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The parents provide dental care while they’re growing up, then the kids hit the streets, their diets and hygiene go to hell, and their teeth suffer.”
“How old was she?”
Bergeron returned to the light table and examined the dental X-rays for 38428.
“A little older than the others. I’d give her eighteen to twenty-one.”
Again, Bergeron’s estimate was consistent with what I’d seen in the bones.
“Any evidence of sealant on the other two?”
Bergeron reexamined the teeth of 38426 and 38427. Neither had been treated.
“A pity there are no restorations on any of them. Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.”
“You’ve helped plenty.”
I flew to my office and dialed Claudel.
He and Charbonneau were tied up in an interview and couldn’t be disturbed. I left a message requesting they call me as quickly as possible.
Returning to my lab, I picked up a fractured segment of jaw that Bergeron had left beside the scope. As I was returning it to LSJML-38427, I noticed a tiny nick on the right mandibular condyle.
Back to the scope.
By angling the fiber-optic light across the bone, I found two more nicks on the ascending ramus, and a minuscule groove at the mandibular angle.
I checked the left portion of the mandible.
No nicks or grooves.
The skull.
No nicks or grooves.
One by one I examined the isolated shards broken from the right cheek and temporal bones.
The light picked out six superficial grooves, each roughly five millimeters in length, grouped in three sets of two.
Another shoulder tap from my hindbrain.
I increased the magnification.
The nicks and grooves, though clearly not natural, looked different from those on 38428. Though V-shaped, these were much narrower in cross section and cleaner at the edges.
Like marks left by a scalpel. In fresh bone.
I leaned back, thinking through what that could mean.
In my mind I reconstructed the skull fragments and articulated the jaw.
The cuts circled the ear opening.
What the hell had gone on?
Coincidence? Something more sinister?
I was about to reexamine the skull and mandible of Dr. Energy’s girl when I spotted Charbonneau through the window over the sink. Gesturing him to my office, I stripped off my gloves, washed, and crossed the hall.
Charbonneau had assumed his usual legs-splayed, shoulder-slumped position in the chair facing my desk. Today’s jacket was cranberry and as glossy as the dental sealant.
