In my upcoming novel, Karluk Bones, my protagonist, Jane Marcus, and her friends stumble across a human skull and bones in the woods. Are the bones ancient or recent, and how did they end up in the middle of the wilderness? Jane contacts Alaska State Trooper Sergeant Dan Patterson, and he sends the bones to an anthropologist at the University of Alaska in Anchorage. The bones end up in the laboratory of a young graduate student named Ying Lee, and Patterson gives Jane permission to fly to Anchorage and learn what Ying has to say about the bones.
The following is an excerpt from Karluk Bones
“Come in,” a female voice called.
A young woman met me inside the door and introduced herself as Ying Lee. Ying
had short, black hair, big blue eyes, and creamy white skin. She motioned for
me to follow her, and her petite frame bounced with energy as she led me down
the hall and into a small laboratory. My bones, now scrubbed clean, held center
stage on the work table in the middle of the room.
Ying wasted no time with small
talk. She walked to the table and held up a portion of the long leg bone we had
found. The rest of the bone rested on the table. For some reason, Ying, or one
of her associates had sliced the bone into two pieces. Her blue eyes blazed
with intelligence and excitement. Her enthusiasm infected me, and I walked to
the other side of the table and focused on her.
Ying held the bone with both
hands. “We’re very fortunate to have a femur,” she said, “because the femur
offers an easy estimation of height. All I needed to do was measure the bone
and then apply a simple formula to obtain an estimate of the individual’s
height.”
“And he was tall?” I asked
“Well, yes, he was a little above
average height – about six feet tall.” Ying said.
“So, we know he was male from his
height?” I asked
“I would guess the individual was
male from his height, but you also found the pelvis, and I can confirm he was a
male from the pelvis.”
“Next, I set out to determine the
age of the individual when he died. Luckily, I had the skull to examine.” She
pointed to the skull on the table, and I noticed she had glued several of the
miscellaneous bone fragments we’d gathered to the skull. It still wasn’t
complete, but she had pieced much of it together.
“You see here,” Ying said.
Pointing at an area she had reconstructed
on the top of the skull, “these lines are called cranial sutures. The bones
that enclose the brain grow together during childhood. As a person ages, these
sutures gradually fade. This fading, or remodeling, varies among individuals, but
some sutures close at a consistent age in most individuals.” Ying pointed to
the back of the skull and ran her finger along a faint line. “This is called the lamboid suture. It generally
begins to close at age 21. The closing accelerates at age 26, and the suture is
completely closed between age 30 and 40. You can see the suture on this skull is nearly, but not
completely closed.”
“So, how old do you estimate he was?”
I asked.
“I’d say between 25 and 30 years old,”
Ying looked up from the bones and met my gaze. “This is only my estimate,
though. I couldn’t swear to it in a court of law, but I think this individual
was between 25 and 30 years old when he died.”
“I understand,” I said. “Your estimate
gives me somewhere to start. I appreciate it.”
A quick smile passed over Ling’s thin
lips, but then she was all business again. “Again, by looking at his skull, I
determined this individual descended from European ancestry. There’s not much
left of the nasal bones, but the narrow face leads me to believe with little
doubt this skull did not come from a Native Alaskan individual.”
“Okay,” I said. I wanted to make sure
I’d understood everything Ying had told me. “We have a fairly tall Caucasian
man in his late twenties.”
Ying wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like
the term Caucasian, because race tags can be misleading. All I can really tell
you is his ancestors were most likely from Europe.”
I nodded and forced myself to remain
silent. I wanted to blurt out my questions. How
long ago did he die, and what killed him? But I knew how much I hated to be
interrupted while explaining my research
to someone, so I let Ying explain these bones to me in her own style and at her
own pace.
She stared at me for several moments
as if expecting me to question her, but then she continued. “The question is how
and when did this individual die?”
I nodded and watched her expectantly.
Ying pointed to the front of the
skull. “I think I know how, but the when part is a big guess.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“My professor and I are fairly certain
this man died from a gunshot wound to the top of the head. I pieced as much of
the skull together as I could, and you can see this jagged, roughly round hole
in the top of the skull.”
“You’re sure it’s a bullet hole?”
She smiled. “I’m not certain of
anything, but I’ve compared this hole to dozens of known bullet holes in
skulls, and it is similar.”
“Is there any way to determine what
gauge bullet caused the hole?” I asked.
