Bare Bones

36

IT WAS A WEEK BEFORE RYAN AND I HAULED OUR SAND CHAIRS across Anne’s boardwalk and parked them on the beach. I wore the long-anticipated bikini and an elegant white sock. A large-brimmed straw hat and Sophia Loren shades hid the black eye and scabbing on my face. A cane kept the weight off my left foot.

Ryan was dressed in surfer shorts and enough blocker to protect Moby Dick. On our first beach day he’d turned Pepto pink. On our second he was moving toward tobacco-leaf gold.

While Ryan and I read and chatted, Boyd alternated between snapping at the surf and chasing seagulls.

“Hooch really likes it here,” Ryan said.

“His name is Boyd.”

“Too bad Birdie wouldn’t change his mind.”

During the past week Slidell, Ryan, and Woolsey had filled me in on the missing pieces. Ryan and I had zigzagged between discussing and avoiding the culminating events in Lancaster. Ryan could sense I was still subject to flashbacks of terror.

The snakes turned out to be timber rattlers captured in the Smoky Mountains. Park liked to work with natural ingredients. Thanks to Slidell and Rinaldi, I was bitten only twice. Thanks to Woolsey, I was at the ER before the venom spread.

Though I was violently ill for twenty-four hours, I improved quickly thereafter, and Ryan’s daily visits hastened my recovery. Four days after my encounter in the funeral chapel basement, I was back home. Three days after that, Ryan and I split for Sullivan’s Island, Boyd doing his saliva act in the backseat.

The sky was blue. The sand was white. Pink strips were glowing around the edges of my swimsuit. Though my left foot and ankle were still swollen and uncomfortable, I felt terrific.

My sudden epiphany about James Park had been correct. Park and Dorton had been drug-smuggling buddies since Vietnam. When Dorton returned Stateside he invested his profits in hunt camps and strip clubs. When Park got home he went into the family funeral business. Mama and Daddy Park, both born in Seoul, owned a parlor in Augusta, Georgia. After a few years, with a little help from the folks, James bought an operation of his own in Lancaster.

Park and Dorton stayed in touch, and Park booked into one of Dorton’s wilderness camps. Ricky Don, having established himself in the import-export business, pointed out the prosperity to be had from franchises in drugs and wildlife, and Park allowed as how he could tap Asian markets for both the imports and the exports.

Jason Jack Wyatt supplied bears from the mountains. Harvey Pearce hunted on the coast and brought the bear parts to Dorton on his drug runs to Charlotte. Park prepared the galls and hawked them in Asia, often exchanging them for drugs to supplement Ricky Don’s Latin American suppliers.

“Sunscreen?” Ryan waggled the tube.

“Thanks.”

Ryan applied lotion to my shoulders.

“Lower?”

“Please.”

His hands worked their way to the small of my back.

“Lower?”

“Um.”

His fingertips slipped under the elastic of my bikini bottom.

“That’ll be fine.”

“Sure?”

“The sun’s never shined that far down, Ryan.”

As Ryan dropped into his chair, another question occurred to me.

“How do you suppose Cobb uncovered the bear gall operation?”

“Cobb was looking into turtle poaching in Tyrrell County and made the bear discovery by accident when he was shadowing Harvey Pearce.”

Anger welled in me as I thought of Harvey Pearce.

“The son of a bitch baited bears with Honey Buns, then blew their brains out, cut off the paws, cut out the gallbladders, and dumped the rest.”

“Maybe Pearce’s particular circle in hell will be full of bears, and Harvey without so much as a peashooter.”

I thought of something else.

“That note in Brian Aiker’s wallet really threw me.”

“Cobb’s note to Aiker.”

“Yeah. I assumed Cobb meant Columbia, South Carolina. I forgot Harvey Pearce lived in Columbia, North Carolina.” I shook my head at my own stupidity. “I also thought Cobb was referring to Palmer Cousins as the person who was dirty.”

“He meant plural not singular, the Dynamic Duo from Sneedville, Tennessee.” After some grammatical stumbling, Ryan and I had agreed on the masculine pronoun for Charlotte Cobb.

