Genesis by Karin Slaughter

person was confident in what they were
doing."
    Faith thought the doctor seemed pretty confident herself. "How
do you think it was done?"
    Sara took out her prescription pad and started drawing a bunch of
curved lines that only made sense when she explained, "The ribs are
numbered in pairs starting at the top and going down, twelve each
side, left and right." She tapped the lines with her pen. "Number one
is just under the clavicle and twelve is the last one here." She looked
up to make sure Faith was following. "Now, eleven and twelve at the
bottom are considered to be 'floating,' because they don't have an anterior
connection. They only connect at the back, not the front." She
drew a straight line to indicate the spine. "The top seven ribs connect
at the back and then attach to the sternum—like a big crescent. The
next three rows connect roughly to the ribs above. They're called
false ribs. All of this is very elastic so that you can breathe, and it's also
why it's hard to break a rib with a direct blow—they bend quite a
bit."
    Faith was leaning forward, hanging on her every word. "So, this
was done by someone with medical knowledge?"
    "Not necessarily. You can feel your own ribs with your fingers.
You know where they are in your body."
    "But, still—"
    "Look." She sat up straight, raising her right arm and pressing the
fingers of her left hand into her side. "You run your hand down the
posterior axillary line until you feel the tip of the rib—eleven, with
twelve a little farther back." She picked up the plastic knife. "You
slice the knife into the skin and cut along the rib—the tip of the
blade could even scrape along the bone as a guide. Push back the fat
and muscle, disarticulate the rib from the vertebra, snap it off, whatever,
then grab hold and yank it out."
    Faith felt queasy at the thought.
    Sara put down the knife. "A hunter could do it in under a minute,
but anyone could figure it out. It's not precision surgery. I'm sure you
could Google up a better drawing than the one I've made."
    "Is it possible that the rib was never there? That she was born
without it?"
    "A small portion of the population is born with one pair fewer,
but the majority of us have twenty-four."
    "I thought men were missing a rib?"
    "You mean like Adam and Eve?" A smile curved Sara's lips, and
Faith got the distinct impression the woman was trying not to laugh
at her. "I wouldn't believe everything they told you in Sunday
School, Faith. We all have the same number of ribs."
    "Well, don't I feel stupid." It wasn't a question. "But, you're sure
about this, that the rib was taken out?"
    "Ripped out. The cartilage and muscle were torn. This was a violent
wrenching."
    "You seem to have given this a lot of thought."
    Sara shrugged, as if this was just the product of natural curiosity.
She picked up the knife and fork again, cutting into the chicken.
Faith watched her struggle with the desiccated meat for a few seconds
before she put back down the utensils. She gave a strange smile,
almost embarrassed. "I was a coroner in my previous life."
    Faith felt her mouth open in surprise. The doctor had said it the
same way you might confide a hidden acrobatic talent or youthful indiscretion.
"Where?"
    "Grant County. It's about four hours from here."
    "Never heard of it."
    "It's well below the gnat line," Sara admitted. She leaned her arms
on the table, a wistful tone to her voice when she revealed, "I took
the job so that I could buy out my partner in our pediatric practice.
At least I thought I did. The truth was that I was bored. You can only
give so many vaccinations and stick so many Band-Aids on skinned
knees before your mind starts to go."
    "I can imagine," Faith mumbled, though, she was wondering
which was more alarming: that the doctor who had just diagnosed
her with diabetes was a pediatrician or that she was a coroner.
    "I'm glad you're on this case," Sara said. "Your partner is . .