Dead Guilty (11 page)

She
went
about
the meticulous
task
of
measuring
the crainometric points on the skull until she had vir
tually
a
mathematical
definition
of
the
face—the
length, width, the measurement
of each feature and
its distance from every other feature. It was a narrow
Caucasian female face.

Diane
examined each of Blue’s bones for signs of
healed breaks, disease, pathology, cuts from knives or
chips from bullets. Other than having the tips of her
fingers cut off and a shattered hyoid bone from the
hanging,
there
were
no
other
diagnostically
impor
tant marks.

With
the sex and race established, Diane measured
several of Blue’s long bones on the bone board. From
one person to another, bones are relatively consistent
in their size relationship to each other. The length of
any of the long bones when referenced on the stature
tables
for
age
and
race
gives
a
reasonably
accurate
estimate of the height of the individual.

Blue
was
a
five-foot-five-inch
woman,
girl
really,
probably between 18 and 23, but not older than that.
She was of good health and strong body—attested to
by
her
prominent
muscle
attachments.
The
beveling
on the glenoid cavity of her right scapula suggested
she rotated her right arm in its socket more than the
left,
and
so
was
probably
right-handed.
She’d
had
good enough dental care and hygiene to have avoided
cavities. She had no orthodontia, and her third molars,
the wisdom teeth, hadn’t yet erupted. Blue had expen
sive plastic surgery. These did not appear to be the
bones of a homeless waif, as the sheriff thought.

He—whoever
had killed Blue—had taken her fin
gertips,
so
all
the
terminal
phalanxes
were
missing.
Trophy or practicality?
She took the medial phalanxes
to her dissecting microscope and examined the distal
ends. All showed damage. The surface was cut enough
on
three
of
them
that
she
could
see
a
striation
pattern—two
lines,
one
thicker
than
the
other,
per
haps representing
a flaw
on the
cutting edge of
the
tool. She photographed the images.

After
recording
the
information
that
now
defined
Blue Doe, Diane turned to the ropes that had bound
her. She took them from the box and laid them out
on the table next to the skeleton. The rope was rela
tively
new
and
made
from
hemp.
It
was
rough
and
stiff in her hands. The loose fibers pricked her sensi
tive fingers.

Diane’s
tender
skin
made
her realize
how
long
it
had
been
since
she’d
been
caving.
As
a
caver
she
didn’t use natural fiber rope but the stronger nylon.
Even though she wore special gloves when she caved,
her hands were hardened when she was regularly on
rope. They had gotten soft.

She
examined each knot in detail. They were as she
had
described
to
the
sheriff
and
Garnett—handcuff
knot and bowlines backed up by a stopper knot. Diane
teased the rope until she loosened the stopper knot.

Personally,
she used a figure eight when she needed
a
stopper.
Whoever
tied
Blue
used
a
stevedore’s
knot—similar to a figure eight but with an extra twist.
Further examination showed that he had also tied a
stevedore’s knot on the loose end of the bowline that
made the neck noose, on the end of the anchor’s bend
around the tree limb, on the end of the handcuff knot,
and
on
the
end
of
the
loop
from
the
handcuffs
to
the neck.

Diane
bet to herself that he used the same pattern
in all of his knots with the other two victims. Not a
significant MO, but certainly one that could help tag
a suspect if the sheriff found one.

Green
Doe was at the next table, lying in his clear
plastic box with his rope next to him. She opened the
boxes and took out the ropes. Bowline, handcuff knot,
anchor’s bend—all tied the same way and all with a
stevedore’s knot as stoppers. She was right. He made
a
habit
of
tying
knots
a
certain
way.
Another
little
piece of the puzzle.

As
she stood looking at the knots, basking in the
pleasure of her discovery, something about the profile
of Green Doe’s skull peeking out from its plastic con
tainer caught her attention.

Diane
cradled
the
back
of
Green
Doe’s
skull
in
her
hand and inspected his face, drawing a finger over the
long nasal bone. The nasion, the place between the eyes
where the nasal bone meets the frontal bone, the top
most landmark that defines the height of the nose, was
only
slightly
indented.
The
bridge
of
the
nose
con
nected with the frontal bone, making an almost flat
plain. Below the nose opening, the anterior nasal spine
was quite
long. Green Doe
had a large
nose. What
she found interesting was not the size of the nose, but
that if Green Doe had decided
to have a nose job,
it would have been of the same type that Blue Doe
had. Odd.

Diane
glanced at her watch. It was late. If she ex
pected to get any sleep, she didn’t have time to do
another skeleton, no matter how loudly this one now
called to her.

