In my upcoming novel, Ka
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.
