‘‘Climax is a good cave. Great geology. Lots of fos sils. The front rooms are pretty easy. It gets harder farther in.’’
‘‘Where is it?’’
‘‘Near the Florida border.’’
‘‘Anything closer?’’
‘‘There is a cave I’ve been interested in visiting.’’ He stuffed the list back in his pocket. ‘‘It’s not easy to get the owner to allow people in. It’s a big cave and not too hard, I’ve heard. Some of the deeper rooms and tunnels are for experienced cavers. It also has some good geology. It’s only twenty miles from here.’’
‘‘Do you think you could get permission?’’
‘‘Yeah, I think so. A guy in my caving club is tight with the man who manages the property. We’ll have to take him.’’
‘‘That’s fine. Do you know if it’s been mapped?’’
‘‘Some of the tunnels, but I haven’t seen the maps. You thinking about mapping it?’’
‘‘If it’s an interesting cave and hasn’t been mapped, yes. That’d be fun.’’
‘‘I’ll let you know something in a couple of days.’’ Mike stood up and started for the door, hesitated, smiled, turned again and went out the door.
Diane looked through the papers Andie had left on her desk. Nothing that couldn’t wait. She needed to get back to the autopsies.
Chapter 8
The diener was placing another of Diane’s bodies on the table when she reentered the autopsy containment room, suited, masked and gloved, her hair under a plastic cap. The rooms were cool now, the odors man ageable, the way they should be.
This victim was called Green, after the color of cord Diane had used to secure the ends of the cut hanging rope. Green had hung fifteen feet from Blue.
Lynn and Raymond were chatting away about the Braves as they cut away the clothing. The only part of the conversation Diane understood was Raymond saying, ‘‘Unh unh, ain’t no way.’’
Lynn looked up and nodded as Diane approached. ‘‘This one is about the same age as Blue,’’ she said. ‘‘I’d say in his early twenties, maybe late teens.’’
‘‘Too young to die,’’ said Raymond.
‘‘We have some insect specimens for you from Blue.’’ Lynn motioned toward the counter where several jars sat. ‘‘We collected live larvae as well as dead husks. Raymond enjoys that sort of thing, don’t you, Raymond?’’
‘‘You going to hatch those bugs?’’ asked Raymond.
‘‘That’s the only way the entomologist can be cer tain about the species of the larva and how long the life cycle is. It’ll help fix the time of death.’’
‘‘They haven’t been there long. I’d say just a couple of weeks, from the rate of decay,’’ said Lynn.
‘‘They were hanging off the ground,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Shouldn’t make that much of a difference,’’ said Lynn.
This was the first time Diane had cause to question Lynn’s competence. But she didn’t say anything, re membering
had shown
outshown.
that earlier on at the crime scene Lynn a sensitivity to being contradicted or
However, to be fair, it takes experience with hang ing victims to realize that it can indeed make much of a difference. Rate of decay is highly dependent on the environment. Bodies decay differently in Alaska than in Hawaii, or the Sahara, or Portobelo. And they decay differently out in the open, or hanging, or sealed in an enclosed space, or buried shallow, or buried deep, or buried in a limestone environment. It also makes a difference if they have open wounds, such as the cutoff fingertips.
It’s a matter of the body tissues being accessible to the insects and microbes that cause decay. And the presence of chemicals or elements that interfere with microbial and insect action by causing the body to dehydrate or to become preserved.
There are so many permutations and combinations that unless you’ve had experience with them all, there is no way to just know. Had these bodies been discov ered at a later date and had Red, the corpse Diane witnessed fall, lain on the ground where the insects could get to him, he would appear to have died earlier than the others, even though their time of death might be the same.
Diane thought of explaining, but it would just sound like a lecture, it would offend Lynn’s sensitivity and it would make Lynn look bad in front of Raymond. She’d simply use what information David collected from his reared insects and make her estimates of the time of death.
Diane removed the rope from Green the same way she had from the first victim. Raymond took the pho tographs. Green was tied in exactly the same way as Blue—hands behind the back in a handcuff knot with the standing end of the rope in a loop around the neck and the extra rope from the working end wrapped four times around the wrists with the end tucked between the loops.
The noose was tied the same way as on the first— a bowline to make a loop to pull the rope through to create a noose that tightens under tension. She hadn’t expected the knots to be any different, and they weren’t. She carefully packed and labeled the rope.
‘‘I was wondering if you would take me caving sometime,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘A simple cave for a rank beginner.’’
‘‘Neva wants to go caving too. She’s also a beginner. We should be able to find a good starter cave we can go to.’’
Lynn grinned. ‘‘I have always loved caves, under ground lakes, all those things. One of my favorite movies is Journey to the Center of the Earth. Loved that underground lake.’’
‘‘Caving’s not usually that eventful,’’ said Diane.
Both Raymond and Lynn laughed.
‘‘You wouldn’t catch me going down a black hole,’’
said Raymond. ‘‘Heard about too many people getting
themselves stuck. You sprain your ankle and it’s hell
trying to get you out.’’
‘‘You learn to be careful,’’ Diane said. ‘‘Knowing
your ropes and knots helps too.’’
