The Bone Collector
On the slope of a steep ravine, deep in the woods of Washington’s Rock Creek Park, Philip Palmer spotted an out-of-place object resting on the forest floor. He saw a patch of white, bleached out and barely visible through a thin layer of leaves.
Walking these woods was a ritual for Palmer, an attempt to flee the madness of the city. Each morning, the furniture maker tried to lose himself in the nine-mile-long oasis of forests, fields, and streams twice the size of New York’s Central Park that slices through the center of the nation’s capital. On this morning, May 22, 2002, the...