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I pulled back and looked at the eye sockets as if there were eyes in there. “Okay, my friend,” I said. “Are you ready to talk to me?”

He was.

I’d looked it up. The kind of piercing that Johnny Clark had below his lip was called a lowbret. Piercings didn’t go through bone, but the placement of them could affect the bone underneath. A lowbret could affect the teeth and gums too, which would be helpful if Verro or Jenna could find someone who’d looked at these teeth.

But my eyes went to the mandible, below the teeth, on the right side. I could see it in my mind. Susan had sketched it: Cool Johnny, in his black leather, his eyes sharp and suspicious, a silver post though the skin below his bottom lip.

And there it was. There was most definitely some unusual wear to the mandible. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“Come here, Brady.” I handed him the glass. “Look there. Wear from a piercing?”

“Oh. Yeah. Maybe.” He moved even closer. “There’s not much, but enough to make me think we should have noticed it already.”

“I don’t know. He was young. Given a few more years, the wear would have been more apparent.”

Brady looked at the mandible again. “It’s undeniable, though.” He dropped the glass and looked at me. “Good job, Hazel. Do you know who this is?”

“I think so. I think his name was Johnny Clark.”

“Did you know him?”

“Not well, but I did. He lived in Black Vulture, though a long time ago.”

“Wow. This is great. I’m glad you came in.”

Brady had me write down the particulars, then he led me toward the reception door. On the way, I noticed a bag of bones on another lab table. Curiosity got the best of me, so I veered that direction.

“The extra phalanges,” I said as I looked at the bag.

“Phalanges?” Brady said. “No.”

“No?”

Brady’s eyes narrowed over his mask. I returned the expression.

“Did you think they were phalanges? Human finger bones?”

I nodded a bit too exuberantly. “Yes.”

I had the history. I knew what my father had carried in his pocket. I’d seen it, witnessed him rolling a phalanx through his fingers. I’d seen the bones stuck between the sculptures’ finger bones and the turtle foot.

“No, they’re equine,” Brady said as he reached for the bag with his gloved hands. “Just look through the bag.”

As I held it up, it was as if a filter cleared. “Oh,” I said desperately.

I knew bones. I could read them. I had just figured out the scorpion was probably Johnny! But I’d let my personal experience interfere with my professionalism.

If I’d had them in my lab, if I’d picked them up and looked at them closely, I would have known that the bones in the bag had originated in horse tails. They’d been tucked in between or under other things. The tail bones can resemble phalanges, kind of, but they were more robust, with bony protuberances that human phalanges don’t have. Any other time, any other situation, I would have spotted the differences immediately. Now, I just felt … careless. Maybe a part of me was just looking for an excuse, but I allowed myself a little cold comfort by rationalizing that Graham hadn’t noticed the difference either.

“What’s going on, Hazel?”

“Any prints?” I asked.

“No, they were wiped clean of everything. You okay?”

I shook my head. “It’s all good, Brady.” I set the bag on the table and thanked him again as he walked me out.

Calloway looked at me with raised eyebrows.