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Over many years I’d come to think of Claudel as obstinate and rigid, rather than outright loathing his attitude. This case was threatening a reversal in that trend.

Quick trip downstairs for coffee.

Quick call to Anne suggesting lunch.

As feared, she begged off.

I told her about the Carbon 14 results.

“You have at it with your bones, Tempe. I’ll just hang here.”

“OK, but let me know if you change your mind. I’m flexible.”

When we’d disconnected, I cleared the two worktables and the side counter in the lab, and laid out each of the skeletons. I was examining the Dr. Energy girl’s tibia when Marc Bergeron appeared.

To say Bergeron is peculiar-looking is like saying fudge contains a wee bit of sugar. Standing six feet three, perpetually stooped, and weighing in on the downside of one sixty, Bergeron has all the grace and coordination of a wading stork.

Bergeron is Quebec’s forensic odontologist. For thirty years he has drilled and filled the living Monday through Thursday, and examined the teeth of the dead each Friday.

We exchanged greetings. I expressed surprise at seeing Bergeron at the lab on a Thursday.

“Family wedding. Tomorrow I must be in Ottawa.”

Bergeron walked to the closet, freed a lab coat from a hanger, and slipped into it. The coat hung on him like a bedsheet on an unstuffed scarecrow.

“Who are these folks?” Bergeron flapped a hand at the skeletons.

“Found in the basement of a pizzeria.”

“Reflection on the food?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Old?”

“All I know is that they died after 1950. Ideas?”

Bergeron adjusted his collar and fluffed his hair. It is extraordinary hair, white and frizzy, starting a mile north of his brows. Against all fashion logic, Bergeron lets it grow long enough to halo wildly around his head.

“Carbon 14 dates suggest death occurred either during the fifties or during the eighties and nineties.”

Bergeron stick-walked to a drawer, withdrew a penlight, picked up the Dr. Energy skull, and peered at the dentition.

“Very poor hygiene. You pulled a molar for sampling?”

I nodded.

“I assume you’d first requested X-rays.”

I unclipped a brown envelope from the LSJML-38426 case file, and slid ten small films onto the light box. Bergeron studied them, the dandelion hair electrified by the fluorescence.

“Besides extensive decay, there’s little of note. A slightly rotated upper right canine.” He tapped one X-ray with a bony finger.

“Age estimate?” I asked.

“Sixteen, maybe as old as eighteen.”

“That was my thought.”

Bergeron had shifted to LSJML-38428.

“That one was buried wrapped in a leather shroud.”

“Was this body autopsied?”

“What do you mean?” His question threw me.

“These cuts on her temporal bone. Could they have been made during retraction of the scalp?”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

Carrying the skull to the dissecting scope, I viewed the marks under low, then higher-power magnification. Bergeron continued along his train of thought.

“Perhaps these are old biological specimens or teaching skeletons. Perhaps someone kept them as curiosities, later lost interest, or decided possession was risky.”

I had considered that. It was not an uncommon scenario.

“There are no drilled holes, no wire fragments, no signs of chemical treatment or mechanical modification. The bones were not assembled for display purposes.”

Magnified, the temporal marks looked like broad V-shaped valleys. Some ran parallel to the ear opening, others were scattered at angles around it. Micro-chipping along the edges suggested the damage had occurred when the bone was dry and defleshed.

“These marks weren’t made by a scalpel. They’re too wide in cross section. Also, the alignment is more random than I’d expect as a result of an autopsy. I think they’re postmortem artifacts.”

An ill-formed thought tapped gently on a mental shoulder.

Why the V-shape? That’s not typical of abrasion damage.

“This one had considerably fewer dental problems.”

I looked up. Bergeron was at the second worktable, examining the jaw fragments belonging to LSJML-38427.

“The apicals are in the file.” I pointed at a yellow folder beside the bones.

Bergeron spread the dental X-rays on the light box.

“Could be a bit younger, I’d say fifteen to seventeen.”

“Do you see anything at all distinctive?”

Bergeron shook his head. The frizz wobbled.

Replacing the mandibular fragments of 38427, Bergeron moved back to 38428, picked up the skull, and aimed his penlight.

“There was something on this one…” Bergeron’s voice trailed off.

“What?”

Bergeron swapped the skull for the jaw, and aimed his beam at the lower dentition.

“Yes.”

Abandoning the scope, I joined him.

“What?”

“This should clarify the uncertainty on your dates.”

Bergeron handed me the skull and penlight.

21

“TIP THE CRANIUM, THEN MOVE THE LIGHT BACK AND FORTH over the molars.”

I did as Bergeron instructed.

“Do you see a glossiness in the folds of the enamel?”

I didn’t.

“Angle the beam.”

Bergeron was right. The shine was subtle but present, way down in the grooves.

“What is it?”

“If I’m not mistaken, the molars have been treated with a pit and fissure sealant.”