So, I don't know if anyone wants to read this, but I'm having fun with it. This is Spider Bones, the most recent Brennan book, told from the point of view of Andrew Ryan. I've got a fair bit written, let me know if you want to see more.

I really, really wanted a cigarette. Sadly, I'd agreed with Lily that bad habits could be broken and that I could kick my much more paltry nicotine addiction since she was kicking heroin. A wonderful, supportive idea. In principle. It hadn't been so hard in winter, not going out into the bitter cold and huddling in any alcove to avoid driving snow while furiously sucking in each smoke filled breath. Now, however, spring had hit Quebec and I didn't get to take those wonderful five minute retreats from the office to bask in the sun and enjoy new life in the air.

Today, however, thanks to the guy rotting in the plastic sack, I was out of the office with no need for my little cancer sticks. Of course, for now, I was stuck in a squad car belonging to the local SQ guy, André Bandau, talking to the guy who had his morning ruined by landing a body rather than whatever prize fish he was after. I looked from my notebook to the man sat in the passenger seat. "So, M Gripper, you noticed the canoe at around eleven?"

The man nodded. "Tabernouche. I got here around ten. I'd noticed the bike when I parked up, so I figured someone else was out on the water, you know?" I nodded. "Anyway, it was about eleven, I guess. My wife was being a pain in my ass about me getting out of the house this morning, so I got out of the house later than I wanted. I had just started fishing, had been floating around for a bit when I saw the boat. But yeah, the empty canoe was a big worry. What with seeing the bike, then seeing an empty canoe, I figured I should check it out. So, I made my way over, and as soon as I got near, my engine caught something."

I made a few notes and listened to him continue, just letting him fill the silence as he liked. "I was close enough that I could see the canoe was empty, and I figured I'd caught the anchor line. So, I paddled in a bit, hoping it would shake loose, but it didn't, and I could see the canoe wasn't moving and the anchor line was in the same spot. Then when I started trying to get my engine sorted out, the guy was basically staring up at my through the freaking plastic." His gestures were getting a bit frantic.

"He was floating head up?" I asked for clarification.

"Yeah. I guess it was around eight feet deep where he was, then when I paddled in, he just bobbed to the surface. I had my phone, so I called the cops, then dragged him out. He had a rock tied to his ankle, the one with the boot on it, and the rest of him was all wrapped up in the plastic like that. Once I had him on dry land, I figured there was no point just sitting there just waiting, so I got my engine working and went back out and towed in the canoe." I nodded, making quick notes as he went.

"Are you here fishing often, M Gripper?"

The man nodded. "I work at the wildlife park. I do maintenance, and I work weekends, so my days off are Tuesday and Thursday. I come here a lot, when the weather's good, and I was here Tuesday. I know there was no canoe or bike here then. I would have noticed, for sure."

I nodded and flipped my notebook shut. I certainly doubted he'd had anything to do with the body turning up, but we'd see. For now, I had enough information. "You've been very helpful. If you could remain here for the moment, I need to speak with my colleagues. We might need some more information from you, so don't leave yet, but feel free to sit in your truck." I gave him a quick nod and we both left the squad car. He certainly wasn't nervous, seemingly just happy someone was dealing with this mess, making me further doubt he was anything other than a guy who'd had his fishing ruined. I took a moment to enjoy the sunshine before walking over to the small crowd of techs gathered near the body. I nodded to Gilles Pomerleau, one of the autopsy techs from Brennan's lab, and her new assistant, Roch Lauzon. After the debacle with the previous assistant to the good doctor, the background check this guy had gone through would have impressed the CIA. I was very, very thorough. He was a decent guy, well liked by his previous colleagues. He hadn't had as much as a parking ticket in the last five years.

Both men were obviously waiting for Tempe to release the body to them for transport. Since she was talking to the local SQ agent, I made my way over to them. I nodded to Bandeau, but directed my questions to Tempe, since she would be the one with any new information. "What do you think?"

"Guy's dead."

I gave her a look, but didn't roll my eyes. It took effort. "Guy?"

"Based solely on size."

I nodded, didn't write anything down. They'd learn more back in the lab, when whoever pulled the autopsy got stuck in. "How long?"

She did a little one shoulder shrug. "Tough to say. Given this week's warm temperatures, and the shrink-wrap, I'd guess a day or two. There's some decomp, but not much." The look she shot the agent was pure venom. Someone was on Tempe's naughty list. "That'll change now that the bugs have been issued a gate pass." I resisted the urge to tell the kid to run for the hills. Tempe, of course, told me exactly what had completely pissed her off. "Agent Bandau decided to go right ahead and open up the plastic, inviting every bug in the vicinity to help speed things along. He decided, all by himself, that it was a completely wonderful idea to slice right in so he could take photos for prints with his new camera. Don't worry, though. He assured me he wore gloves." Every word dripped with icy sarcasm, and the kid had turned an amusing shade of pink. I wondered if her mother had ever considered the irony of naming her temperance, something no one ever accused her of having an abundance of.

My eyes swung from the anthropologist to the young agent. "What kind of rookie move was that?" We had to know better than to mess with the body before the lab guys went over it, even in a seemingly minor way. "That's no way to make it up the chain, son." The kid's blush went from pink to lobster. I looked back to Brennan, who seemed happier now that I'd told the kid off. "Twenty-four to forty-eight hours tracks with the wit's account. Gripper says he comes out here on his days off, usually Tuesdays and Thursdays. Swears day before yesterday the pond was canoe and corpse free."

"Algae patterning suggests the body was floating with the head just at or below the waterline," she added.

I nodded. "According to Gripper, the body was hanging head up in the water, with the booted foot attached to a rock lying on the bottom. He guesses the pond's about eight feet deep where he found the guy."

"Where was the canoe?"

"Beside the vic. Gripper says that's how the rope got tangled in his outboard." I turned to Bandau. "Check for feedback on those prints."

"Yes, sir." We watched him jog toward his cruiser. The kid was dedicated, I'd give him that. Hopefully he'd keep the energy and lose the idiocy. I smiled at Tempe. "Probably DVR's cop shows."

She scowled at the agent's back. "Not the right ones."

I changed the subject, looking at the body wrapped in plastic. "What do you think?"

"Weird one," she said.

That, I had figured out on my own. "Suicide? Accident? Murder?" She spread her hands out in front of her, obviously not yet having a clue. I grinned at her. "That's why I bring you along." At least she was nice to look at, even when she didn't have anything to add. A hell of a lot nicer to look at than LaManche, for instance.

"The vic probably kept the canoe at the pond and drove the moped back and forth."

Well, I doubt he'd been carrying the thing on his back. "Back and forth from where?"

"Beats me."

"Yep. Can't do without you." It wouldn't be half as fun, anyway.

We listened to the birds in silence for a few minutes, until Bandau came running back. The kid was way too enthusiastic. "Got him. Cold hit in the States. Thirteen-point match."

My eyebrows reached for the stratosphere. That was seriously lucky.

"John Charles Lowery. Date of birth March twenty-first, nineteen fifty."

"Not bad, Bandau." She didn't even sound begrudging when she said it.

"There's one problem." The kid frowned. "John Charles Lowery died in nineteen sixty-eight." That sounded like a pretty fucking big problem to me.