Free Perfect Specimen: Brietta by Kate Donovan Page A

holy one. So after the magnificent event, they willingly drank poison and took their own lives.”
    “Silent witnesses,” Brietta repeated breathlessly. “I love that.”
    “But our guys didn’t drink poison, or kill themselves willingly. They were murdered,” Melody reminded her. “If they were truly willing, it wouldn’t have been so violent, would it?”
    Brietta grimaced. “It’s a ritual. So it’s cultural. Just because it doesn’t fit with our sensibilities doesn’t mean it’s not possible. I like it. It explains why they didn’t wriggle away. Why each blow could be so precise.”
    Vince nodded. “I like it too.”
    His girlfriend glared. “Really? If it was a ritual, where are the holy implements? Wouldn’t that be part of the ceremony? To bury each guy with the means of his deliverance?”
    Brietta laughed. “Good point.”
    “And who performed the executions?” Hannan asked. “In my story, everyone took poison. In this scenario, the executioner lived. Unless he somehow managed to hit him self in the back of the head.”
    “Maybe we haven’t found him yet. Maybe he killed them all then poisoned himself,” Vince said, his tone defensive.
    “And then he buried himself?” Melody flashed a teasing smile. “With no shovel?”
    Brietta laughed again. “We’re clearly not ready to go public with this hypothesis. And by public, I mean Taggert. He’ll rip it to shreds, even though I’m convinced it might be our answer. Or at least a possible answer.”
    Hannan gave her a fascinated smile. “You would keep secrets from him?”
    “He put me in charge of the cemetery. Plus, he made it a competition. Us against him. Not that I’m asking anyone to lie, or keep secrets,” she added hastily. “I’m just goofing around, really.”
    “We definitely can’t tell him yet,” Melody agreed. “Unless he asks, obviously. But he won’t.” Her big brown eyes clouded. “He just doesn’t seem to care about any of this, does he? He’s off in his own world.”
    “Because he’s got Brietta to handle it, so he can concentrate on other finds,” Vince explained. “That works for us, right? We have victims but no murder weapons. And our executioner is missing. Tagg can search for him—whether he knows it or not—while we continue proving our silent-witness theory.”
    Brietta moistened her lips, encouraged. “So we’re agreed? We’ll update him on the facts, but keep the speculation to a minimum for now?”
    “Unless he asks,” Melody reminded her.
    “Trust me, he won’t.” Wincing, she added more diplomatically, “He’s got a lot on his mind, like Vince says.”
    And he doesn’t really care about this site, or us, at all.
     
    * * * *
     
    When Taggert finally reentered the camp, Brietta and her team had done some perfunctory sifting of the four new grave sites, had made dinner, and had even showered and changed into fresh, dust-free clothing.
    Still, he scowled when he saw them. Then he strode right up to Melody and asked, “Do I look familiar to you?”
    She stared at him for a long moment, then stammered, “The w-walkie-talkie?”
    “Yeah, the walkie-talkie. I’ve been calling you guys for three frigging hours.”
    The grad student grimaced in apology. “We were caught up in our work.”
    Taggert turned his suspicious glare to Vince. “You got rid of that weed, right? If I find out you’ve still got any—”
    “It’s gone, it’s gone. I promise.”
    Struggling not to laugh, Brietta decided to stay out of it, at least for now. If the wild-eyed bully got any worse, she’d step in. But for now it was just plain comical.
    “I have another question,” Taggert was informing them. “Why does everyone have orange paint on the back of their heads?”
    Brietta grinned. “Guess.”
    He gave her a frustrated chuckle. Then his gaze wandered toward the cemetery. “More bones?”
    “Wait till you see them.”
    He cocked his head to the side, then walked over to the site. When she