Read Online The Bone Fire: A Mystery by Christine Barber - Free Book Online

went closer to the statue.
    “Lord in heaven,” Gil heard Kline say next to him as Garcia crossed himself. Joe, as expected, started swearing loudly.
    Gil said nothing as he went back to the uniformed officer who was keeping an eye on the crowd.
    He leaned over to the officer and said quietly, “Get some crowd pictures. As soon as that’s done, get this place sealed up tight. One-block radius with no line of sight. No street access, and nobody crosses the line until you radio me.” The officer nodded and, without acknowledging what Gil said, turned the volume down on his radio before requesting a nonuniformed officer snap some pictures.
    Kline and Garcia immediately got on their cell phones and walked out of earshot, likely calling higher-ups who needed to know. Joe was busy pacing the perimeter, which was lined with stepping-stones that made up a walking rosary—a meditation for the faithful.He noticed Joe would have been standing on an Our Father stone. Behind Joe on the railing were glass-covered pictures that the church had put up showing the different incarnations of Mary. He counted seven images—Our Lady of Peace, Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, Our Lady of Lourdes. The shrine took its devotion to Mary very seriously.
    Gil went to stand alone in front of the statue of the Virgin and looked up at her face. Her eyes were closed as if she were too horrified to look at what was around her throat. Her necklace was heavy, loaded down with old plastic doll heads and yellow silk sunflowers. Between them, almost as spacers, were tiny bones. The finger and toe bones of a child fashioned into delicate crosses.
    Mai Bhago Kaur had been up since 3:00 A.M. Before the dawn. At the time when the soul could best hear its own thoughts. Now she sat with the children. She was reading to them from a book called
Sikh Traditions for Children.
She knew they were trying to listen to the stories about the ten gurus. She could see it in their eager faces.
    Mai Bhago breathed deeply and lengthened her spine as she sat in sukasana pose, her legs crossed and her buttocks firmly on the ground. She could hold the pose for hours if necessary. Or all day. Her first yoga teacher had been strict, forcing her to keep a pose for a half hour at least. That teacher hadn’t understood the holy nature of yoga or that it wasn’t about being harsh, but that had been almost thirty-five years ago. Back when she was still in Los Angeles. Back when she was still poisoning her body with cocaine, alcohol, and red meat. She used to love the feel of cocaine, the way it made her feel energized and so intellectual. The high never lasted, though. Now it was the hours of meditation she did every morning that gave her that high and more.
    Mai Bhago wondered if cocaine had changed much in the intervening years. Maybe it was no longer the drug of choice for movie stars and TV personalities. It was a movie producer who had introduced her to it. He was casting for
The Outlaw Josey Wales,
and she was dying to work with Clint Eastwood. So she tried a little line of powder when he asked her to. She found out one week later—afterspending her days and nights with the man and his friends—that he wasn’t a movie producer and he’d never even seen a Clint Eastwood movie. He was simply a person taking advantage of her. She left him without drama, but it would be another five years and tens of thousands of dollars gone before she left the cocaine.
    She shifted slightly as she tried to concentrate again on what she was reading. A few of the children started to giggle and she stared at them purposely until they quieted down again. She turned the page and read outloud, “Guru Gobind Singh was the tenth guru . . .”
    The line officer radioed Gil, asking permission for the crime scene tech to access the area. Gil agreed and waited until Adam Granger’s white van pulled up on the now empty street. The officers had done their job well—Gil could see no one in the area other