainingly delivered.”
—Booklist
“I’m amazed by how seamlessly Reichs makes the transition from scientist to great storyteller. What’s not to admire and envy?”
—Sandra Brown, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Tough Customer
“The suspense is intense . . . and the forensic education is graduate level.”
—St. Petersburg Times (FL)
“Devil Bones is her best yet.”
—The Globe and Mail (Toronto)
206 Bones is also available from Simon & Schuster Audio
BONES TO ASHES
“We can’t get enough.”
—More magazine
BREAK NO BONES
“A rare treat. . . . Mesmerizing.”
—Ann Rule, #1 New York Times bestselling author of In the Still of the Night
CROSS BONES
“A spirited rival to The Da Vinci Code. . . . Reichs is in top form.”
—Sunday Times (London)
MONDAY MOURNING
“The science is downright snazzy, the mystery plenty devious. . . .”
—Houston Chronicle
BARE BONES
“[Tempe’s] dedication, intelligence, dry wit, and femininity really shine through.”
—Booklist
GRAVE SECRETS
“Powerful. . . . A page-turner.”
—The Hartford Courant (CT)
FATAL VOYAGE
“The plot moves with electric force. . . . Morbid yet captivating.”
—Publishers Weekly
DEADLY DÉCISIONS
“A high-octane forensic thriller.”
—People
DEATH DU JOUR
“Another scary ride through evil past and present. Read it and creep.”
—Mademoiselle
DÉJÀ DEAD
Winner of the Crime Writers of Canada’s Arthur Ellis Award for Best First Novel
“Déjà Dead can lie side-by-side with the works of Patricia Cornwell. . . . Both do a fine job of telling a good, sometimes scary tale.”
—The Washington Times
Critics adore Kathy Reichs and Temperance Brennan!
“The science is fascinating, and every minute in the morgue with Tempe is golden.”
“Reichs has brought the detective story into the twenty-first century.”
—Toronto Sun
“Scary enough to keep the lights on and the dog inside. Reichs is that good.”
—New York Daily News
“Fans of TV’s CSI: Crime Scene Investigation should be in heaven.”
—People
“Breathtaking technical detail.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“The queen of forensic thrillers.”
—City Vision (Western Cape, South Africa)
“Temperance Brennan is the real thing.”
—New York Newsday
ALSO BY KATHY REICHS
SPIDER BONES
DEVIL BONES
BONES TO ASHES
BREAK NO BONES
CROSS BONES
MONDAY MOURNING
BARE BONES
GRAVE SECRETS
FATAL VOYAGE
DEADLY DÉCISIONS
DEATH DU JOUR
DÉJÀ DEAD
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Pocket Star Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Temperance Brennan, L.P.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Scribner Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Pocket Star Books paperback edition July 2010
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Cover design by John Vairo Jr., cover photos © Masterfile & Trevillion
ISBN 978-1-4165-2567-7
ISBN 978-1-4391-6623-9 (ebook)
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
From the Forensic Files of Dr. Kathy Reichs
‘Spider Bones’ Teaser
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
This book is dedicated to my colleagues in the forensic sciences who have demonstrated their professional commitment and aptitude by applying for and obtaining legitimate board certification.
The exam was a bear, but we did it!
Bravo!
American Board of Forensic Anthropology
American Board of Criminalistics
American Board of Forensic Document Examiners
American Board of Forensic Engineering and Technology
American Board of Forensic Entomology
American Board of Forensic Odontology
American Board of Forensic Psychology
American Board of Forensic Toxicology
American Board of Pathology
American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My heartfelt thanks to Peter Bush, Laboratory of Forensic Odontology Research, School of Dental Medicine, SUNY at Buffalo, for his advice on scanning electron microscopy and energy dispersive X-ray spectroscopy, and to S. Kelly Sears, Facility for Electron Microscopy Research, McGill University.
My sincere gratitude to Michael Warns, who, as usual, researched many things. Who knew the Chicago burbs had so many quarries?
Michael Cook shared his knowledge of sewers. Renate Reichs aided me in mapping Chicago terrain. Jack Kenney offered tips on the Cook County Medical Examiner’s office. William Rodriguez helped with forensic anthropology minutia. Michael Bisson enlightened me on CRM archaeology. Ronnie Harrison answered cop questions. And, of course, there was the nice lady who took my call at the Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec.
I appreciate the continued support of Philip L. Dubois, Chancellor of the University of North Carolina at Charlotte.
I am grateful to my family for their patience and understanding, especially when I am cranky. Or gone. Credit to Paul Reichs for reading and commenting on the manuscript.
Particularly useful was the article by B. C. Smith, “A Preliminary Report: Proximal Facet Analysis and the Recovery of Trace Restorative Materials from Unrestored Teeth,” Journal of Forensic Sciences, Vol. 35: 4, July 1990: 873–80.
Deepest thanks to my splendid agent, Jennifer Rudolph Walsh, and to my dazzling editors, Nan Graham and Susan Sandon. I also want to acknowledge all those who work so very hard on my behalf, especially: Susan Moldow, Katherine Monaghan, Paul Whitlatch, Emma Rose, Margaret Riley, Britton Schey, Tracy Fisher, Elizabeth Reed, and Michelle Feehan. And of course, I am indebted to the Canadian crew, especially to Kevin Hanson and Amy Cormier.
