Mason blinked, remembering his attempts to break some small tree branches to roast marshmallows with while camping. It’d been a disaster. He’d used an ax to finish the job. “So someone took a bat or mallet to him, and he tried to protect himself?”

Nodding, Dr. Peres gently laid the bone back in its place. “He was hit with something hard. And his skull shows three blows that are perimortem…close to time of death. I can’t tell you what the weapon was other than it was large and blunt. The imprints on the skull are too large to be a hammer.” She lifted the skull, showing Mason three impact sites with radiating fractures.

“Were those enough to kill him?”

“Easily.”

Had the man been beaten to death?

“But I don’t think that’s what killed him.” She rotated the skull and showed him a small circle at the back of the skull. “This is probably your cause of death.”

“Christ,” muttered Mason. “Entry or exit wound?”

“Entry,” stated Dr. Peres. “See how there’s no beveling of the bone around the wound? Entry bullet holes are flat around the holes. The bevel is inside. I didn’t find an exit wound or the bullet. It either exited through the eye or never exited at all.” She frowned. “Though I would have found the bullet if it had stayed inside.”

Mason made a few notes. “Do the others have gunshot wounds?”

“Three of the skulls do,” answered Dr. Campbell.

“Do you have ages for the rest of them?”

“They’re all in the same age range,” said Dr. Peres. “Three are white, two African American.”

Mason looked up from the notes he was scribbling. “Oh? An equal-opportunity killer?”

Dr. Campbell’s eyes narrowed. “Does the race matter?”

“Usually killers will stick to one race. Not always but more often than not.”

“I prefer the word ancestry over race,” added Dr. Peres.

Mason held up his hands. “I just want to find who did this. Sorry I’m not the most PC person in the world. Frankly, I can’t keep up with what’s okay to say and what’s not. But yes, a pattern in the type of victims does help direct us to the killer.” He met both women’s gazes. “Now. Tell me how you can tell someone is black…African American…whatever. He’s been killed, and I want to find the murderer.”

The women exchanged a glance, and Dr. Campbell picked up the closest skull. “Common to African Americans is the wide nasal opening and the rectangular eye orbits.”

“Rectangular? Seriously?” Mason asked.

Dr. Peres picked up a different skull. “See? This one is Caucasian.”

Sure enough, the other skull had eye openings that looked more angular.

“There are many things to take into account when determining race,” said Dr. Campbell. “But the nose is one of the most useful.”

In Mason’s opinion, the noses were fucking gone. All that was left were holes. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

“Damn it.” He dug the phone out. It was the same unknown phone number from before. The senator.

“Callahan,” he answered, avoiding eye contact with Dr. Peres. No doubt he was getting the evil eye for answering his phone in the middle of her lecture.

“Detective, I thought I’d save you some time. I made some calls and tracked down the arrest record of the man I told you about earlier.”

Already? Mason couldn’t get results that fast.

“I’m having a copy e-mailed to you. The man’s name was Jules Thomas.”

“Thank you, Senator. I’ll look it over.”

“Glad to be of help.” The senator signed off.

Mason slipped his phone back in his pocket, shaking his head. The man knew how to get things done. Fast.

“Senator?” asked Dr. Campbell. “Senator Brody?”

“Yes, your ex-boyfriend’s father. He dug up some information for me.” He didn’t volunteer more information. Dr. Campbell personally knew the senator and his son. If she had questions, she could ask them.

“I’ve enjoyed the anthropology lesson, but I need to head back to the office.” Mason touched the brim of his hat. “I look forward to your reports, Dr. Peres. As soon as we can figure out who these skeletons are and match them to missing persons’ records, we’ll figure out who did this to them. And who did it to that bus full of kids, too. Goodbye, Dr. Campbell.”

He kept his walk to a steady pace as he exited the operatory. Pushing open the door to the outside heat, he inhaled deeply three times.

Fresh, clean air.

Michael did a double tap on the desk bell for the second time. Jamie glanced around the small room. The little town’s only hotel turned out to be a bed-and-breakfast two buildings down from the restaurant. The house was charming, but it had that old lived-in smell to it. The one where you figure the carpets have been vacuumed twice a day but not cleaned in several years.

Michael looked ready to jump the counter and check them in himself. Jamie put a hand on his arm. “The woman at the sheriff’s office said to keep hitting the bell because the guy’s a little hard of hearing.”

Michael’s answer was to whack the bell again. Finally, a muffled voice came from upstairs.

“What’d he say?” Michael asked.

Jamie shrugged. “Beats me. But at least he heard us.”

Someone came slowly thumping down the stairwell. The cadence of the steps was odd, unrhythmic. A gray-haired man smiled at them as he rounded the corner. One of his legs was slightly shorter than the other and didn’t bend. Jamie responded to his contagious grin as he limped behind the counter.