Island of Bones(106)

Closing the Bible, he tucked it under his arm. His eyes traveled over the coral markers. Something over near the mangroves caught his eye and he went to it.

It was another marker, half buried in the mud and roots. It was crusted with mold, its edges rounded by time, the coral tinted tea-brown from the mangroves.

Why was this one grave so far from the others? But then he understood. It was probably one of the oldest graves and over time, the tides had washed the soil away from beneath it.

He looked back at the other markers. Had there been others like it, other graves that had washed away over time? How long had this been going on out here?

Louis reached down and started to pull the little marker out of the mud, then stopped. He knew he shouldn’t move it; it was part of a crime scene now. But if left, it might tumble into the water.

Setting the Bible in the leaves, he picked up the marker and moved it a few feet toward the others, kneeling to secure it in the dirt. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he rose. He picked up the Bible and started back toward the restaurant.





CHAPTER 49




Louis could feel the sun on his face, and it stirred him awake. He rolled over on his back and kicked off the sheets, hoping a small breeze would wash over him. But the humid air was still.

The phone rang. He ignored it, lying perfectly still until it stopped. He wondered what time it was, but then decided he didn’t care. He stared at the ceiling, his brain unable to kick into a new day.

The phone started ringing again.

Shit.

He pulled himself up slowly, planting both feet on the floor. When he put his face in his hands he could feel bumps and ragged skin against his palms. He tried to stand. His back muscles were knotted and his thighs burned.

How long had he slept? What time was it?

The phone finally stopped. He limped to the kitchen and started searching the cabinets for coffee. Issy curled against his legs.

He shook some Tender Vittles into her bowl, then went back to looking for coffee. He found a bag in the fridge and shook it. It was empty.

He stood there, leaning on the refrigerator door and staring into the shelves. Orange juice. That would work. He opened the carton and took a long swig. It burned like acid on his split lip.

“Jesus Christ!”

He wiped his mouth, wincing. Man, he needed to go see what he looked like. As he walked back through the living room, his eyes caught the book shelf and the small skull sitting there.

He went over and picked up the skull, turning it over in his hands. Was it possible this skull had washed away from the del Bosque cemetery?

He glanced around his living room. The Bible that Ana del Bosque had asked him to give to Frank was on the sofa. He set the skull in the chair and picked up the Bible. Taking it to the table, he put on his reading glasses and sat down, opening the Bible to the family tree on the frontispiece.

The tree went back to the 1800s, twisting with branches of double Spanish surnames. Louis recognized the name Marcelo Leon del Bosque as the man Bessie Levy had told him was the original emigrant from Spain. Next to him was his wife, Bianca Quinones Marquez y del Bosque. But the other old names meant nothing to him so he decided to start with the present and work backward.

He found Roberto’s name at the bottom and traced it up until he found his great-grandmother, Ana del Bosque.

Under Ana’s name were her children: the oldest son, Edmundo, and Francisco and his twin brother, Emilio. Ana had another child, a daughter named Taresa. She had been born in 1931 and died in 1932.

Taresa was the only girl baby on the tree who had a name.

The other entries said only BABY GIRL with the dates of their deaths. There were five such entries on the del Bosque tree.

Five entries, five graves. So who had been buried in the old grave that had been washed away? Ana’s daughter, Taresa?

Louis closed the Bible. He knew he could never prove it. No one would be able to tell when the sixth grave had been disturbed, any more than they could pinpoint the exact age of the skull he had found on the beach.

He looked back at the baby skull on the chair.

“What do I call you now?” he asked.

The phone started ringing again. Louis rose and grabbed it. “Kincaid,” he said.

“You should’ve been here an hour ago,” Horton said.

“Yeah, I know, Al.”

“We’re waiting on you. Come to the interrogation rooms.” Horton hung up.





When he got to the station, Louis saw two TV vans and Heather Fox standing on the grass doing a remote. He drove around back and parked among the cruisers to avoid her. Inside, he made his way down the hall, and was buzzed into the holding area. An officer waved him to a window.

Behind the glass, seated in a chair, he saw Ana del Bosque. Her gray hair had come loose from her bun, falling down the sides of her thin face. She wore paper shoes and a shapeless orange smock.