Dead Guilty dffi-2

by Beverly Connor

  ‘‘Lots of bugs. David’s got quite a collection. That’s about all so far.’’

  Neva stood up from the farthest grid square from Diane. ‘‘I have something here.’’

  Diane

  searched

  covered.

  crossed the grids that had already been and stooped to see what Neva had dis

  ‘‘It’s just a rope,’’ she said, ‘‘but . . . well, there’s a lot of rope here, and...’’

  The rope had been covered in leaves and lay in a loose tangle on the ground. It was hemp, like the death ropes, had no knots and showed signs of chafing in several places.

  ‘‘This is good,’’ said Diane. ‘‘The killer might have dropped it. Take a picture of it, do a sketch, but let me take it up.’’

  ‘‘Sure.’’

  ‘‘When you sketch it, take note of how the rope crosses itself.’’

  Neva nodded. ‘‘David and Jin said you do forensic knot analysis. I’ve never heard of that.’’

  ‘‘It comes in handy. It’s amazing how many you run across in criminal investigations.’’

  ‘‘Can you really find out anything from knots?’’

  ‘‘You can make some good guesses about the per son who tied them. How good he is at tying knots, perhaps what kind of job or hobby he’s had.’’

  ‘‘I always thought a knot was a knot.’’

  ‘‘Oh, no, there’s a specific knot for every purpose. Some are commonly used, and some are rare.’’

  ‘‘This rope doesn’t have any knots in it. Will you be able to tell anything from it?’’

  ‘‘I doubt it, but you never know. There might be bloodstains or fibers on it that’ll give us information. If we’re lucky, we might be able to find out where it came from. It’s a good find.’’

  Neva nodded. ‘‘I was afraid it might be just trash.’’

  ‘‘There’s no such thing as ‘just trash’ at a crime scene.’’

  After Neva photographed the rope, she lay a grid over it and began drawing a sketch of it onto the graph paper.

  Diane stepped out of the crime scene and walked around the perimeter toward David. She noticed that Neva occasionally cast nervous glances in her direc tion. Neva was a friend of Janice Warrick. Warrick’s mishandling of the Boone family crime scene had re sulted in her demotion in the Rosewood police depart ment, a demotion that was blamed on Diane by almost everyone in the department.

  ‘‘How’s it going?’’ she asked David.

  ‘‘We’re ready to take them down.’’

  He stood in the cleared area under the corpses, looking like he was about to be hanged himself. Diane understood. She hated this part—placing once living people into body bags.

  Chapter 5

  The only other time Diane had been in a hot autopsy room was in the South American jungle. Dr. Lynn Webber’s lab in the regional medical center was sti fling. The smell of death weighed over the room like a heavy blanket of rotting flesh. The metal tables, white glass-door cabinets, appliances and tools that went so well with the usual chill of the autopsy room looked out of place and dreadful here. Diane wanted to back out of the overwhelming stench and heat and go someplace else.

  Through a window on the opposite side of the main lab Diane could see the isolation room designed for the autopsy of badly decomposed and infectious bod ies. The diener, servant to the dead, stood by a table occupied by one of the hanging victims—extended on a shiny metal table, neck curved around the torso so that the head sat beside the shoulder.

  Lynn was in her office on the phone, the door open. Her voice carried out to the autopsy room.

  ‘‘I asked you two days ago to come fix the air condi tioner.’’ Pause. ‘‘I don’t care if it’s the vents, not the unit. The temperature is too high in here. I have dead bodies rotting on my tables. No amount of lemon juice is ever going to get the smell out of my hair.’’

  Lynn tapped a pencil on a pad of paper as she lis tened. ‘‘I don’t care if both your ankles are sprained. A man your age has got no business being on Roll erblades. Let me remind you that I’m a woman who knows how to kill and leave no evidence to show up in the autopsy. I want this problem fixed, and I don’t mean tomorrow.’’

  She hung up the phone and walked out into the lab. ‘‘I hate to talk to maintenance men. It’s like talking to a blackmailer. They know they’ve got you by the balls.’’

  She motioned toward suits of protective gear lying on the countertop. The two of them slipped on lab coats, face shields and gloves and entered the isola tion lab.

  The room had two tables, shiny metal rectangles atop bright white cabinets. Between the two tables hung scales for weighing organs. Across the room stood a series of cabinets, metal countertops and sinks. Everything sparkled, from the glossy blue floor to the metal surfaces—everything except the blackened corpse with stiff blond hair and an exceptionally long neck.

  ‘‘I was so happy to get this new containment room. But it’s been one problem after another.’’

  ‘‘Can’t the hospital administration do anything?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘You’re talking about Jack the Bean Counter.’’ She sighed. ‘‘I’m sorry it’s so unbearable in here. Right now we have to keep working and put up with it.’’

  ‘‘My grandma found somebody hanging like this when she was a girl,’’ said the diener. ‘‘Neck all long like a snake. She took it as a sign.’’

