Island of Bones(8)

“And?” Louis asked

“They check their files to see if the place where it was found matches somewhere in their computers, like a historical or aboriginal type of place. Your find didn’t match anything. They don’t believe the skull is an Indian bone or anything weird like that.”

“So what do they think it is?”

Horton shrugged. “They don’t know and they don’t care. So they’re sending it back to me.”

“Were they able to tell you anything about it?”

“They said it probably got dredged up during the storm, maybe from an abandoned waterlogged cemetery or the bottom of the gulf. Plus, they said it was at least fifty years old. No rush on solving that one.”

“I guess not,” Louis said.

“Just as well,” Horton said. “Last thing I need right now is an infant homicide.”

They were out in the sound now. It was coming up on eleven a.m. but there were no other boats out and the water was as flat and silver as a mirror. The driver throttled up and the boat cut across the water, heading north.

The motor’s noise made talk impossible, so Louis sat back in the seat. He was disappointed about the skull. Then it occurred to him how sick it was for him to be disappointed that it was not a homicide but probably a natural death that happened half a century ago.

That was the cop in him, the part that felt a rush every time a body washed up or a question mark came up. It was the part of him that would never go away. It was why he was tagging along with Horton now, like some voyeur, hoping for a vicarious cop fix.

After about a half hour, the boat slowed. They were approaching a small thatch of dark green that looked more like a discarded clump of sod than an island. Horton stood up, his eyes scanning the greenery.

“So what are you going to do with it?” Louis asked.

“With what?” Horton asked.

“The skull.”

Louis saw Landeta glance back at them.

Horton shrugged. “Hell, I dunno, Louis. Stick it in the evidence room, I guess. Maybe I’ll give it to Vince.”

“Vince? Why?”

“He has a skull collection in his office. Has them lined up on his bookcases like bowling trophies.”

Louis looked down at his hand, seeing the small skull in his palm. Man, he just couldn’t see it sitting on some dusty old shelf in the evidence room next to rusting guns and rape slide smears. And he sure couldn’t see it ending up being just a macabre souvenir on the medical examiner’s shelf.

He thought of Roberta Tatum again. It's what’s left of a baby.

They were slowing, coming up alongside an old skiff bobbing empty. Then he saw a man in a wide-brimmed hat waving at them from the mangroves.

“Can I have it?” he asked Horton.

“The skull? Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I found it.”

“Hell, I don’t care. I’ll give you a call when I get it back.”

The officer looked back at Horton. “Low tide. This is as far as I can go without grounding her, Chief,” he said

Horton surveyed the island still a good twenty-five yards away. The water ahead was shallow, leading to a stretch of black mud leading into the dense, twisting roots of the mangroves.

“Shit,” Horton muttered.

With a grunt he hoisted himself over the side and landed with a splash in the knee-high water. He started slogging toward the man in the straw hat.

Louis watched as Landeta calmly took off his suit jacket, folded it, and laid it on a seat. Then he carefully climbed out and eased himself down into the water. He started slowly after Horton, his arms held up, a gold watch glinting in the sun.

The driver was looking at Louis. Louis glanced at the mangroves, then back at the patrolman.

“I guess I should leave my shoes on,” Louis said.

“I would, sir. Don’t want to cut yourself on those oyster shells or kick up a stingray.”

Louis got in the water. It felt good, cool after the hot sun. But the feeling vanished as he reached the mud flats. The low-tide stench was overwhelming and the black mud sucked him ankle-deep as he trudged toward the mangroves. When he pulled up next to Horton and Landeta, he was breathing heavy and sweating.

The man who had been waiting for them was wearing tattered shorts and a shirt, a grimy straw hat covering his hair.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on her,” he said. “I had to leave to call the cops but I came right back. She ain’t moved. You can see her good now that the tide’s out.”

“How’d you find her?” Horton asked.

“I fish for mullet every night around here,” the man said. “At dawn, I went in to pull my nets. That’s when I saw the white thing in the water by the roots. I thought it was just a trash bag but when I went close I saw that it weren’t. So I got out of here and called you guys.”