"She teaches at the university."
"Would that be Professor Ruth Pino?"
"Morfin called in the information to you, I take it."
"He left out the part about your family ties."
"He didn't know. Ruth is hot to visit the site where the cactus was found. She's even cancelled her classes for the day to do it. Didn't you send Thorpe over there to collect evidence?"
"I did."
"Can you spare him to show Ruth around?"
"Sure."
"Good. I'll let her know. What do you have on Santistevan?"
"He's got a clean record. No wants, warrants, or arrests. No military service. One speeding ticket in the last three years. He paid the fine. His mail is delivered to a neighborhood postal box in San Geronimo."
"Is there any evidence that Santistevan is tied to the crimes?"
"Not yet. All I've got is an eight-year-old kid's description of a truck, a license plate number, and a composite drawing along with a physical description of Rudy that doesn't correspond to Santistevan at all," Gabe said.
"That's a start."
"Maybe. But we're not lacking for evidence. Cap. The ballistics report came in a few minutes ago: a thirty-eight caliber bullet killed Boaz. Also, the lab lifted a clean fingerprint from the oil container found at the poaching site. The print isn't in the computer, but the lab can match it when we find the perp. We've got a good tool mark from the barbed wire samples we collected, and some good plaster-cast tire impressions. The tread marks left at the cabin gate and the dear-cut area are identical."
"So, go arrest somebody," Captain Garduno said jokingly, knowing full well that solid evidence without a suspect was always a frustrating dilemma.
Gabe cracked a small smile.
"I'll get right on it."
Melody Jordan timed her departure from work to allow for a quick change of clothes before her scheduled meeting with Dr. Campbell Lawrence at the School of American Research. She switched to a pair of dress slacks and a top that fit just tightly enough to give an understated suggestion of her breasts. She would change back again before returning to work.
Campbell Lawrence was a good-looking man in his late thirties who didn't wear a wedding ring. At the conclusion of his seminar last fall, Lawrence had joined Melody and some of the other students for drinks. She had found him witty, charming, and-she liked to think-more than passingly interested in her.
Now Lawrence was back on a year's sabbatical. She had seen him only once since his seminar, when he spoke at a noontime colloquium at the school. Time didn't permit more than a brief exchange after his presentation, but Lawrence had seemed genuinely pleased to see her again.
She checked her hair, flew out the door of her house, and drove hurriedly to the campus. She eased into a parking space, gathered up the X-ray envelope and the box of bones, and walked down the crushed gravel path toward the Indian Arts Research Center.
The school, located on the grounds of an old estate near the historic Canyon Road and Acequia Madre district, was a lovely collection of adobe buildings behind high walls, spread over beautifully landscaped grounds.
The compound contained a library, administrative offices, cottages for scholars in residence, an artist studio, and a priceless collection of Native-American arts and crafts housed in a high security building.
The school had been started early in the century as an archaeological field research facility, long before most colleges offered courses in the subject. It soon earned a prestigious reputation as a renowned anthropological and humanities research and study center, and nowadays drew visiting scholars to the campus on a year-round basis. It even had its own publishing house.
Melody found Campbell Lawrence in the small lab inside the Indian Arts Research Center.
"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice," she said.
"You caught me at a good time," Campbell said with a smile as he shook Melody's hand.
"Show me what you've got."
Melody handed Campbell the X-ray envelope and started placing the bones on an examination table. Finished, she turned to find him studying the X rays on a wall-mounted fluoroscope.
While Campbell concentrated on the X rays. Melody looked him over. He had a full head of curly brown hair cut short and a neatly trimmed mustache. His hair line, low on his forehead, drew attention to his gray eyes. He was, Melody thought, very attractive.
"This break is old," Campbell said.
"I'd say it happened in childhood and wasn't properly immobilized after the bone was set."
"That's highly unusual," Melody said.
"Only if you're applying Western standards of medidne.
I think the injury was treated as a break, not a fracture.
Whoever did it may not have had access to any equipment or facilities.
It may not have been treated by a physician. I would imagine the victim probably had some chronic pain as a consequence."
"With impaired mobility of the arm?" Melody asked.
"Possibly. But what interests me most is the slight deformity here."
He pointed to the joint end.
"That's not from getting hacked up. Let's take a look at the bones."
Campbell walked to the table and picked up the long bones.
"There's the deformity again. Just the slightest bit of bowing in the humerus and femur. Run a phosphorus and caldum test on the bones. If the results show deficiencies, I'd say your victim had rickets as a young child."
He picked up the pelvic bone.
"A female, certainly."
"Any guesses on race?" Melody asked, hoping Campbell would confirm her own assessment.
Campbell measured the humerus and the femur.
"I wish you had more of the skeleton for a comparison.
But if we estimate her height at five feet, four inches, which I think is a good guess, then I'd say her legs were a bit shorter than normal.