“Bin 206 sent us the pickup detail for last October, sir.”
“Very good, kid. Now, let’s see. Hmm. Westminster House makes sense. Senior skeleton housing. Seven hundred Washington Place. No surprises there. Tons of skeletons in those closets. Everything falls apart at the Drinkery on the weekends, including the bar stools. Let’s start with Eager and Morton on the 3rd. No, wait a minute. Strike that. Start with Read and Ploy on the 25th.”
“Dammit, Janet! Why’d you tell Birdy where Chip is? It’s none of his business. You know how fragile he is right now, poor kitten.”
“But Brad, we’re all Chips! We’re all part of the same Chip clan. We’ve got to let ourselves fall where we may.” [Cf. Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club, 1996]
“The shock of the transplant was bad enough, Birdy. And the humiliation of having his first name revealed almost did him in. Can you imagine trying to maintain a bad-boy image with a name like Butterscotch? Once the word got out, everyone laughed and called him names and, from that point on, they never let poor Chip join in any of their games. He nearly fell apart. It was painful to watch. He’s been in seclusion ever since.” [Cf. Gene Autry, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” (1949), written by Johnny Marks (1949), based on the story of the same name by Robert L. May (1939)]
“Why the transplant, Nurse Janet?”
“He’d overeaten at the screening of that movie the KGB had hacked last season. I think it was called Mr. Funny Bones Back to Skull or something ludicrous like that. Popcorn, pizza, a hot fudge sundae, and a turkey with all the trimmings. It was too much. We gave him a transplant to help him feel better.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
“Yes, Birdy, I do. I’ll tell you, but please, please, please call him Chip. Don’t call him Butterscotch. He’ll fall to pieces if you do. He’s still fragile, poor kitten.”
“Understood. Lovely tulips, by the way.”
“Why, thank you. I brought them back from Amsterdam. Brad says they’re garish, but I like them just the way they are. Thank you, too, for that crock-pot creamy chipped beef and cheese recipe. I think Brad will love it.”
“Well, I guess there’s no accounting for taste in either flowers or food now, is there? Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You, too, Birdy. Ta-ta.”
“We ran John Doe Number One’s DNA through 206andMe’s database, Chief, and got a match.”
“Holy Moley!”
“Another minced oath, I presume?”
“‘Another minced oath, I presume?!’ You know it is, Mr. Smarty Pants. Now, stop messing with me and get back to the case.”
“We also ran the DNA through Bonecestry’s database and got the same match.”
“What about Number Two?”
“If by Number Two you mean the other left foot, no match in either system. If you mean something else, I can’t help you. I’m a forensic scientist, not a proctologist. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“Hmm. Agreed. Best not to probe that one too deeply.”
We’d like to thank the following non-paying advertisers, 23andMe and AncestryDNA, for not sponsoring this chapter:
Letter from Madame de Boneville, les Catacombes de Paris
October 5, 2018
Sir,
We have received your kind letter from the other day regarding the status of our collection.
I am both sorry and happy to inform you that we have all our bones. In addition, we have no information on the bones recently found in your area in a “crock-pot” of chopped beef and cream cheese.
If, in the future, we can help you in your efforts to find the so-called killer of the “crock-pot” and to bring this culprit to justice, do not hesitate to call or write us.
Faithfully yours,
Françoise de Boneville, Registrar
P.S.: A dish of chopped beef and cream cheese sounds offensive.
“I got a monthly bone count from Bin 206, sir. Here it is.”
“Hmm. That October number’s really high.”
“Halloween, sir. It can be hard keeping it together the whole month. The anxiety of finding the right costume and all.”
“True.”
“I made you a copy of that chip beef recipe, sir.”
“Thanks, kid. I appreciate… Wait a minute. What’d you just say?”
“That I have a hard time keeping it together in October because of the stress of finding the perfect costume?”
“No, not that. The other thing you said.”
“Chip beef, sir?”
“Yes. Why’d you call it that?”
