“You look like crap, Steve.”
Curran flipped the bird to his co-worker as he walked through the doors to the homicide unit. “Last thing I need right now, pal.”
The truth was he felt like crap, too. Of course, heaving up dinner into the bathroom sink didn’t normally leave him feeling too spiffy. Coupled with the weird dream he’d had and the subsequent lack of sleep, it was no wonder the other guys in the department all gave him strange looks.
The last thing he wanted to do today was come to work.
No rest for the wicked, he thought with a wry grin.
He slid into the seat at his desk and turned on the computer. The machine beeped twice, warmed up and prompted him for his passwords. Curran typed them in. His phone rang.
“Curran.”
Kwon’s voice sounded hoarse. “It’s me.”
“You go out drinking last night after I dropped you off? You sound like you gargled sandpaper.”
“Sick, I think. Anyway, I just got the carbon-dating results on that button you found last night.”
“Already?”
“I got a lot of people in this town who owe me favors besides the likes of you, pal. I collected on one of them.”
Curran shifted some of the papers on his desk so he could take notes on what Kwon told him. “Guy know his stuff?”
“The lady actually, is a professor over at MIT, so yeah, offhand I’d say she’s pretty skilled at working the instrument.”
“And?” Curran glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. He wanted a cigarette.
“You’re going to love this: the button dates to between 32,000 and 28,000 years ago.”
Curran leaned forward. “How old?”
“You heard right. I couldn’t believe it, either. She ran the test three times to be sure.”
Curran sighed, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. “I wasn’t even aware human bone could last that long.”
“Well, it does. And in this case, it’s been treated with something to help preserve it.”
“Did they have buttons back then?”
“That’s the other thing. This wasn’t meant to be a button per se.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it started out as a human bone. Then later, probably much later, someone decided to turn it into a button. The holes in it are much more recent.”
“Is there some type of law against this?”
“You’re asking me?” Kwon paused. “You’re the cop.”
“I’m thinking out loud is all,” said Curran.
“I can’t imagine it’d be okay if the bones were recent. But they’re not. You could make the argument that this is simply another fossil of sorts and the owner simply chose to make an adornment out of it.”
“But you don’t think that’s the case.”
Kwon paused. “To me, it seems more like some kind of trophy. I know it sounds weird, but just holding this thing kinda freaks me out.”
“I don’t have it here and I’m already freaked.”
“You want me to drop it by?”
“You coming this way?”
“Sure. I got to drop a report over there anyway. See you in twenty.”
“It’s probably an antique of some sort.”
Curran fingered the bone button again as Kwon looked on. In the office light, it looked even stranger than it had last night when he’d picked it off the sidewalk. He turned it over. It had been worn smooth and dulled to a yellowish cream color. Still, there was a faint sheen. Almost as if someone had treated it. Just like Kwon had mentioned. Curran eyed him. “You think?”
“That old, it’s got to be. I can’t imagine too many people running around with something like that locked in a curio cabinet.”
“A curio — Kwon you amaze me sometimes with what comes out of your mouth.”
“What? I keep abreast of a lot of stuff.”
Especially if there were beautiful women involved, thought Curran. He looked at the button again. “Weird to think of this as having come from someone’s body.”
“Yeah.”
“Which bone was it, do you know?”
“I could take a guess, but it’d be just that. Offhand, I’d think it came from the pelvis, given the fact it’s almost an inch and a half across.”
“Great, now I feel like I’m fondling someone’s privates.”
Kwon grinned. “You think this is a clue to the identity of the Soul Eater?”
Curran glanced around. No one had heard kwon. Good. “Keep your voice down, pal. I don’t people in here thinking I’m off on some weird witch hunt.”
“Sorry.”
Curran looked at the four holes in the bone where there’d been thread presumably holding it to fabric. A coat? Maybe. “I’ve got nothing else to go on. I could plant myself on Lauren for twenty-four hours a day and see if that guy shows up, but I don’t think he would with me watching her.”
“Where is she now?”
“Stashed away at a friend’s house.” Curran grinned remembering the previous night and how he’d felt hearing her phone a guy only to find out he was a priest. “I doubt her stalker will find her.”
“Of course, her stalker may not exactly be your average guy.”