‘‘Damned
interesting,’’
she
muttered
to
herself
as
she reluctantly put the skull back in the box.
She locked the osteo lab and walked back to the
crime lab. She was glad to see that her crew was gone.
They all needed sleep. The night operator was settled
behind her desk reading a book. Diane waved as she
left by the museum entrance.
Diane rarely used the lab’s private elevator that al
lowed her to come and go and never set foot in the
museum.
Walking
through
the
large
exhibit
rooms
gave her psyche a rest after dealing with all the grim
aspects of crime.
When she stepped out of the third-floor crime lab
wing and closed the door behind her, the change in
ambiance was startling. The shiny metal antiseptic fur
nishings and white walls were replaced by dark, rich
wood
walls,
granite
floors,
vaulted
ceilings
and
the
sweet smell of wood polish. She crossed the overlook
that allowed a view onto the huge first-floor dinosaur
room, where she saw the silhouette of David sitting
on a bench in the dim light. Looking at the wall paint
ings, no doubt. The pictures of dinosaurs didn’t exactly
have the soothing quality of Vermeers, but she herself
often
unwound
by
sitting
quietly
and
looking
at
them—or at any number of wonderful things in the
museum.
She took the museum elevator to the first floor and
joined
David in
the dinosaur
room
with the
skeletons
of
the
twenty-five-foot-long
T.
rex
–looking
Alber
tosaurus,
the
suspended
pteranodon
with
his
bony
wings
nearly
spanning
the
width
of
the
room,
the
aquatic
tylosaurus,
the
three-horned
triceratops,
and
the newly arrived brachiosaur.
She
sat
down
beside
David
on
the
bench.
‘‘Relaxing?’’
‘‘Looking at that little unicorn.’’
The museum’s wall paintings were done in a style
of dated realism that gave them a charming antique
quality. A distinctly unique characteristic of the twelve
wall
murals
was
the
tiny
unicorns
hidden
in
each
painting. Diane never tired of looking at them. Appar
ently, neither did David, for she often found him sit
ting
with
the
Mesozoic
Era
dinosaurs
or
in
the
Pleistocene room.
‘‘What are you thinking about it?’’
‘‘Some
days
I
think
he’s
going
to
get
trampled.
Other
times,
I
think
he’s
just
going
along
with
the
big guys.’’
‘‘They
never
get
trampled,’’
said
Diane.
‘‘They’re
magic.’’
‘‘That’s
good
to
know.
Sometimes
I
worry
about
them.’’
‘‘You don’t have to worry.’’
David’s
voice
was
calm,
quieter
than
usual.
‘‘My
divorce became final today,’’ he said.
Another casualty of our work,
Diane thought.
‘‘You okay with that?’’
‘‘Actually, yes. I don’t feel much about it. It’s not
that I don’t still love Carolyn, but . . . I don’t feel it
anymore—if that makes any sense whatsoever.’’
‘‘I guess I can understand that.’’
‘‘I
thought
we
might
get
back
together.
She
was
excited when I got a job at a museum.’’
‘‘Then
she
discovered
you
would
still
be
doing
crime scenes?’’
‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘You know, David...’’
‘‘I need to do this. I need to see justice done. De
spite all the little political undercurrents, this is a good
place to work.’’
‘‘Yes, it is, despite all the political undercurrents—
as long as you can swim.’’
David
smiled.
‘‘That
was
a
good
thing—sending
Neva to work the car. She just left here a while ago.
Found some blood. A few fibers and some miscellany.
She’s getting a warrant to go over Mayberry’s trailer.’’
‘‘Blood’s not good.’’
‘‘There wasn’t much of it. So who knows? We may yet
have a happy ending. What do you think’s going on?’’
‘‘I don’t have a handle on it yet.’’ Diane told him
about the discoveries she found on the skeletons.
‘‘Interesting about the noses. What you figure?’’
Diane
shrugged
her
shoulders.
‘‘Coincidence,
maybe? Perhaps a familial relationship? Maybe they
met each other in Blue’s doctor’s waiting room?’’
‘‘It’ll be interesting to compare DNA. The M.E. did
take samples, didn’t she?’’
‘‘Sure. But you know how DNA is. Good chance
it’s
all
degraded.
I’m
going
home
to
get
some
rest.
You head home too.’’
Diane left the dinosaur room, walked down the hall
way past the museum store and cut through the pri
mate
section
to
the
main
lobby
of
the
museum.
Chanell Napier, the museum’s head of security, was
at the desk.
‘‘What’re you doing here this late?’’ asked Diane.
Chanell was slender and athletic. She had dark skin,
a round face and black hair cut close to her head.
‘‘I like to rotate out with the night guards once in
a
while.
Keeps
me
up
to
date
on
what
goes
on
at
night. I get to know the night custodial staff.’’
‘‘I
hope
not
a
lot
goes
on
here
at
night.’’
Diane
laughed.
‘‘It’s
pretty
quiet.
Just
a
lot
of
polishing
of
these
