I needed to get my hands on some skulls: old ones, and lots of them. I hadn’t been introduced to Marianna Evans yet, so I didn’t know the Morton Collection existed. I called some friends instead. One of them told me that my best chance of stumbling upon a large trove of centuries-old specimens was to fly to Paris and wait beside a set of trash cans along Rue Bonaparte. My guides would be waiting there on Tuesday night at seven p.m.
