"Reichs, Kathy - Temperance Brennan 01 - Deja Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichs Kathy)

the last six months." We'd already discussed the question of time since
death. My morning's work hadn't changed my mind. I was certain she'd
been dead less than three months. That would place the murder in March
or later. Winters are cold in Quebec, hard on the living but kind to the
dead. Frozen bodies do not decay. Nor do they attract bugs. Had she been
dumped last fall, before the onset of winter, there would've been signs
of insect infestation. The presence of casings or larvae would've
indicated an aborted fall invasion. There were none. Given that it had
been a warm spring, the abundance of maggots and the degree of
deterioration were consistent with an interval of three months or less.
The presence of connective tissue along with the virtual absence of
viscera and brain matter also suggested a late winter, early spring
death.

I leaned back and looked at him expectantly. I could be cagey too. He
opened the folder and thumbed through its contents. I waited. Selecting
one of the forins, he read, "Myriarn Weider." There was a pause as he
sifted through the information on the form. "Disappeared April 4, 1994."
Pause. "Female. White." Long pause. "Date of birth 9/6/48."

We both calculated mentally forty-five years old.

"Possible," I said, gesturing with my hand for him to go on. He laid the
form on the desk and read from the next. "Solange Leger. Reported
missing by the husband," he paused, straining to make out the date, "May
2, 1994. Female. White. Date of birth 8/17/2 8."

"No." I shook my head. "Too old." He placed the form at the back of the
folder and selected another. "Isabelle Gagnon. Last seen April 1, 1994.
Female. White. Date of birth 1/15/71."

"Twenty-three. Yeah." I nodded slowly. "Possible." It went on the desk.

"Suzanne St. Pierre. Female. Missing since March 9, 1994." His lips
moved as he read. "Failed to return from school." He paused, calculating
on his own. "Age sixteen. Jesus Christ." Again I shook my head. "She's
too young. This isn't a kid." He frowned, pulling out the last form.
"Evelyn Fontaine. Female. Age thirty-six. Last seen in Sept lies on March
28. Oh yeah. She's an Innu."

"Doubtful," I said. I didn't think the remains were those of an Indian.

"That's it," he said. There were two forms on the desk. Myriam Weider,
age forty-five, and Isabelle Gagnon, age twenty-three. Maybe one of them
was lying downstairs in room 4. Claudel looked at me. His eyebrows rose
in the middle forming yet another V, this one inverted.

"How old was she?" he asked, emphasizing the verb and his longsuffering
patience.