LOHA.” WHEN IN ROME, RIGHT?

“Aloha. Dr. Temperance Brennan, please.” The voice suggested years of unfiltered cigarettes. I was unsure if it was male or female.

“This is she.”

“Hadley Perry here.”

Great. A unisex name. Pulling back a chair beside 2010-37, I sat.

“M.E.” Medical examiner.

That Hadley Perry. Though we’d never met, I knew Perry by reputation. Chief medical examiner for the city and county of Honolulu for over two decades, the woman’s antics were legendary and the press ate them up.

On one occasion Perry rolled blanket-covered bodies into her facility’s parking lot to protest crowding at the morgue. Turned out the gurneys held inflatable dolls. Another time she issued death certificates for two state senators. Said their opposition to increased funding for her office was clear proof of brain death.

“Hope you don’t mind me calling your private number.”

“Of course not.” Actually, I did. But curiosity ruled.

“I’m told you’re the best forensic anthropologist in the Western Hemisphere.”

A warning bell tinkled.

Danny and I have a history of practical jokes running back decades. Five days on his turf, and so far no prank.

OK, buckaroo. Bring it on.

“Yes, ma’am. That would be me.”

A beat. Then, “I have a booger of a case. I’d like your help.”

“A humpback with implants?”

“Sorry?”

“A transgender ne-ne-?”

“It’s a homicide.”

“A garroted gecko?” I was on a roll.

“I think the victim is young and male, but can’t be sure. Few parts were recovered.” Grim-toned. I had to admit. The woman was good.

“What parts? Gizzard? Wing?”

I was grinning at my own hilarity when Danny appeared.

“Nice try,” I mouthed, pointing at the phone.

“What?”

“Hadley Perry,” I mouthed again, rolling my eyes.

Danny looked genuinely confused.

“Please hold a second.” I pressed the handset to my chest. “Gosh, there’s a woman on the line claiming to be Hadley Perry.”

“Must be Hadley Perry.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Payback for showing that slide at AAFS.” I’d Photoshopped Danny’s head onto an orangutan wearing a Speedo and flippers. “I’m wise to you.”

“I will get you. Take that to the bank. But adequate revenge will require time and intricate planning.”

“Come on, Danny. It bombed.”

“What bombed?”

“Your little farce.”

“What farce?”

“Having a caller pretend to be the chief ME.”

“Wrong guy.” Danny placed spread fingers on his chest. “Perry scares the crap out of me.”

I felt a tiny flame spark in my gut.

“Are you serious?”

“Totally.”

Uh-oh.

“Are you still there, Dr. Perry?”

“Yes.” Terse.

“We have a terrible connection. May I phone you back?”

She provided the number.

I clicked off and dialed.

“Aloha. Honolulu medical examiner.”

“Dr. Brennan returning Dr. Perry’s call.” Face burning.

“Hold, please.”

Perry picked up right away.

“I’m sorry. What I was hearing didn’t make sense. Lord knows what was coming through on your end.” Nervous laugh. “This phone jumbles sound when the signal gets weak.” Dear God, I was rambling. “How can I help you?”

Perry repeated what she’d said earlier. Homicide, body parts, young male, help.

“Can’t someone local assist you?”

“No.”

I waited. She didn’t elaborate.

“There are board-certified anthropologists at the CIL.” I glanced at Danny. Though he was trying hard to look focused on 2010-37, I knew he was listening.

“And they often help me out, Dr. Brennan. This time I’m asking you.”

“I’m in Honolulu for only a very short time.”

“I know that.”

Oh? I leaned back in my chair.

“Dr. Perry, I’m committed to resolving a situation at the CIL.”

“That’s military. They quit early. You can work with me after hours.”

Choosing a long bone, Danny moved to the sink.

“Why me?”

“You’re the best. You said so yourself.”

“I was joking.”

“I’m asking this as a personal favor.”

Far down the line I heard a barely audible voice, like a ghost speaking in some parallel dimension.

Or a nameless victim crying out for justice.

I glanced at Danny. At 2010-37.

“I’ll come by at five thirty,” I said. “But only for an hour.”

After disconnecting, I glanced at Danny. His shoulders had the tautness of someone who is angry or afraid.

“You overheard?”

“Enough.”

“I assume the two of you don’t get along.”

“Let’s just say Hadley Perry won’t be dining at my house real soon. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t help her.”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“I don’t like her, it’s mutual, we’ll leave it at that.”

Danny strode to the table. I followed. He added his freshly scrubbed tibia to the man from Lumberton.

For a moment we both stared at the half-cleaned skeleton.

“What did you want to show me?” Danny asked.

“It may be nothing.” I scooped up the occipital fragment. “Look at the suture.” I pointed to the squiggly line.

“Complex, with lots of accessories.” Danny meant tiny islands of bone trapped within the suture.

I passed him the chunk of maxilla that had produced the mushroom-duck thing.

“Broad palate. Straight transverse suture, not bulging up over the midline.” He viewed the bone face-on. “The zygomaxillary suture is angled, not S-shaped.” He rotated it so the missing nose would have pointed skyward. “Cheekbones probably had some flare.”

Danny’s eyes rolled up to mine.

“You’re thinking this guy might be Vietnamese?”

I shook my head. “You’re right those traits say Mongoloid ancestry. But others suggest Caucasoid. The high nasal bridge, the narrow nasal aperture, the moderately shaped skull, neither long and narrow nor short and broad.”

“So, mixed race?”

“European-Asian or European–Native American.”

“We had troops who would fit that bill. American Indians, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Filipinos. Not many, but they were over there fighting for us.”

“What about the missing crew member? Did you learn if the fourth body was ever found?”

“Not yet.”

“What was the man’s name?”

“I’m still waiting for a response to my inquiry.”

For the rest of that day we teased charred tissue and moldy fabric from bone.

By five a fully cleaned skeleton lay on the table.

The exposed bone produced no breakthrough moment.

Honolulu’s medical examiner operates out of a curvilinear white structure on Iwilei Road just a short walk from Chinatown. Next door is the largest Salvation Army facility I have ever seen.

At precisely five thirty I pulled under an arch and into a small lot beside the building. Hadley Perry answered my buzz in person. The pictures I’d seen in the Honolulu Advertiser hardly prepared me.

Perry was a slim woman with disproportionately large breasts and a penchant for what Katy called “haute hooker” makeup. Her short black hair was gelled into spikes, several of which were fire engine red.

“Hadley Perry.” She shot out a hand.

I offered mine.

Perry’s grip could have molded forged steel.

“Thanks so much for coming.”

“I’m not sure I can help.” Wiggling my fingers to check for fractures.

“But you’ll give it the old one-two, eh?” Perry launched a punch to my biceps that really hurt. “Let’s have at it.”

Good Lord. Who was this woman?

I followed Perry through double doors down a polished tile corridor, resisting the urge to massage my throbbing muscle. Bypassing a large, five-table autopsy room, we entered a small chamber not unlike salle 4 at the LSJML. Glass-fronted cabinets, side counter, dissecting scope, hanging scale.

The stainless steel gurney held a plastic-covered mound. Small and lumpy, the shape looked wrong for a human being.

Wordlessly, we both donned aprons and gloves.

Like a waiter presenting the table d’hôte, Perry whipped off the sheeting.