“The Melungeon cousins.”

I watched a pelican swoop over the water, tuck its wings, and plunge toward a wave. Seconds later it came up empty.

“Do you suppose the Spix’s macaw and the goldenseal were just opportunistic sidelines?” I asked.

“Dorton may have asked Cousin J.J. to gather the goldenseal. He probably planned to persuade his regulars that the stuff was effective at masking drugs during urine tests.”

“And Harvey Pearce probably got the macaw the same way he scored the bird Pounder mentioned.”

“Probably,” Ryan agreed. “Tyree sold coke on the street for Dorton. Tyree, Dorton, Pearce, and Park met periodically at the Foote farm. Pearce probably brought the bird to the farm on one of those trips. Sadly for all, it didn’t survive its ordeal.”

“But someone saved the feathers, thinking they might be good for a few bucks.”

Exactly as Rachel Mendelson had suggested.

“That would be my guess,” Ryan said.

Boyd spotted a kid on a bike, ran with him a few yards, then veered off after a sandpiper.

“Tamela had nothing to do with the drugs, just went to the farm with Tyree.” I pictured the Banks sisters in my kitchen. “You should have seen her face, Ryan. I believe her account of the stillbirth.”

“Couldn’t prosecute anyway. No way to prove cause of death.”

We both rolled that thought around. Then I had another.

“So Cobb alerted Brian Aiker, and the two began poking around. Dorton or Park found out.”

“Dorton probably gave the order, but according to Tyree, Park killed Aiker,” Ryan said. “Drugged him, took two cars to the boat ramp, and rolled Aiker’s car into the water. Wouldn’t surprise me if Tyree drove one of the cars.”

“And Tyree killed Cobb.”

“According to the innocent accused, he ain’t no killer. He only does ‘bidness.’ Fills a human need. All Tyree admits to is hauling Cobb’s head and hands to the Foote farm in a sack provided by Park, who wanted to make the body more difficult to identify.”

“Two bullets in the head strike you as Park’s style?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” Ryan agreed. “Tyree claims to know nothing about bear parts, either. Claims that was entirely Jason Jack’s and Harvey’s enterprise. Claims he had to dig up and move some of the bears because the privy was becoming overfull and he was afraid the smell could draw attention to Cobb’s remains.”

“Only the moron dug up part of the very thing he was trying to hide.” Another question skipped into my mind. “Did Park kill Dorton?”

“Very doubtful. No motive, and the tox screen showed Dorton was skyed to the eyeballs on coke and alcohol. We may never know if the cause of death was homicide or acute numerical ascension.”

“OK, Ryan. I’ll bite.”

“His number was up.”

The orbital roll caused moderate pain.

“But we do know Park made a trip to Charlotte two days after Sonny Pounder’s arrest.”

About the time I was analyzing Tamela’s baby’s bones.

“Why?” I asked.

“That’s unclear. But Slidell discovered Park made a credit card charge at a gas station on Woodlawn and I-77.”

“Think Park and Dorton were planning to take Pounder out if he talked?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. What is clear is that Park killed Murray Snow. Woolsey found a tin of Ma Huang in the chapel basement.”

“I’m confident you’re going to tell me what that is.”

“Ma Huang is an Asian herbal poison, known on the streets as ‘herbal ecstasy.’”

“Let me guess. Ma Huang contains ephedrine.”

“Step to the head of the class.”

“Park knew Snow had a bad heart.”

“Probably gave him tea laced with Ma Huang. It’s often administered that way. Wham-o. Cardiac arrest.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Same reason he poisoned Cagle. He was becoming nervous over too much interest in the headless skeleton.”

“How did he poison Cagle?”

“Not knowing Cagle’s medical susceptibility, our hero had to step up to something more powerful. Something that would do in even a healthy man. Ever hear of tetrodotoxin?”

“It’s a neurotoxin, called TTX for short, found in fugu.”

Ryan looked at me like I’d spoken Romanian.