Ying laughed. “If the particular type
of bullet becomes important, you might be able to run down an expert who’d be
willing to give it a shot.” She stopped and laughed at her unintended pun.
“This is not my area of expertise, but I do think it is a bullet hole.”
“It seems like a weird place to shoot
yourself,” I said.
Ying looked at me sharply. “Do you
have reason to believe this person committed suicide?”
“No, I’m just thinking out loud,” I said
“It’s just that . . .” Ying shook her
head.
“Just what?” I asked.
“My Ph.D.
thesis is linked to studying nutrition in ancient populations. In particular,
I’m studying nutrition in communities of Inupiat people. Most of the bones I’m looking at are between 150 and 300
years old. You are a biologist, so as I’m sure you know, teeth and bones
contain a protein called collagen. Collagen absorbs chemicals such as calcium,
carbon, nitrogen, and strontium from the food an individual eats. Different
types of food contain these elements in different ratios, and from studying
fossilized bones and teeth, I am attempting to understand the diets of various
populations of Inupiat people. Were they healthy? Did they face periods of
malnutrition? That sort of thing.”
I nodded. “Your work sounds
interesting.” Her research did sound interesting, but I had no idea why she was
telling me about it in relation to these
bones.
She seemed to read my mind. “When I
received permission to study these bones,” she gestured to the bones on the
table in front of her, “I thought it would be interesting to see how much the
diet of this guy differed from my Inupiat bones.” She shrugged. “I know it has
nothing to do with your case, or at least I didn’t think it did until I started analyzing the bones.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I still
couldn’t guess where she was going with this.
“This guy,” she put her hand on the
femur, “was starving to death. If he didn’t have a bullet hole in his head, I’d
say he did starve to death. I wondered if he shot himself to end his suffering,
but you’re right, it’s a strange angle for a self-inflicted gunshot wound.” She
shook her head. “It would be possible, though, especially if he used a rifle.”
She held an imaginary rifle in front of her, pointed at her head.
“Wait a minute,” I said, “back up. You
think this guy was starving to death?”
“That’s one of the few things I can
say with any certainty about this individual,” Ying said. “His bone mineral
density is extremely low. He was emaciated when he died. In fact, his bones are
the most emaciated bones I’ve studied.”
“Interesting,” I said. “I wonder what
happened to him?”
Ying studied me, her eyes ablaze.
“Isn’t it fascinating? I love learning about past civilizations and imaging what the people’s lives were like. I
feel like a detective sifting through the debris and trying to find the important
evidence.”
I smiled at this brilliant young woman
and was thankful my bones ended up in her laboratory. “When did he die?” I
asked. “How long have his bones been at Karluk Lake?”
Ying shoulders dropped, and the fire
in her eyes died. “That’s the million-dollar question. It’s very difficult to
estimate the time since death from skeletal remains. I know he’s not ancient,
but there’s little difference between five-year-old
and ten-year-old bones.”
“But you told Sergeant Patterson you
thought these bones were between thirty and fifty years old.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t make that
estimate,” Ying said. “When these bones first arrived, we had a professor here
who was visiting from UC Davis, and her field of interest is studying bone
chemistry to estimate the time since death. She looks at the citrate content in
the bones. She took two slices of the femur back to California with her, and
she arrived at the timeframe of thirty to fifty years, but she stressed to us,
and I told Sergeant Patterson the timeframe was only her best guess.”
I smiled at Ying and held out my hand.
She took it, and we shook. “I appreciate
all you’ve done. I don’t know what it means yet, but I hope to figure it out
and maybe even learn who this individual was.”
“If you come up with a possible identification and can find
relatives, we can attempt to extract DNA from the bones and see if there’s a
match.” Ying said. “We might even be able to tap into a public DNA database.”
“Thanks,
I’ll keep that in mind. I hope I can figure out who you have on your table.”
I will let you know when Karluk Bones is available. Meanwhile, be sure to sign up below for my free Mystery Newsletter.
Robin Barefield is the author of three Alaska wilderness mystery novels, Big Game, Murder Over Kodiak, and The Fisherman’s Daughter. To download a free copy of one of her novels, watch her webinar about how she became an author and why she writes Alaska wilderness mysteries. Also, sign up below to subscribe to her free, monthly newsletter on true murder and mystery in Alaska.