I minimize the Delaware filing and pull up the document I’ve been building. It’s a timeline, color-coded, cross-referenced, and yet still painfully full of holes.
“Okay,” I say. “So. To recap. The morgue attendant, Giovanni Ochoa, came to me originally because a set of remains came through the Queens ME’s office that flagged something for him. Bones found at a construction site in Astoria. The site was being excavated for a new development project. Workers hit the remains and called it in.”
Doug sips his coffee. “Remind me, how old are the remains?”
“Ochoa said the initial assessment put them at roughly fifteen to twenty years old. Which, on its own, fine. Lots of people died fifteen to twenty years ago.”
“But—and this is a part I’m still trying to flesh out, so bear with me while I ha