“Oh, that. I meant chipped beef, sir. I noticed that some of the cookbooks call it ‘chip’ beef instead of chipped beef. Sounds a bit folksy, if you ask me.”
“Agreed. Go back to Bin 206. See if you can get the daily counts and locations for all of October. I’m going to check in again with Nurse Janet.”
“Do you have a medical question, sir?”
“Sort of, plus she’s asked for a copy of the recipe.”
“We have the DNA results on those bones, Chief. The feet don’t match. They belong to two different skeletons.”
“Great Caesar’s ghost! Two John Does! Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’m a CSI. But if it’s a ghost you’re after now, there’s not much more my lab team and I can do for you. We’re forensic scientists, not parapsychologists. We don’t use EVP recorders in our work. That would be against AAFS standards.”
“It’s just a minced oath. Forget I even said it.”
“Is ‘good gravy’ a minced oath as well?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact it is.”
“I know that, Chief. I’m just messing with you.”
“Can we get back to the case, please? Any positive IDs on the feet?”
“Not yet, but we should have something soon.”
We’d like to thank the following non-paying advertiser for not sponsoring this chapter:
“Bin 206’s the largest boneyard in the tri-state area. We’ve got over 20,600,000 bones at this location alone and a skeleton crew to look after them. Of course, bones could go missing, but you didn’t hear that from me. Good thing for us, the company met the union’s demands last year and reduced the pickups to one day a week. The guys working the graveyard shift up to that time nearly fell apart trying to keep up with the volume, having to number and sort bags and bags of bones each and every night. Yeah, Bin 206 did the right thing in the end. If the company had fought the union and won, I’d probably be numbering and sorting those guys right now. Who wants to be the guy who has to do that to his co-workers?”
“We’re happy to assist in whatever way we can. Bin 206 is the largest and most advanced boneyard in the tri-state area. I’m proud to say we number all our bones. [Cf. Psalm 21:18, Douay-Rheims Bible, 1899 American edition] We do that before putting them in the bins. We’d know if a bone went missing.”
“And how would you know that, sir?”
“Why, we’d have an odd number, of course.”
“Oh, right. Of course. Would it be possible to get a list of your recent pickups?”
“We can do better than that. We can give you our aggregated monthly bone counts for the last year. Here at Bin 206, transparency’s our number one priority. “Our bones are your bones!” That’s our motto, and we live and die by it. If you need any information beyond that, please let me know and I’ll do my best to accommodate.”
“Gee, thanks! Monthly counts are fine for now.”
“We’ll have those numbers for you in a few minutes. In the meantime, feel free to look around the yard. We just had it landscaped.”
“I will, thanks! By the way, I like your crown.”
“Thanks. Today’s my birthday. The office team likes parties, so I play along. It’s good for morale and livens up the place.”
“Hello, Chief. The forensic archaeologist dug clear to the bottom of the pot but didn’t uncover any more bones.”
“Good gravy!”
“It’s definitely gravy. You’re right about that. That’s what the science says at least, though I’d say it’s more of a sauce because it has cheese in it. Whether it’s good I can’t say since we’re not in the habit of eating evidence. That would be against the law.”
“Got it. What about the left leg and feet? Any more info on them?”
“I’ll let you know what we know when we know what we know.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
“Check in with the local boneyard, kid. Find out if anyone there has noticed anything out of the ordinary in recent months. I’ll reach out to our contacts at the catacombs in Paris and Rome. The security at the one in Rome is notoriously lax. The bones there can pretty much walk out on their own unnoticed.”
“What about the one in London, sir?”
“Too obvious. Pretty much every English dish is smothered in a gravy or an unappetizing grayish white sauce.”
“Do you suspect foul play, sir?”
“As sure as hamburger and cheese in chipped beef are foul, I do, kid. I think we’ve got more than a skeleton missing its two left feet.”
“And left leg, sir.”
“Right. And left leg. Remind me to take another look at that recipe in case I forget.”
“For clues, sir?”
“Possibly. And I have to make a grocery list.”
Mr. Funny Bones 