TWO

Three days ago: Monday

"Right this way, gentlemen," the hostess said. She led them through La Cassette, a not-so-trendy, but well-liked restaurant in New Orleans' Garden District. Graham Legere had lost a bet, and Sam Potter had chosen this restaurant as his pay-up. Dr. Legere made a lot more money than he did, and Sam had wanted to choose an expensive place with white tablecloths. But alas, he could not argue with the tried and true Gator Gumbo at La Cassette – it's what he craved.

As the shapely girl showed them their seats, Sam spotted a familiar face. He saw Richard Benoit a split second before Benoit saw him and waved him over.

"Excuse us, please," Sam said to the hostess. He motioned for Graham to come with him, and the two of them crossed the room to greet Benoit and his daugther, Eva.

The two old friends shook hands heartily, and Sam kissed Eva on the cheek.

"Richard, so good to see you," Sam said with a sincere smile. He gestured to his dinner companion. "This is Dr. Graham Legere. He and I know each other from the makeshift church morgue. Graham, this is Richard Benoit and his daughter Eva."

"A pleasure, sir, miss," Legere said, pretending to tip a gentlemanly hat which was not actually on his head.

"It's nice to see you, Sam," Benoit said with a smile filled with cameraderie. "Would you like to join us?"

Potter and Legere looked at each other and shrugged happily, and then took the two seats next to the Benoits.

"So you know each other from a church morgue?" Benoit asked, chewing on a slice of French bread.

"Yes," Sam said. "I'm doing the usual orderly business, but Graham here is helping with ID's."

"Hurricane victims," Eva said sadly.

"Helping being the operative word," Graham insisted. "Dr. Brennan, she's the one at the helm."

"Oh?" asked Benoit. He noticed a secret smirk that came to Graham's face when he said her name. Benoit smiled largely. "And who is this Brennan?"

"Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian Institute in D.C.," Graham told him. "She is a forensic anthropologist who specializes in identifying human remains in an advanced state of decomposition."

"She's a bone expert," Sam clarified. "She can tell us things about a person by looking at their bones that no one would have known even when the person was up and walking around."

Benoit was impressed. "Like what?"

"Well, like yesterday, she identified, just on sight, that the victim was mixed-race, around 60 years old, had died five years ago, played golf and had had a pacemaker inserted within two weeks of death. From there we could narrow it down. He was found in Metairie, already embalmed – unearthed from his grave by the flood. How many mulattoes are there in Metairie who are wealthy enough to play frequent golf, and had pacemakers inserted, and then died, five years ago?"

"A handful, I would think," Eva offered, skeptically.

"Exactly," Graham told her. "A handful. Do you know how small a handful is in comparison with the Katrina victims' numbers? We made a couple of phone calls, and she positively ID'd him within an hour and released the remains to his family later that day."

"Interesting. How does she do this?" asked Benoit.

"I don't know," Graham said, reaching into the bread basket. "I'm just an M.E., I can feel when things are broken, set an injury, do DNA and blood... but Temperance? She can just look at them and... know. Sometimes I wonder if there isn't something supernatural at work, like the dead guy is talking to her or something. I know it sounds crazy, but she's... she's like the bone whisperer."

Sam smiled. He patted Graham on the back, and reassured him, "You are the only non-practitioner of voodoo here at this table, Dr. Legere. Your theory doesn't sound so crazy to us, my friend!"

Graham rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, I forgot who I was talking to."

Benoit was not a man who liked to hurry – he believed in taking his time and doing things right. This is why he was still sitting at La Cassette thirty minutes after Graham Legere, Sam Potter and even his precious Eva had left. He was sipping a brandy and having a cigar, facing the outside window and watching the people pass by. In this part of the city, it was mostly locals, mostly younger. Not too many tourists these days in New Orleans, and the ones who came kept to the Vieux Carré and usually only around Mardi Gras.

Sam Potter was a nice man, and intelligent. He was a faithful voodoo artist, and thoroughly believed in its power to heal. Potter utterly renounced the dark side of this magic, though he believed in balance.

Legere had seemed all right – clearly he was not "one of them," being a loud-mouthed (if educated and sincere) white man, probably a Christian. However, he had been polite, he had told an entertaining story of two, and he had backed off immediately, with apologies, when Eva told him she had a boyfriend. Probably a gentleman, and nothing really wrong with him. Other than a schoolboy worship of Dr. Brennan, that is. Benoit found this a bit distasteful, weak, though he'd managed to hide this feeling from Legere as they conversed.

He took his cell phone from his pocket and dialed.

"Mr. Mechant," Benoit said, his voice low and inaudible to those around. "I believe I have found someone. A doctor from the Jeffersonian identifying bodies of hurricane victims... yes sir, I believe she is who we have been looking for."