Free Dead Insider by Victoria Houston Page A

shouting—well then, tell Stan to stop shouting. Now, Roger, listen to me: Nothing is going to change before I get there in fifteen minutes so both of you
calm down
.
    “And you’re in no danger from the flooding, correct?” A one-second pause while Lew rolled her eyes at Osborne.
    “Now tell me again: who is this Stan person?” A brief pause. “I see. Well, please lower your voices—both of you—before you wake the entire neighborhood.
    “Last thing, Roger—don’t either of you talk to another person until I get there. That means stay off your walkie-talkie. No, do not call the switchboard. I don’t want this on the scanner until I know more. I will handle notifying the switchboard. Understand? The last thing we need is some damn television crew messing us up.
    “And, Roger, everything I said goes for Stan, too. He does not call his boss, his wife—anyone. Am I clear? Now, the two of you back away from your vehicles and please, try to calm down.”
    Lew quit the call, then punched in another number. She got a voicemail on the answering machine and hung up. For a second, she covered her face with both hands. Then, looking up at Osborne, she said, “I forgot. Pecore was called down to Madison for a hearing Friday that has been moved to Monday morning. A cold case from twenty years ago has been opened, and the lawyers don’t like how he handled the chain of custody on critical evidence. Surprise, huh.
    “Sorry about roping you into this, Doc, because it is one of the few times I could rely on Pecore—it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to declare a severed head deceased.”
    Osborne’s mouth dropped open. “Wha—?”
    “Pull your clothes on ASAP, sweetheart. You’re my deputy coroner on this, and it sounds like a doozy. Tell you what I know as we drive in.”
    “Okay.” Osborne paused for one minute to scribble a note to Mallory before running back to the bedroom. Neither of them took the time to brush their teeth. Leaving the house, Osborne made sure to pick up his black bag with the instruments he would need. Thinking ahead, he hoped Ray was not too engaged with his houseguest as Lew might need photos, too.
    Seconds later, as they hurried across the yard toward Lew’s cruiser, Osborne was relieved to see the rain had leveled off to a light mist. “Doc, you drive. I have to reach the Wausau boys. This is one for them.”
    Reaching Woodland Avenue, Osborne would have pulled up behind Roger’s squad car, but the police officer waved his arms in the glare of the headlights, motioning for them to pull over across the street. Before getting out of the cruiser, Lew finished leaving a message with the Wausau Crime Lab’s night operator.
    “Any luck?” said Osborne as she got out of the car.
    “Yes, actually. The director is on vacation; they’re trying to reach my buddy, Bruce Peters. Ought to hear from him shortly.”
    They started across the street. Through the mist, the street lamps threw enough light that it was easy to see both Roger and the water utility worker standing a good fifty feet away from their vehicles, as if the pickup and the squad car were themselves possessed.
    Roger ran toward them. He was so pale that Osborne half expected him to faint. “Chief Ferris, you won’t believe what’s going on. I keep hoping this is some kind of prank.” He pointed toward his squad car. “Okay if I stay back here while you—”
    “Fine,” said Lew. “Doc, will you hold this torch for me?” They walked over to the police squad car. The package that Roger had opened lay where he had thrown it onto the wet grass beside the open door on the driver’s side.
    “You don’t have to take a cadaver lab to know that this is part of a human forearm,” said Osborne as he crouched over the crumpled wrappings for a closer look.
    “Are you sure?” asked Lew. “I can’t tell you how many people confuse bear remains with humans, Doc.”
    “It’s the bones that confuse people, Lew. This is human, and