shiny floors and walls. I like things quiet.’’
‘‘So do I. Carry on.’’ Diane passed through the dou
ble doors that led to the private area of the museum
where she and many of the other staff had their of
fices. The office corridors were empty. The carpeting
looked freshly vacuumed, so she guessed the custodial
staff had already cleaned here.
She unlocked the private door to her office. On her
desk was a stack of mail Andie had left for her. She
sifted through the
letters and placed them
in stacks
according to how urgent they were. Some she simply
threw away.
Kendel had put a stack of requisition forms from
the museum curators with notes attached to each re
quest saying whether she thought it had merit.
‘‘I
think
this
is
a
good
idea.
Good
price,’’
read
one note.
Diane looked at the form. The paleontology curator
had found a small museum that was selling its collec
tions. They had two casts of velociraptor skeletons for
what really did appear to be a good price. The casts
were damaged, but the paleontologist assured Diane
that this wasn’t a problem.
Velociraptors
were
the
speedy,
vicious
villains
of
Jurassic
Park
.
Everyone
who
came
to
the
museum
wanted to see one. They were not nearly as large as
the
Albertosaurus
or brachiosaur, but the movie gave
them a long-lived reputation. Diane wrote on Kendel’s
note to tell the paleontologist to purchase the skele
tons. When they were assembled, it would mean an
other round of good publicity for the museum.
The next item was another memo from Kendel. She
discovered that members of the family who gave them
the
mummy
had
amulets
that
had
come
from
the
mummy’s wrapping. She thought she could negotiate
a good deal on them. Diane agreed with that too. As
long as they had a mummy and a case, it would be
good to have everything that went with it. They cer
tainly couldn’t afford an entire Egyptian collection.
The last item was from Korey. He had X-rayed the
mummy, and she could come up to the conservation
lab at any time and take a look. He had also scheduled
an MRI for next week.
Things seemed to be going along nicely at the mu
seum. So far, working two jobs hadn’t been too much
of a problem—and she really didn’t need that much
sleep. She wrapped up the museum business and left
her office, walking directly into the Pleistocene room.
She
liked
the
museum
at
night.
The
cavernous
rooms were dark except for a few low-level lights fixed
close to the floor so that one could navigate through
the museum at night without running into the exhibits.
Museum lighting was its own problem, light being a
destructive force, yet completely necessary. The light
ing of a museum must take into consideration angle,
distance, strength and type of light, and requires more
mathematics than one might think possible for what
for most people is a commonplace matter. The light
must have destructive UV rays filtered from it, but it
also
must
render
accurate
representations
of
color.
Diane had staff whose only job was to take care of
the lighting.
Her footfalls echoed a hollow sound on the granite
floor.
Walking
though
the
Pleistocene
hall
was
like
being in the twilight area of a cave—that place where
only
a
small
amount
of light
filters
in
from
the
en
trance
and
gradually
diminishes
to
total
darkness.
Here she could see only the silhouettes of the skele
tons of the mammoth, the giant sloth, the huge shortfaced bear.
Caves are places of dramatic opposites. Some rooms
and passages are so small you have to suck in your
breath just to get through. Others, Diane could have
fit
her
entire
museum
inside.
The
big
rooms
of
mapped
caves
have
glorious
names—the
Chandelier
Ballroom,
Pellucidar,
Cathedral
Hall,
Grand
Ball
room, Throne Room, or sometimes simply Big Room.
Diane had the same love of the museum as she did
for caves. It was calming to her, which was why she
always took the museum route out of her crime lab.
She opened the huge doors to the Pleistocene room
and entered the main lobby again. Chanell wasn’t at
the
front
desk.
Probably
making
her
rounds.
Diane
unlocked the outside doors and walked out into the
hot night air. Her car was parked almost alone in the
middle of the lot. As she walked toward it, an uneasy
feeling crept over her.
She looked around, wondering what might be caus
ing the feeling. The lights from the high poles illumi
nated
the
entire
parking
lot.
Beyond
the
lights
was
darkness. It never bothered her before. She scanned
the dark border, looking for something that she might
have subconsciously seen from the corner of her eye.
Nothing.
Silly,
she thought, as she clicked the button
that unlocked the driver’s side door of her Taurus.