Bones of Betrayal (Body Farm Novels)

Bones of Betrayal (Body Farm Novels)

Jefferson Bass

Language: English

Pages: 356

ISBN: 0061284742

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


“The forensic thriller meets a formidable slice of history….A riveting mystery with an intricately emotional conclusion.”
Washington Post

 

Bones of Betrayal is the fourth heart-racing “Body Farm” thriller from the world’s top forensic anthropologist. Kathy Reichs calls author Jefferson Bass, “the real deal,” and his hero Bill Brockton has already taken his rightful place alongside Patricia Cornwell’s Kay Scarpetta and the investigators on TV’s “C.S.I.” In Bones of Betrayal, a hideous murder has links that connect it to World War Two’s Manhattan Project and the development of the atomic bomb—adding a fascinating historical element that enriches an already superior crime series.

The Fractal Prince

Trail of Dead (Scarlett Bernard, Book 2)

Mourners

Divided Loyalties (Dividing Line Series, Book 2)

Known to Evil (Leonid McGill, Book 2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

see a wasp pumping the last of its venom into the narrow band of skin between the top of my glove and the bottom of my sleeve. “Damnation,” I muttered, flattening the wasp with a hard slap. “Where the hell did that come from?” “Yonder comes another one,” Meffert said, “right out of the evidence bag.” Sure enough, at that moment a second wasp emerged from the open bag and made a beeline for my wrist, drawn by the “danger” pheromones the first one had given off. Meffert’s hand darted downward, and

quickly connected—allowed the Manhattan Engineer District to build the city in record time. Local lore held that children walking home from school during the war years often got lost, because whole new neighborhoods would have sprung up during the hours between the Pledge of Allegiance and the end-of-the-day bell. The people in cemestos were the lucky few. Shared dormitory rooms, small trailers, camplike “hutments,” and flimsy “Victory cottages” were far more common. The cemestos were reserved

experimenting with different exposure times, contrast filters, and developer baths. He’d tried burning and dodging, which sounded like an arsonist’s modus operandi, but which actually meant using masks and screens to increase or decrease the amount of light falling on different regions of the photo paper. He’d also scanned the negatives into a digital-processing computer. In short, he’d tried every trick in the book to coax every speck of image out of that ghostly film. By the time he was

“one of the uses of iridium-192 is to create medical isotopes like palladium and iodine.” I was losing track of all the isotopes, but Thornton seemed to have no trouble keeping them straight. “One isotope creating another,” I said. “The atomic ripple effect?” “More like billiard balls,” Thornton said. “All those protons and neutrons and electrons and photons ricocheting around on the pool table of the universe. I’m amazed everything hangs together as well as it does. One of these days, seems

anyone else on earth—hung in limbo, waiting to find out if they would lose fingertips or hands or even life itself. If Garcia’s bone marrow and immune system did not recover, a minor infection could quickly escalate and kill him. Even if he survived, he might well be disfigured for life; his injuries could end his career, and deal a crushing blow to his spirit and his family life. I pushed the thoughts from my mind. There was nothing I could do to change the outcome for Garcia or Miranda, and

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