nutshell, please."
Gideon helped himself to a handful of popcorn while he put what it all added up to in a nutshell. “If that mandible had been found in a shallow grave near Green Lake, and I'd been asked for my opinion—my expert opinion, I modestly call to your attention—I would have said that this particular profile of indicators is consistent with an extremely forceful ante-mortem impact in the region of the protuberantia mentalis."
She nodded soberly. “Sounds like you, all right.” Gideon let it pass. “An extremely strong blow to the point of the chin. The living chin."
"All right, I'm with you so far. Where you lose me is when you say it wasn't caused by the avalanche."
"I'm not saying it wasn't, Julie. I'm just saying that every time I've ever run into that particular combination of injuries up to now, it was the result of one human being hitting another human being. Either with his fist, if he happened to have a fist like a gorilla's, or more likely with some heavy object, like a rock, or maybe a bat or a hammer. It just makes me wonder, that's all. Which is what they're paying me to do. Or would be, if they were paying me. Want another drink?"
"Nope.” She munched popcorn for a while. “Would a blow like that have killed him?"
"Impossible to say. The specific injuries to his jaw, no. But he was hit hard. There might easily have been associated injuries to his brain or his spine."
"So you're saying this may have been a murder."
He spread his hands. “I'm saying that just before he died, this guy—either James Pratt or Steven Fisk—was hit in the face with tremendous force."
"But how can you be so sure it was before? How do you know his jaw wasn't damaged long after he was killed, even years later, by pressures in the glacier itself?” She shook her head. “We sure have the damndest discussions."
"I know for several reasons. First, the collagen fibers in the bone tissue were intact at the time—which I know because the distortion of the trabeculae—"
She held up her hand. “I'm convinced. All right, then, why—dare I ask—was it ‘just’ before? Why not a week before, two weeks before? A separate accident, a separate fight?"
"Again, several reasons. No signs of healing. No signs of treatment—and that jaw would have needed wiring. Also, for what it's worth, Tremaine and Henckel don't remember either of the men having anything wrong with his jaw."
"What did Arthur say when you told him all this?"
"Are you serious? Just having the bones turn up is about all the poor guy can handle right now. I'm not telling him we might be dealing with a murder until I have more than this to go on."
She ate some more popcorn, kernel by kernel. “Look,” she said reasonably, “you've never examined anyone who died in an avalanche before, have you?"
"No."
"So you don't really know firsthand what avalanche injuries look like."
"Well, no, not firsthand."
"You said that getting hit on the chin with a rock could do this. There would have been rocks flying around in the avalanche, or at least big pieces of ice, right? Why couldn't one of those have done it?"
"Right smack on the point of the chin?"
"Why not?"
"No other signs of injury; no impact points but this one, flush on the jaw?"
"Why not?"
He finished his Scotch and considered. Why not, indeed. True, it would be odd for a piece of flying ice to duplicate this kind of injury so exactly, but he had run into things a lot more improbable than that.
He put his glass on the table with a thump. “Maybe you're right."
Julie looked at him, head cocked. “But?"
"No ‘buts.’ I've been jumping to conclusions. You're right, that's all."
She was still recovering from this when Tremaine appeared at the table, one hand in his jacket pocket, suave and amiable.
"Dr. Oliver? I hope I'm not intruding?"
"Of course not. This is my wife, Julie."
"Mrs. Oliver, my pleasure."
Gideon gestured at the third chair at the table. “Please."
"No, thank you,
Gideon helped himself to a handful of popcorn while he put what it all added up to in a nutshell. “If that mandible had been found in a shallow grave near Green Lake, and I'd been asked for my opinion—my expert opinion, I modestly call to your attention—I would have said that this particular profile of indicators is consistent with an extremely forceful ante-mortem impact in the region of the protuberantia mentalis."
She nodded soberly. “Sounds like you, all right.” Gideon let it pass. “An extremely strong blow to the point of the chin. The living chin."
"All right, I'm with you so far. Where you lose me is when you say it wasn't caused by the avalanche."
"I'm not saying it wasn't, Julie. I'm just saying that every time I've ever run into that particular combination of injuries up to now, it was the result of one human being hitting another human being. Either with his fist, if he happened to have a fist like a gorilla's, or more likely with some heavy object, like a rock, or maybe a bat or a hammer. It just makes me wonder, that's all. Which is what they're paying me to do. Or would be, if they were paying me. Want another drink?"
"Nope.” She munched popcorn for a while. “Would a blow like that have killed him?"
"Impossible to say. The specific injuries to his jaw, no. But he was hit hard. There might easily have been associated injuries to his brain or his spine."
"So you're saying this may have been a murder."
He spread his hands. “I'm saying that just before he died, this guy—either James Pratt or Steven Fisk—was hit in the face with tremendous force."
"But how can you be so sure it was before? How do you know his jaw wasn't damaged long after he was killed, even years later, by pressures in the glacier itself?” She shook her head. “We sure have the damndest discussions."
"I know for several reasons. First, the collagen fibers in the bone tissue were intact at the time—which I know because the distortion of the trabeculae—"
She held up her hand. “I'm convinced. All right, then, why—dare I ask—was it ‘just’ before? Why not a week before, two weeks before? A separate accident, a separate fight?"
"Again, several reasons. No signs of healing. No signs of treatment—and that jaw would have needed wiring. Also, for what it's worth, Tremaine and Henckel don't remember either of the men having anything wrong with his jaw."
"What did Arthur say when you told him all this?"
"Are you serious? Just having the bones turn up is about all the poor guy can handle right now. I'm not telling him we might be dealing with a murder until I have more than this to go on."
She ate some more popcorn, kernel by kernel. “Look,” she said reasonably, “you've never examined anyone who died in an avalanche before, have you?"
"No."
"So you don't really know firsthand what avalanche injuries look like."
"Well, no, not firsthand."
"You said that getting hit on the chin with a rock could do this. There would have been rocks flying around in the avalanche, or at least big pieces of ice, right? Why couldn't one of those have done it?"
"Right smack on the point of the chin?"
"Why not?"
"No other signs of injury; no impact points but this one, flush on the jaw?"
"Why not?"
He finished his Scotch and considered. Why not, indeed. True, it would be odd for a piece of flying ice to duplicate this kind of injury so exactly, but he had run into things a lot more improbable than that.
He put his glass on the table with a thump. “Maybe you're right."
Julie looked at him, head cocked. “But?"
"No ‘buts.’ I've been jumping to conclusions. You're right, that's all."
She was still recovering from this when Tremaine appeared at the table, one hand in his jacket pocket, suave and amiable.
"Dr. Oliver? I hope I'm not intruding?"
"Of course not. This is my wife, Julie."
"Mrs. Oliver, my pleasure."
Gideon gestured at the third chair at the table. “Please."
"No, thank you,
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