Hot town. Dead baby. My brain cells fried. How was I going. To get Gideon Banks. To understand. His daughter Tamela. Had put his grandchild in a wood stove. When I only wrote. In short sentences. Except when I was going into a long scientific explanation copied from a textbook about forensic anthropology.

"Why are you called Tempe?" he asked.

"Scarpetta was already taken."

"I always knew that Tyree was no good," he added.

Back home. A swig of coke. No more hangovers. Being an alcoholic was as close as I got to having a personality.

What to pack? My first holiday in years. Could I take a chance on Ryan?

The cellphone rang. My daughter Katy. "Come to the forest tomorrow," she said. "Meet my new boyfriend."

"I'm Palmer Cousins," he smiled. "I work for Wildlife Protection." He was too cute. I didn't trust him.

Boyd skipped his lead and ran off. Frantic barks. "He's dug up some bones."

Back in the lab, I put the remains under the scope. Some bear, some human. I called Ryan. I wasn't going anywhere on holiday.

"I'll come to you," he said.

We kissed. "Down boy," I whispered.

"Me or the dog?"

"I make the gags in this book." Such as they are.

The cellphone rang. A Cessna had crashed. Suspected drug dealer.

The cellphone rang. More bones found in the privy.

The cellphone rang. Another dead drug dealer.

The cellphone rang. Two wildlife rangers had been missing for five years.

Death threats on email. I still didn't trust Cousins. He smelt wrong. The cellphone rang. A feather from a dead parrot in the bones.

Confusion. I realised that the deaths, drugs and animals were all intertwined.

It was time for the first long explanation. "The trade in animal parts is worth billions of dollars each year. It contravenes the CITES and is very wicked. Bears are chopped up for their gall bladders which are worth more than their weight in cocaine. Rare birds and plants are threatened with extinction by evil men." I looked up. Ryan was snoring.

The cellphone rang. Tyree had been found. He was working for the drug boss.

I looked at more bones. The skeleton wasn't a man, but a woman with Klinefelter's syndrome. I had located one of the agents. Almost all tied up. Cousins was going to get it.

I came round in a dark cellar. Cousins was a red herring. It was Park the coroner, who had barely featured all along. I hit him on the head as he released the snakes.

Ryan held my hand. I had been in hospital two days. "You see," I said, "Tyree and Ricky Don had a scam with galls. Aiker and Cobb were on to them. Tamela just got in the way and JJ ..." I stopped. Ryan was asleep again.

The digested read ... digested

An autopsy that does not bear forensic examination.