Monday Mourning

Was it the cold morning light from the windows behind me? Was LaManche unwell? Had I simply not noticed until this moment?

“The two victims I’ve examined are young and female,” I said. “I’m certain the third is a young woman as well.”

“You use the word ‘victim.’”

“They’re kids and they’re dead.”

LaManche’s melancholy eyes did not flinch at my sharpness.

“But I’ve found no signs of violence,” I admitted.

“Monsieur Claudel feels these remains are probably not recent.”

“The restaurant owner found buttons that could be nineteenth century.

“Could be?” The brows rose again.

“Claudel took them to the McCord.”

“You are unconvinced?”

“Even if the buttons are genuine, it’s unclear whether they were associated with any of the skeletons. Their presence in the basement could have any number of explanations.”

LaManche sighed and pulled his ear. “Monsieur Claudel also told me that the building is more than a hundred years old.”

“Claudel has researched the property?” I felt heat flush my face.

“Construction took place over a century ago.”

I have a flash point temper. My father’s temper. Along with drink, Daddy’s fury sometimes ruled him. I grew up with the impact of those outbursts.

Like Daddy, I succumbed to the lure of the bottle. Unlike him, I walked away from booze. Also unlike him, I learned to control my temper. When fire simmers inside, outside I grow deadly calm.

“Did Monsieur Claudel not realize that such information is relevant to my task?” I asked, my voice glacial.

“I am certain he will inform you in detail.”

“During my lifetime?”

“Do not grow defensive. I am not fighting you.”

I drew a deep breath.

“There is one test which might resolve the question.”

“Tell me.”

“You’ve heard of Carbon 14 dating?”

“I know it is used to assign age to organic materials, including human bone. I do not know how it works.”

“Radiocarbon, or Carbon 14, is an unstable isotope. Like all radioactive substances, it decays by releasing subatomic particles at a uniform rate.

LaManche’s eyes stayed heavy on mine.

“In about 5,730 years half of a population of radiocarbon atoms will have reverted to nitrogen.”

“That is the half-life.”

I nodded. “After 11,460 years, a fourth of the original amount of radiocarbon remains. After another 5,730 years, only an eighth remains, and so on.”

LaManche did not interrupt."

"“The amount of radiocarbon in the atmosphere is really tiny.