“That’s why we’re going on the offensive.”
“We?”
“Too busy?”
“Got a twenty-one year old kid who decided to celebrate his legal birthday by drinking himself to death in Allston last night. He’s waiting on me.”
Curran nodded. “You available again later?”
Kwon rolled his eyes. “Not another stake-out?”
“Don’t know yet. I have to see how today goes.”
“Call me, “ said Kwon walking out.
Curran nodded and kept examining the button.
Boston was an antiques town. Between the old blue blood wealthy and the nouveau riche, antique stores by the dozens had sprung up catering to every whim and fancy. Some of them, Curran discovered, kept their storefronts gleaming like giant neon signs. Others preferred a more modest profile.
Like the one Curran walked into on Charles Street, at the foot of Beacon Hill in the Back Bay section of Boston. Not far from where he and Kwon had swooped in to rescue Lauren last night, he thought absently as the silver bell above the doorway tinkled thrice upon his entrance.
Thick carpeting immediately hushed his footsteps. The air felt warm against his skin and there seemed a slight scent of incense in the air. Or cleanser. Curran wasn’t sure which.
He spotted several old dishes set out on wooden shelves close to the door. But he supposed the real pricey stuff must have been contained in the series of glass enclosed counters that ran across the middle of the store, some four feet tall. Curran smiled. It was an effective and subtle fence from the rear of the store.
And who knew what goodies lay back there.
Within the glass cases, Curran spotted rows of silverware. Some still tarnished and others gleaming as if recently cleaned. Another shelf held small daggers with some type of script running down the blades. Still another featured an assortment of broaches, clasps, and…buttons.
Curran’s interest piqued.
“Can I help you?”
Curran stood and smiled. The man facing him must have been a few years older, but his age seemed difficult to discern given the inordinate amount of creases around his mouth and eyes. His black hair was streaked with gray and in places, almost pure white.
Curran flashed his badge. “Detective Curran.”
The man smiled. “My name is Darius Assiniya. Welcome to my store.” He frowned. “Although I trust if this were merely a shopping trip you wouldn’t have felt the need to divulge your occupation.”
His voice flowed out in a smooth and even tone. Cultured. Accented. British? No. But maybe he’d been schooled there, Curran decided.
He grinned. “I wish I only was just shopping. But I’m not.”
“What do you do for the police, Detective?”
“Homicide.”
“Has there been a murder? I heard no such thing in the news this morning.”
“A few days back. I’ve been investigating. And I came upon something I’ve been looking for some help with.”
Darius inclined his head. “If I may aid you in any way, please do not hesitate to ask.”
Curran’s hand closed around the button and he brought it out of his coat pocket. “This was recovered at the crime scene. I’ve been trying to find someone who could possibly identify it and help us get closer to the killer.”
Darius extended his hand and Curran saw how clawlike it appeared. Tendons and ligaments slithered underneath the thin covering of liver-spotted skin like snakes. Darius turned his hand over and Curran noticed the deep lines scoring his palm.
“May I?”
Curran dropped the button into his hand. He felt glad to be rid of the bone button. Somehow it didn’t feel right holding it. Like the button knew it didn’t belong to him.
Darius slid a pair of spectacle onto the bridge of his nose and peered at the button. “My, my. This is quite something.”
“We had it carbon-dated this morning.”
“And what were the results if you don’t mind me asking?”
“According to the scientist we had look at it, that bone dates back roughly 30,000 years.”
“Amazing,” said Darius. “This is quite a fine specimen.”
“You don’t seem so surprised by it. Doesn’t it strike you as strange that someone saw fit to make a button out of it?”
Darius looked at him and smiled. Christ, he’s got white teeth, thought Curran.
“I’m no longer amazed by much, Detective. Given my occupation, I see a great many things that have long since dulled my aptness to jump about with such emotion. I am used to seeing things such as this. Whereas others might recoil in horror at the thought of human bones being used for implements like a button, I am not inclined to react thus. I find it intriguing, but not so unusual.”
“You’ve seen things like this before?”
Darius peered at the button. “You said almost 30,000 years ago?”
“Yeah.”