“Fugu is Japanese puffer fish,” I explained. “Gram for gram, TTX is about ten thousand times more lethal than cyanide. Diners die from it every year in Asia. The terrifying thing about TTX is that it paralyzes the body but leaves the brain fully aware of what’s happening.”

“But Cagle survived.”

“Is he talking yet?”

“No.”

“So we don’t know how Park administered the stuff.”

Ryan shook his head.

“How do you know Park used TTX?” I asked.

“Tetrodotoxin looks like heroin. In addition to the Ma Huang, Park’s pharmacopoeia included a packet of white crystalline powder. Woolsey had it tested.”

A seagull circled, landed, bobbed at us like one of those breakfast table water toys.

“Why the snakes?” I asked.

“Your death had to look accidental.” Ryan mimicked a TV newscaster. “While hiking in heavy forest in Lancaster County, an anthropologist was tragically nailed by a rattler today.” Ryan’s voice returned to normal. “Except Park was the one who got nailed.”

I shuddered, remembering the sound of Park’s head cracking on the cement. According to the police report, Park had suffered fatal skull fractures both from a falling object and from striking his head against the concrete floor.

Spotting a gull floating toward shore, Boyd charged across the beach. The bird took off. Boyd followed its flight path, then returned and shook himself, bombarding us with sand and salt water.

“Heineken?” I asked, covering my face with my arms.

“S’il vous plaît.”

I opened the cooler and dug out a beer for Ryan, bottled water for Boyd, and a Diet Coke for myself.

“Why do you suppose Park sent me the Grim Reaper e-mails?” I asked, handing Ryan his beer. Boyd raised his snout and I dripped water into his mouth.

“Wanted you to back off from the privy skull.”

“Think about your own reasoning, Ryan. The e-mails started on a Wednesday. How could Park have known who I was or what we’d found at that point?”

“Rinaldi sent out his query about the headless skeleton on Tuesday. It probably went to Lancaster and included the coroner. We’ll find out eventually. Slidell’s convinced Tyree will roll over.”

“Slidell,” I snorted.

“Skinny isn’t so bad,” Ryan said.

I didn’t reply.

“He saved your life.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

Boyd flopped onto his side in the shade of my sand chair. Ryan went back to his Terry Pratchett. I went back to my E magazine.

I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts kept hopping to Skinny Slidell. Finally, I gave up.

“How did Slidell know where I was?”

Ryan stuck a finger in his book to mark the page.

“Rinaldi’s background check on Dorton turned up the fact that Ricky Don’s Marine Corps smuggling buddy all those years ago was none other than the current Lancaster County coroner. Slidell tried to warn you about Park when he phoned your cell with the news about Aiker’s note.”

“I cut him off.”

“According to Rinaldi, Slidell fumed for a while, then agreed to drop by the annex. You weren’t at home, but Geneva showed them your note.”

“Which said I was going to South Carolina.”

“Slidell put that together with your funeral wisecrack, and he and Rinaldi hauled ass to Lancaster. Got there right about the time the rattler was introducing himself to you. Woolsey was with them and she hauled you to the hospital, practically drove her patrol car through the ER doors, Skinny said.”

“Hmm.”

“He also phoned me from the hospital to fill me in.”

“Hmm.”

“And he’s admitted he was wrong about Tamela.”

“He has?”

“Took the family a chrysanthemum.”

“Skinny did that?”

“Yellow one. Made a special trip to Wal-Mart for it.”

Skinny took Gideon Banks a plant.

Hmm.

“I guess I’ve been pretty hard on Skinny. I hate to admit it, but the guy really is a good cop.”

A smile tickled Ryan’s mouth.

“How about Agent Cousins?”

“All right. Maybe I misjudged Cousins. Anyway, Katy never went to Myrtle Beach with him.”

“Where was she?”

“Spending a few days in Asheville with Pete. She didn’t bother to tell me because she was miffed over my pressing her about the Grim Reaper e-mails. But it doesn’t matter, anyway. Katy called from Charlottesville this morning all agog over some premed student named Sheldon Seabourne.”