  ‘‘A sign of what?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘That she and her family should move to Atlanta.’’ ‘‘Did they?’’

  ‘‘Sure ’nuff, they did.’’ He started toward the door, taking off his face shield. ‘‘I’ll be right back.’’

  Diane and Lynn watched the lean young black man walk out of the room.

  ‘‘I never ask Raymond what he’s doing when he gets that blank look on his face.’’ Lynn shrugged, then shifted gears. ‘‘I’d like to start with the clothes. We’ll have to cut the sleeves, but I’d like to inspect the body before the hands are untied.’’

  The material was stiff and hard to dropped from the body to the metal cut. Maggots surface of the table as they worked. They were putting the clothes in a bag when the diener came back in. He put on his gloves and took the bag of evidence.

  ‘‘I’ll label. What we calling the body?’’

  ‘‘Blue,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Blue,’’ said Raymond. ‘‘I guess that’s as good a name as any.’’

  ‘‘When we cut them down, we tied blue, red or green cord around both cut ends of the rope so we could match the ropes again after they were sepa rated.’’ Diane pointed to the blue string wrapped around the end of the rope that marked it and kept it from unraveling.

  The noose was still tight around the neck, sunk deep into the flesh under the chin. Diane would hate for any family member to ever see their loved one like this. They would never be able to think of their rela tive again without seeing this image. She stood back and watched as Lynn and her diener tended to the painstaking external examination of the body.

  Lynn talked into a hanging microphone as she de scribed what they found. ‘‘The victim appears to be a female at this point...’’

  A pounding on the window startled Diane. The three of them looked up to see a man in his thirties standing in the outer autopsy room, looking through the window at them. He was dressed in gray trousers, white shirt and floral tie, holding a hand over his mouth and nose. Lynn flipped the intercom switch.

  ‘‘What’s going on in here?’’ he said. ‘‘Step out here for a minute.’’

  ‘‘I’m in the middle of an important examination, Jackson. What do you want?’’

  Jackson bent over and gagged. ‘‘Why does it smell so bad in here?’’

  The three of them looked at Jackson with their eye brows raised enough to make deep furrows in their foreheads.

  ‘‘We have a rotting corpse on the table,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘It would be a little better if the air
-conditioning sys tem were working, but it’s not.’’

  ‘‘The air conditioner is working in the rest of the building.’’

  Lynn glared at him for a moment before she spoke. ‘‘Well, it’s not working in here. What brings you here anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you visit the autopsy room.’’

  ‘‘I was talking to a patron when this . . . this . . . horrific odor came into my office.’’

  ‘‘The maintenance man said it’s a problem with the vents. You’ll have to talk to him.’’

  ‘‘He’s home sick.’’ As Jackson spoke, he breathed through his mouth and tried holding his nose.

  ‘‘Surely he’s not the only person the hospital em ploys who can fix air conditioning.’’

  ‘‘He’s the only one who can look into this. We’ve had an injudicious use of vacation time, and the other man who does this kind of work is out of town.’’

  ‘‘Then you’ll have to call in someone from outside the hospital.’’

  ‘‘We don’t have the money.’’

  ‘‘Then we’ll have to put up with the smell until Mar lon gets back.’’

  ‘‘This is impossible.’’

  ‘‘No,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘Just difficult.’’

  ‘‘I’ll see what I can do.’’ He hurried out of the lab. The door slammed behind him.

  ‘‘Bean counter?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘That’s him. I won’t ask you what you did, Raymond.’’

  ‘‘That’d be best, Ma’am.’’

  ‘‘Yes, well, getting back to Blue. We gave the clothes an initial inspection before you got here,’’ said Lynn, speaking to Diane. ‘‘It’s hard to tell, but the coveralls look relatively new.’’

  ‘‘From Sears,’’ said Raymond.

  ‘‘Maybe at your lab you’ll be able to pick up some more information,’’ said Lynn.

  ‘‘How’d a crime lab in a museum come about any way?’’ Raymond asked Diane as he rolled the body over while Lynn held the head and neck.

  ‘‘The Rosewood Police Department made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.’’

  ‘‘Uh huh,’’ said Raymond.

  ‘‘The city and county assessed the museum’s prop erty value so high it couldn’t pay the taxes. The mayor and chief of detectives suggested that if we would op erate a new crime scene evidence laboratory in the museum for the city, the city would arrange for the money from the real estate taxes paid to be returned to the museum for services rendered.’’

  ‘‘Sounds to me a great deal like extortion,’’ Lynn said. ‘‘A deal with the devil,’’ Raymond said.

  ‘‘Collaborative partnership is the operative term.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, we get that all the time here too,’’ Lynn said. ‘‘Whenever I hear that, I know my money is about to be cut and my workload increased. Makes me want to gag more than this smell.’’

  ‘‘From the mayor’s point of view, it’s a perfect solu tion. They get a new crime lab, and we get to keep the museum and the taxes we can’t afford to pay. As an added bonus, they send us one of their employees.’’