Darius nodded. “I would think this bone most likely dates back to the Aurignacian period.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s named for an area near the foothills of the Pyrenees in France. In 1860, a group of scientists discovered rock shelters there and evidence nearby suggested that stone and bone tools had been fashioned in the vicinity. Quite fascinating, really.”
“You think this comes from that period in history?”
Darius nodded. “Along with the rock shelters, they also found cave paintings in nearby caves. One of them, if I recall my history correctly, rose to almost fifty feet — the cavern that is. On the walls they found crude paintings of animals, man, and a type of weird hybrid man/beast.”
“Man/beast?”
Darius smiled. “Well, that’s what the scientists called it. While the tools were also dated to almost 30,000 years old, some of the paintings were supposedly much older than that. And interestingly, some of the paintings had been created using a mixture of paints derived from both plants, and blood — animal and human.”
Curran shifted. “Fascinating.”
Darius held the button up. “Now, obviously, Neanderthals or whatever they call the type of fellows running around back then, weren’t familiar with the concept of a button of all things.”
“Can’t see how they would be.”
“Which means this,” Darius held up the button to the light overhead, “was probably transformed into a button at a much later date.”
“That’s what we thought.”
“Still, it’s an awfully peculiar item to have sort of laying about the house as it were. And one can’t help but wonder what sort of thought goes into making human bone into a button.”
“I’d like to know.”
Darius grinned. “I’ll bet I could fetch a large amount for this piece, though, I don’t mind telling you. Any chance I can have it when you’re done with it?”
Curran smiled. “I don’t know.” He glanced around. “I notice you’ve got a fair assortment of buttons here in the cabinet.”
“Oh yes. Most of mine are made from other materials. Certainly nothing quite so exotic as human bone. Jade, stone, whale bone, and a few other sorts as well.”
Curran looked at him. “You’ve been here long?”
“The store? Actually just over six months.”
“Where were you before that?”
“Am I under suspicion of something, detective?”
“Just trying to get acquainted.”
Darius smiled but his face told Curran he wasn’t buying it. “I was over in Saudi Arabia for a few years. I’m sure you can appreciate the transient nature of my business. I go where I can find and sell items of age. The products and clients dictate my location.”
“You do have a very traveled air about you.” Curran pointed to the nearest dagger. “What’s the history of that piece?”
“It’s a tanto. Japanese. It dates back to the 1400s, what was known as the Sengoku Jidai — the warring states period. Awfully bloody time to be alive back then. Most of the country was torn apart by civil strife. Feuding families, samurai warriors, all that lot.”
“You live around here?”
“No, just the store is here. I bought it at quite a nice price from the previous owner. But I reside elsewhere.”
Curran said nothing so Darius continued. “In Chestnut Hill.”
Curran nodded. Chestnut Hill had its fair share of wealth. Not too much, but not exactly the poor section of town, either.
“Way I figure it,” he said then, “someone must have dropped that button during the crime. I’d sure like to find the owner.”
Darius smiled. “Presumably, the owner would like to have this button back as well.”
“Exactly.” Curran pulled out a business card and slid it across the counter. “Do me a favor, will you and keep an eye out for anyone who comes asking for a replacement?”
“You really think they’ll expect it to turn up in some place like my store?”
Curran shrugged. “In this business, you never know what to expect. The strangest things happen all the time.”
Darius handed him back the button. “In that case, consider me your eyes and ears.”
“Thank you.” Curran turned and started to leave. He stopped. “Mr. Assiniya?”
“Yes?”
“You don’t have your coat handy by any chance do you?”
Darius’ teeth flashed again. “I’m getting worried you suspect me of something, detective.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about human bones.”
“No more so than any other antiques dealer.”
“Actually, you’re the best so far. I’ve been to fifteen other shops today.”
“I’m surprised by that.” Darius turned and started for the back room. He stopped and looked back. “It’s all right, is it — if I get my coat for you, I mean?”
“Sure.”
He returned a second later with a gray herringbone overcoat that looked like something Sherlock Holmes would have worn. Not the big black overcoat that Lauren had described. And as Curran examined it, he could see it was missing no buttons.
He handed it back. “Thanks for putting my mind at ease.”
“Not at all. Good day, detective.”
Curran nodded and walked out of the shop. Back into the cold November air.
Back to the hunt.