If there are errors in this book, I own them. If I have forgotten to thank someone, I apologize. You know the drill.
1
COLD.
Numb.
Confused.
I opened my eyes.
To dark. Black as arctic winter.
Am I dead?
Obeying some limbic command, I inhaled deeply.
Smells registered in my brain.
Mold. Musty earth. Something organic, hinting at the passage of time.
Was this hell? A tomb?
I listened.
Silence. Impenetrable.
But no. There were sounds. Air moving through my nostrils. Blood pounding in my ears.
Corpses don’t breathe. Dead hearts don’t beat.
Other sensations intruded. Hardness below me. Burning on the right side of my face.
I raised my head.
Bitter bile flooded my mouth.
I shifted my hips to relieve pressure on my twisted neck.
Pain exploded up my left leg.
A groan shattered the stillness.
Instinctively, my body went fetal. The pounding gained volume.
I lay curled, listening to the rhythm of my fear.
Then, recognition. The sound had come from my own throat.
I feel pain. I react. I am alive.
But where?
Spitting bile, I tried reaching out. Felt resistance. Realized my wrists were bound.
I flexed a knee toward my chest, testing. My feet rose as one. My wrists dropped.
I tried a second time, harder. Neurons again fired up my leg.
Stifling another cry, I struggled to force order onto my addled thinking.
I’d been bound, hands to feet, and abandoned. Where? When? By whom?
Why?
A memory search for recent events came up empty. No. The void in recollection was longer than that.
I remembered picnicking with my daughter, Katy. But that was summer. The frigid temperature now suggested that it must be winter.
Sadness. A last farewell to Andrew Ryan. That was October. Had I seen him again?
A bright red sweater at Christmas. This Christmas? I had no idea.
Disoriented, I groped for any detail from the past few days. Nothing stayed in focus.
Vague impressions lacking rational form or sequence appeared and faded. A figure emerging from shadow. Man or woman? Anger. Shouting. About what? At whom?
Melting snow. Light winking off glass. The dark maw of a cracked door.
Dilated vessels pounded inside my skull. Hard as I tried, I could not evoke recollection from my semiconscious mind.
Had I been drugged? Suffered a blow to the head?
How bad was my leg? If I managed to free myself, could I walk? Crawl?
My hands were numb, my fingers useless. I tried tugging my wrists outward. Felt no give in my bindings.
Tears of frustration burned the backs of my lids.
No crying!
Clamping my jaw, I rolled to my back, raised my feet, and jerked my ankles apart. Flames roared up my left lower limb.
Then I knew nothing.
I awoke. Moments later? Hours? No way to tell. My mouth felt drier, my lips more parched. The pain in my leg had receded to a dull ache.
Though I gave my pupils time, they took in nothing. How could they adjust? The dense blackness offered not a sliver of light.
The same questions flooded back. Where? Why? Who?
Clearly, I’d been abducted. To be the victim in some sick game? To be removed as a threat?
The thought triggered my first clear memory. An autopsy photo. A corpse, charred and twisted, jaws agape in a final agonal scream.
Then a kaleidoscope sequence, image chasing image. Two morgues. Two autopsy rooms. Name plaques marking two labs. Temperance Brennan, Forensic
Anthropologist. Temperance Brennan, Anthropologue Judiciaire.
Was I in Charlotte? Montreal? Far too cold for North Carolina. Even in winter. Was it winter? Was I in Quebec?
Had I been grabbed at home? On the street? In my car? Outside the Édifice Wilfrid-Derome? Inside the lab?
Was my captor a random predator and I a random victim? Had I been targeted because of who I am? Revenge sought by a former accused? By a conspiracy-theorist next of kin? What case had I last been working?
Dear God, could it really be so cold? So dark? So still?
Why that smell, so disturbingly familiar?
As before, I tried wriggling my hands. My feet. To no avail. I was hog-tied, unable even to sit.
“Help! I’m here! Someone! Help me!”
Over and over I called out until my throat grew raw.
“Anyone! Please!”
My pleas went unanswered.
Panic threatened to overwhelm me.
You will not die helpless!
Trembling from cold and fear, and frantic to see, I shifted to my back and started bucking my hips, stretching my hands upward as far as possible, oblivious to the agony in my leg. One thrust. Two. Three. My fingertips scraped hardness little more than a foot above my face.
I lunged again. Made contact. Sediment cascaded into my eyes and mouth.
Spitting and blinking, I rolled onto my right side and shoved backward with one arm and both feet. The rough ground abraded the skin on my elbow and heels. One ankle screamed in protest. I didn’t care. I had to move. Had to get out.
I’d advanced a very short distance when I encountered a wall. Rectangular contours surrounded by mortar. Brick.
Heart hammering, I rolled to my other side and inched in the opposite direction. Again, I soon hit a wall.
Adrenaline flooded my body as terror piggybacked onto terror. My gut curdled. My lungs drew great heaving breaths.
My prison was no more than thirty inches high and six feet wide! Its length didn’t matter. Already I felt the walls pressing in.
I lost control.
Scooching forward, I began yelling and beating the brick with my fists. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Over and over I called out, hoping to attract the attention of a passerby. A worker. A dog. Anyone.
When my knuckles grew raw I attacked with the heels of my hands.
When I could no longer flail with my arms, I rolled and lashed out with my feet.