  ‘‘That would be Neva?’’ asked Lynn.

  ‘‘She’s kind of caught in the middle. She’s not to blame.’’

  ‘‘So, your forensic anthropology unit was swallowed up by the city’s crime lab?’’

  ‘‘No. I wouldn’t stand for that. The crime lab is separate. Half my salary and that of my forensic staff is paid by the city to operate their crime lab. It takes a team of accountants to do the paperwork. The one big downside of it is that on paper, I and a chunk of my staff are part-time employees of the city. Some times the mayor and the chief of police forget that it’s only on paper.’’

  ‘‘Bureaucracies are certainly wonderful,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘I think I’ve found something on the ankle here— some kind of tattoo.’’

  Diane walked over and took a look at the blackened skin with a barely visible darker design.

  ‘‘I see it,’’ said Raymond. ‘‘Can’t tell what it is. Want me to get the lamp?’’

  ‘‘I think we have enough slippage so we don’t have to burn off the skin. Get me a damp piece of gauze.’’

  Raymond fetched the gauze and gave it to Lynn. Diane watched her gently rub the skin, removing a film of epidermis, revealing what looked like a yellow, blue and red butterfly.

  ‘‘Nice,’’ said Raymond.

  ‘‘Let’s go ahead and get a picture of this—use the large-format camera,’’ said Lynn.

  Raymond retrieved his Horseman VH Metal Field Camera from a closet.

  ‘‘I want a close-up, and another that shows the en tire ankle.’’

  Lynn and Diane watched Raymond remove the bulky camera from the overhead mount and place it on a tri pod. He put a metal ruler just under the tattoo, framed the shot and snapped the first picture. He moved in for a close-up. ‘‘Okay, you want some digital too?’’

  Lynn nodded. ‘‘Just to play it safe.’’

  ‘‘Dr. Webber never expects pictures to come out.’’

  ‘‘It’s because I’m such a poor photographer,’’ she said.

  Diane retrieved more blue cord and a strip of plastic from her case while Raymond snapped photographs of the butterfly tattoo, duplicated all his shots with a digital backup, and filled out the photo log.

  ‘‘Diane, I assume you want any internal insects when I go inside.’’

  ‘‘Yes. If you think she may have been sexually as saulted, any larvae around the vagina might be useful.’’

  ‘‘How’s that?’’ asked Raymond.

  ‘‘A rapist’s DNA can show up in the maggots who have ingested it.’’

  Raymond laughed out loud, a deep-throated laugh as if that was a joke played on the perp.

  ‘‘Diane, why don’t you go ahead and remove the rope. I really need to get her arms untied so I can go inside.’’

  ‘‘Can Raymond make photographs of the process?’’ ‘‘Sure.’’

  ‘‘There’s two ropes around the neck,’’ Diane ex plained as Raymond set up her shots. ‘‘The noose and another loop of rope that leads down to the hands. If she moved around too much trying to free her hands, she’d only choke herself.’’

  ‘‘Umpf,’’ the diener grunted. ‘‘You want all the knots, right?’’

  ‘‘Yes, and I need you to show how the ropes around the hands and the neck are connected. You may have to angle the camera to see down through these loops on the hands to get a good view. It looks like the perp used multiple knots. Have you had much experience photographing knots?’’

  ‘‘None,’’ said Raymond. ‘‘No, that’s not right. There was that suicide that came in last winter. We don’t usually see the rope.’’

  ‘‘I need you to photograph me removing the rope. I need to have a record showing that the knots did not change as a result of my intervention.’’

  ‘‘How ’bout I use the thirty-five millimeter for that.’’

  ‘‘That’s fine.’’

  Diane began with the noose. First, tying the plastic around the knot to stabilize it. After securing the knot, she pulled the rope away from the skin, bringing bits of flesh with it. She slipped one end of the cord under the rope and tied it off. Three inches away she tied the other end of the cord around a section of rope. Each end of the cord had a tag that Diane labeled, indicating how the rope was oriented to the victim. As she worked, she heard Raymond snapping the camera over and over.

  She cut the noose with a sharp scalpel. She slipped the noose off over the head. She placed the rope in a flat box and stuffed more plastic inside to hold it still and labeled it. She repeated the step with the second loop around the neck.

  ‘‘You have to do that procedure with each loop of the rope, don’t you?’’ said Lynn.

  ‘‘I have to keep the rope as intact as I can. For tight rope arrangements like these on the hands, I made a plastic-covered, log-shaped form to slip

  to keep them from becoming through the
loops

  tangled.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t realize

  Raymond.

  ropes were so involved,’’ said

  ‘‘There’s a lot you can learn about the perp from them. This one is going to be more complicated,’’ said Diane as she examined the ropes. ‘‘This guy knew his knots.’’ She grinned up at Lynn and Raymond. ‘‘I love it when they know how to tie knots."

  Chapter 6

  ‘‘You really like analyzing knots, don’t you?’’ said Lynn, her eyes widened in a puzzled stare.