The Devil's Bones (Body Farm 3)

“I climbed on top of one of the shelves-that one right there,” she said, pointing to a rack halfway toward the back of the lab.

“I figured that in the dark he might not find me up there. I could hear him going up and down the rows, stopping to listen for my breathing. Finally he walked toward the door, and I thought he was leaving. But then the lights came on.”

“Damn,” I said.

“I knew he’d see me with the lights on, so I decided to try climbing out that little window up there.”

“You’re brilliant,” I said. I’d completely forgotten about the windows. Set high into the side and back walls of the bone lab were a few small windows, each measuring about two feet high by three feet wide. They led not to the outside of the stadium but to its deepest labyrinthine recesses-the catacombs at the very base of the stands.

“It’s true what they say about fear and adrenaline,” she said.

“It took the strength of ten graduate assistants to slide that window open through forty years of gunk.” She flexed a muscle, and both the EMTs laughed. “Anyway, when I dropped down the other side my foot caught something, and I rolled my ankle pretty hard. I figured I was in real trouble at that point, but then I heard the sirens coming, and I heard him running out of the lab and up the stairwell. And here I am, and here are all of you. And jeepers, Auntie Em, there’s no place like home.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I did a little of both. “Thank God you’re okay,” I said. “Let’s get you to the ER and get that ankle X-rayed.”

“Good grief, I don’t need an X-ray,” she scoffed. “You think I don’t know if my ankle is broken?”

“She’s only measured a zillion ankles,” said the head EMT, earning a laugh from her.

Miranda used her right foot to kick the sheet off her left leg. The EMTs already had the ankle immobilized in a strap-on boot; cold packs surrounded her foot and lower leg. “If you can just pull a string or two,” she said, “and get me in to see one of the football team’s physical therapists tomorrow, I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“I think I can arrange that,” I said, and turned to the EMTs.

“Can you let her go now, or do you have to take her to the hospital since you’re already here?”

“I’d advise an X-ray,” said the lead EMT, “but no, we’re not going to force her to get treatment against her will, if she’s competent to refuse it.”

“She’s one of the most competent people I know,” I said.

He shrugged and went out to the ambulance, returning with a long form, in triplicate, requiring multiple signatures. She handed the forms back, and he glanced over them.

“This 974 phone number here,” he said. “Is that…?”

“That’s the number here in the lab,” she said. She hopped down from the gurney onto her good leg, then hobbled over to the desk and sat on the edge, tapping the phone with a finger.

“You want to put your other number-home or cell number-here beside it? Just in case?”

“Just in case what-my foot falls off when I get home?”

He turned bright red, then mumbled, “I guess maybe this one’s enough.” He gave her a few unnecessary instructions on caring for a sprain, wished her a speedy recovery, and then retreated, trailing his gurney, his colleague, and his shredded dignity behind him.

“‘Just in case’ he wanted to ask you out,” I said once he was gone. “You sure shut him down fast.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Kind of a shame-he was cute. But that was a test, and he flunked. If he doesn’t have the moxie to answer that in front of an audience, he doesn’t have enough moxie to deal with me.”

“You could be right,” I said. “Hey, you ever tried speed dating?”

She snorted. “Naw. Waste of time. I just fast-forward straight to speed rejection.”

I laughed. “If you ever get tired of anthropology, I think you should write a relationship self-help book. Smart Women, Foolish Men or some such.”

The campus police officers were standing around aimlessly, so I hoped maybe we could call it a night. “You guys gonna call a KPD forensic team to come get a swab of that?”

“They’re already on the way,” he said. “Should be here in a couple of minutes.”

“Do you need me to stay around and lock up once they’re done?”

“No, sir,” he said. “We’ve got keys, so we can lock up. We can also call the physical plant people, get them to replace the glass in the morning.”

“I’d appreciate that,” I said. “Can you ask them if they’ve got wire-reinforced security glass, or bulletproof glass, to make sure this kind of thing can’t happen again?”

He nodded, and then I saw him looking at the bank of big windows across the front of the lab.

“I should probably give them a call, too,” I said. “Talk to them about some bars for those front windows.”

“I’d say that’s a good idea,” he said.

I looked at Miranda, realized what a close call she’d had.

“Wish I’d thought of that sooner,” I said.

“You can’t think of everything,” Miranda said. “If he hadn’t gotten in, he might have just been waiting for me outside. Point is, I’m fine.”

“That’s part of the point,” I said. “Another important part is to keep you fine.”

I offered Miranda my guest room for the night, partly because I was worried about her safety and partly because I feared she’d have trouble getting around with a badly sprained ankle.