Break No Bones by Kathy Reichs EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author:Kathy Reichs
- Language: English
- Genre:Â Conspiracy Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
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NEVER FAILS. YOU’RE WRAPPING UP THE OPERATION WHEN
SOMEONE blunders onto the season’s big score.
OK. I’m exaggerating. But it’s damn close to what happened. And the
final outcome was far more disturbing than any last-minute discovery of a
potsherd or hearth.
It was May 18, the second-to-the-last day of the archaeological field
school. I had twenty students digging a site on Dewees, a barrier island
north of Charleston, South Carolina.
I also had a journalist. With the IQ of plankton.
“Sixteen bodies?” Plankton pulled a spiral notebook as his brain strobed
visions of Dahmer and Bundy. “Vics ID’d?”
“The graves are prehistoric.”
Two eyes rolled up, narrowed under puffy lids. “Old Indians?”
“Native Americans.”
“They got me covering dead Indians?” No political correctness prize for
this guy.
“They?” Icy.
“The Moultrie News. The East Cooper community paper.”
Charleston, as Rhett told Scarlett, is a city marked by the genial grace of
days gone by. Its heart is the Peninsula, a district of antebellum homes,
cobbled streets, and outdoor markets bounded by the Ashley and Cooper
rivers. Charlestonians define their turf by these waterways. Neighborhoods
are referred to as “West Ashley” or “East Cooper,” the latter including
Mount Pleasant, and three islands, Sullivan’s, the Isle of Palms, and
Dewees. I assumed plankton’s paper covered that beat.
“And you are?” I asked.
“Homer Winborne.”
With his five-o’clock shadow and fast food paunch, the guy looked more
like Homer Simpson.
“We’re busy here, Mr. Winborne.”
Winborne ignored that. “Isn’t it illegal?”
“We have a permit. The island’s being developed, and this little patch is
slated for home sites.”
“Why bother?” Sweat soaked Winborne’s hairline. When he reached for a
hanky, I noticed a tick cruising his collar.
“I’m an anthropologist on faculty at the University of North Carolina at
Charlotte. My students and I are here at the request of the state.”
Though the first bit was true, the back end was a stretch. Actually, it
happened like this.
UNCC’s New World archaeologist normally conducted a student
excavation during the short presummer term each May. In late March of this
year, the lady had announced her acceptance of a position at Purdue. Busy
sending out résumés throughout the winter, she’d ignored the field school.
Sayonara. No instructor. No site.
Though my specialty is forensics, and I now work with the dead sent to
coroners and medical examiners, my graduate training and early
professional career were devoted to the not so recently deceased. For my
doctoral research I’d examined thousands of prehistoric skeletons recovered
from North American burial mounds.
The field school is one of the Anthropology Department’s most popular
courses, and, as usual, was enrolled to capacity. My colleague’s unexpected
departure sent the chair into a panic. He begged that I take over. The
students were counting on it! A return to my roots! Two weeks at the beach!
Extra pay! I thought he was going to throw in a Buick.
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