“Ah, fickle youth.”

Ryan and I settled back to our reading. With each page I was realizing how naïve my faith in the Green Movement had been. At moments my disgust boiled over. One such moment arrived shortly.

“Did you know that more than nine million turtles and snakes were exported from the United States in 1996?”

Ryan dropped his book to his chest. “Bet you can think of a couple you wish had been among them.”

“Ever hear of the Captive Bred Wildlife Foundation in Arizona?”

“No.”

“Their slogan is ‘When turtles are outlawed, only outlaws will have turtles.’”

“That’s idiocy that rings a bell.”

“These kind citizens will be happy to sell you a pair of Galápagos tortoises for eight to ten thousand bucks. You could take a sparrow, put it on the endangered species list, and some asshole would pay two grand for it.”

“There’s CITES,” Ryan said. “And the Endangered Species Act.”

“Protection on paper,” I said with disdain. “Too many loopholes, too little enforcement. Remember Rachel Mendelson’s tale of the Spix’s macaw?”

Ryan nodded.

“Listen to this.” I quoted from the article I’d been reading. “‘In 1996 Hector Ugalde pled guilty to federal conspiracy charges in Brazil for smuggling hyacinth’s macaws.’” I looked up. “Ugalde got three years’ probation and a ten-thousand-dollar fine. That’ll really stop him.”

Boyd came over and put his snout on my knee. I stroked his head.

“Everyone knows about whales, and pandas, and tigers, and rhinos. Those animals are sexy. They have foundations and sweatshirts and posters.”

Boyd followed a sandpiper with his eyes, considered.

“Fifty thousand plants and animals become extinct each year, Ryan. Within half a century one-quarter of the world’s species could be gone.” I flapped a hand at the ocean. “And it’s not just over there. One-third of all U.S. plants and animals are at risk of extinction.”

“Take a breath.”

I did.

“Listen to this.” I resumed reading, selecting excerpts. “‘At least four hundred and thirty medicines containing eighty endangered and threatened species have been documented in the United States alone. At least one-third of all patented Oriental medicine items available in the United States contain protected species.’”

I looked up.

“The illegal trade in black bear galls in California alone is estimated at one hundred million a year. Think about that, Ryan. Ounce for ounce, bear gall is worth more than cocaine, and hairbags like Dorton and Park know that. They also know they’ll get a slap on the wrist if they get caught.”

I shook my head in disgust.

“Deer are killed for their antler velvet. Siberian tigers are hunted for their bones and penises. Sea horses are killed to help men grow hair.”

“Sea horses?”

“Rhinos are shot, electrocuted, and driven into pits lined with sharpened bamboo stakes so men in Yemen can make dagger handles. There are only a few thousand rhinos left in the world, Ryan. Jesus, you can go on the Web and buy smoked gorilla paws.”

Ryan got up, squatted by my chair.

“You feel very strongly about this.”

“It sickens me.” I let my eyes travel to Ryan’s. “A cache of six metric tons of elephant ivory was seized in Singapore last June. Now a group of South African countries is talking about reversing the ban on ivory trading. Why? So people can make ornaments out of elephant tusks. Every year the Japanese take hundreds of whales for research. Yeah. Right. Research that ends up in the seafood market. Do you have any idea of the length of the evolutionary process that created the animals we have today, and the shortness of the time needed to kill them off?”

Ryan took my face in both his hands.

“We helped do something about it, Tempe. Park and Tyree are going down. No more bears or birds will be dying because of them. It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

“It’s a start,” I agreed.

“Let’s keep at it.” Ryan’s eyes were blue as the Atlantic and steady on mine. “You and me.”

“Do you mean that, Ryan?”

“I do.”

I kissed him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pressed my cheek to his.

Pulling free, I wiped sand from his forehead and settled back to my reading, eager to find a place to begin.

Ryan took Boyd for a run on the beach.

That night we ate shrimp and crab on the docks at Shem Creek. We walked in the surf, made love, then fell asleep listening to Ryan’s eternal ocean.