“The O.J. syndrome.”

I nodded. “A bonehead like Lingo stirs the public into a froth and some citizen vigilante appoints himself judge and jury.”

“And an innocent man dies. At least Finney’s death should put an end to Lingo’s political career.”

“It’s ironic,” I said. “The witch and the santero were harmless. The college boy and the commissioner’s assistant led dark double lives.”

“Nothing’s ever what it seems.”

Birdie and I slept upstairs.

Ryan slept on the couch.

39

SUNDAY, I ROSE EARLY AND DROVE RYAN TO CHARLOTTE-DOUGLAS International. Outside the terminal, we hugged. Said good-bye. Didn’t speak of the future.

At eleven I dressed in a dark blue blazer and gray pants. Allen Burkhead met me at the entrance to Elmwood Cemetery. He was holding a key. I was carrying a black canvas bag.

The new coffin was already in place in the tomb. Shiny bronze, a sprightly cradle for a very long slumber.

Burkhead unlocked the casket. I took Susan Redmon’s skull from my bag and nestled it carefully above her skeleton. Then I positioned the leg bones. Last, I tucked a small plastic sack under the white velvet pillow. Precipitin testing had shown that the brain was human. Maybe it was Susan’s, maybe it wasn’t. I doubted she’d mind sharing eternity with another displaced soul.

Weaving back through the tombstones, Burkhead told me he’d done some archival research. Susan Redmon had died giving birth. The child survived, a healthy baby boy. What happened to him? I asked. No idea, Burkhead said.

I felt sadness. Then hope.

In dying, Susan had given life to another being.

My next stop was Carolinas Medical Center. Not the ER, but the maternity center. This time my bag was pink and carried a large fuzzy bear and three tiny sleepers.

The baby was café au lait, with a wrinkled face and wild Don King hair. Takeela had named her Isabella for her maternal great-grandmother.

Takeela remained cool and aloof. But when she gazed at her daughter, I understood why she’d phoned to accept my offer of help. Seeing her baby girl, she’d resolved to reach out. To take a chance for Isabella.

Driving home, I thought about death and birth.

Things end and others begin.

Susan Redmon died, but had a son who lived.

Rinaldi was gone, but Slidell was entering into a new partnership.

Cuervo was dead, but Takeela had a new baby girl.

Pete seemed ended. Was I about to embark on a new beginning? With Charlie? With Ryan? With someone new?

Could Ryan and I go back, start over again?

Could America find a new beginning? Could we return to a time when we all felt safe? Protected? Confident in our values and our purpose? Tolerant of customs and belief systems we didn’t understand?

Charlie?

Ryan?

Mr. Right?

How would my sister, Harry, put it?

No way of knowing which hound will hunt.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks go to Dr. Richard L. Jantz, statistical guru behind Fordisc 3.0; to Dr. M. Lee Goff, a most excellent bug guy (his real name is Madison); to Dr. Peter Dean, coroner extraordinaire; and to Dr. William C. Rodriguez, one of the wisest forensic anthropologists in the kingdom. Dr. Leslie Eisenberg, Dr. Norm Sauer, and Dr. Elizabeth Murray also gave input on bone minutiae.

Sergeant Darrell Price, Sergeant Harold (Chuck) Henson, and Detective Christopher Dozier, Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department, answered cop questions. Mike Warns shared knowledge and opinions on many things. What he didn’t know, he found out.

Dr. Wayne A. Walcott, Senior Associate Provost, UNC-Charlotte, provided information on the availability of scanning electron microscopes on campus. UNCC has five. Who knew?

I appreciate the continued support of Chancellor Philip L. Dubois of the University of North Carolina-Charlotte.

I am grateful to my family for their patience and understanding, especially when I am grumpy. Or away. Special thanks must go to my daughter, Kerry, who took time to discuss my book while writing her own. (Yay! First novel: The Best Day of Someone Else’s Life, available the spring of 2008!) Extra credit to Paul Reichs for reading and commenting on the manuscript.

Deepest thanks to my awesome agent, Jennifer Rudolph Walsh; to my brilliant editors, Nan Graham and Susan Sandon; and to my magnificent publisher, Susan Moldow. Thanks to Kevin Hanson and Amy Cormier in Canada. I also want to acknowledge all those who work so very hard on my behalf, especially: Katherine Monaghan, Lauretta Charlton, Anna deVries, Anna Simpson, Claudia Ballard, Jessica Almon, Tracy Fisher, and Michelle Feehan.

If there are errors in this book, they are my fault. If I have forgotten to thank someone, I apologize.

A CONVERSATION WITH KATHY REICHS

Kathy Reichs talks about her cases, the inspiration for Devil Bones, the difference between the real Kathy Reichs and Temperance Brennan, and the television show Bones.

Q: Is Devil Bones based on a real case?

A: Strange things arrive at my lab. I’ve been asked to examine shrunken heads to determine their authenticity. Often they’re actually the skulls of birds or dogs.

Sometimes human skulls do show up. Some are painted or decorated. Some show carbonization from candle flames. Some are covered with melted wax, blood, and/or bird feathers.

These skulls turn out to be ritual objects. They’ve graced altars or been used in spells or religious ceremonies. I’ve worked on a number of these cases and, each time, the situation got me thinking about fringe religions, belief systems that mystify or alienate the larger population.

Devil Bones is based on a mélange of cases over a long period of time, cases that sparked my imagination. Some were my own. Some were described to me by colleagues. Some were discussed in the forensic literature or in scientific sessions at professional meetings.

Q: How did you go about researching Devil Bones?

A: About twenty years ago, at the American Academy of Forensic Sciences, I heard a paper delivered by a pathologist who worked at the Dade County Medical Examiner’s Office in Miami, Florida. His research focused on a fringe religion known as Santería.

Santería is a syncretic religion resulting from the blending of African religious practices with Catholicism. The movement emerged during the period when slaves were brought to North America and forbidden the right to follow their ancestral beliefs. As a means of survival, the traditional African deities came to be disguised as Catholic saints. I remembered the paper and tracked it down. Then I became curious about other so-called fringe religions. A McGill University colleague had told me about a graduate student who worked as a cook at a Wiccan summer camp. Initially through her I began to research Wiccan practice and philosophy.

So the research went from lab to colleagues to literature to practitioners. During that progression I met many fascinating individuals and learned a great deal about religions that hadn’t been on my radar.

Q: How did you choose to write about police officers losing their lives in the line of duty?

A: Sadly, this part of the novel was inspired by events in my hometown of Charlotte, North Carolina. On April 1, 2007, Police Officer Sean Clark and Police Officer Jeff Shelton responded to a disturbance call in an East Charlotte housing complex. They had resolved the disturbance and were leaving when they engaged in conversation with a man uninvolved in the incident. As they turned to walk away, the man pulled out a gun and shot both officers in the back.