‘‘I think he’s had his appendix out,’’ said Lynn. She
rubbed the area with a damp piece of gauze. ‘‘Let’s
get a photograph of this, Raymond. Have you ever
had to be rescued?’’ she asked Diane.
‘‘No, but I have been on a rescue team. It can be
a dicey situation, for certain.’’ Diane collected several
surface specimens of insects while Lynn and Raymond
continued the external examination of the body. Green was male. Taller than the woman, though it
would be hard to tell exactly until Diane could mea
sure the bones. Now, from his head to his feet his
stretch length was eight feet seven inches.
‘‘Other than the appendix scar, there are no visible
external markings. No needle marks or signs of defen
sive wounds that are visible.’’ Lynn talked into the
recorder in a monotone voice, quite different from her
conversational tone.
Lynn didn’t run Diane out for the autopsy this time.
Diane stayed and continued to collect insect specimens. At the crime scene and on the bodies a full range
of insects were present—insects that feed on flesh, and
insects that fed on the flesh-eating insects. The only
kind she didn’t see were the ground beetles that feed
on dried flesh. All the dried flesh was hanging well
out of their reach.
Lynn made the Y incision and pulled back the flaps
of tissue, increasing the putrid smell in the room. Lynn
was petite, even looked delicate next to the autopsy
table, but she had no problem cutting away the chest
plate, gaining her access to the block of organs. ‘‘You know,’’ said Lynn, ‘‘I really prefer fresh
bodies.’’
Diane had to agree as she watched Lynn and Ray
mond loc
ate the subclavian and carotid arteries. ‘‘Go ahead and tie them off, Raymond—if you can. I’m getting a lot more decay in this one than the Blue girl. Let’s get these organs out and, Diane, you’re wel
come to any insects you can find.’’
Raymond did most of the cutting to remove the
organs and took them to the other autopsy table for
Lynn to examine. There were very few insect larva in
the chest cavity, but Diane found several good speci
mens in the lower abdomen.
‘‘Go ahead and get at the brain,’’ Lynn told Ray
mond. ‘‘I hope it’s not mush.’’
As Lynn examined the organs, Diane told them
about the unexpected mummy.
‘‘So he just kind of showed up on your doorstep?’’
said Raymond. ‘‘Now, that’s cool. Dr. Lynn, I’m going
to cut the neck, if you can . . . never mind, I think I
can manage it. These long necks are a mess to deal
with, I’m telling you.’’
‘‘So you’ll be opening an Egyptian exhibit?’’ asked
Lynn.
‘‘At some point perhaps. We’ve got a lot of research
to do before then.’’
‘‘Oh, this fellow had a heart condition,’’ said Lynn. Diane looked over her shoulder at the darkened
heart Lynn had opened up.
‘‘See here?’’ Lynn pointed her scalpel at a valve.
‘‘He had a mitral valve prolapse. You know,’’ she
turned her head toward Diane, ‘‘this might show up
in his bones.’’
‘‘You think it may be associated with skeletal
abnormalities?’’
‘‘It’s observed in about two-thirds of patients with
this condition.’’
‘‘Would he have been under a physician’s care?’’
asked Diane.
‘‘It’s not severe, so he may have been basically
asymptomatic. That’s not uncommon. He may
have had to take antibiotics when he had dental
work.’’
The sound of the Stryker saw was of short duration.
Raymond was skilled. The sound of the calvarium
being removed didn’t have the characteristic pop of a
fresh body.
‘‘Pretty soft,’’ said Raymond. ‘‘We may be able to
fix it.’’
Out of the corner of her eye Diane saw him care
fully remove the jellylike brain and put it in a jar
of formalin.
Little by little they were collecting bits of informa
tion about the victims—tattoos, scars, bad heart valve.
There was a good chance that all these things would
add up to a critical mass of information leading them
to the identity of the victims.
Surely, someone was missing these people—unless
they were the lost people, the invisible class that
slips through the cracks and becomes easy prey for
killers.
It was almost 9:30 P.M. by the time they finished the
third autopsy and Diane arrived at the museum with
the evidence for her crime lab. David was there, tak
ing notes and checking on his insects.
‘‘I called the weather bureau. It’s been pretty redun
dant for the past couple months—dry and hot. I’ve
duplicated the environment for my babies here.’’ He
pointed to his rearing chambers.
‘‘Here’s some more insects. Larva and bug parts.’’
She handed them over and began logging in the cloth
ing and rope she had collected from the autopsies. ‘‘Discover anything new?’’ David asked.
Diane sat down in a chair and stretched out her legs
in front of her. ‘‘Some. Right now the vics all look to
be in their twenties. Blue is a female and has a tattoo
of a butterfly on her ankle. Green’s a male. He’s had
his appendix out and has a heart condition. Not seri
ous. Red’s another female. She has a tattoo of a hum
mingbird on the right side of her lower back and
another one of a rose on the upper part of her left
breast.’’
‘‘Good tattoos?’’
Diane thought a moment. ‘‘Yeah, they are. Very
intricate.’’
‘‘Expensive, then.’’
‘‘Could be.’’
David ran his hands through what was left of his
hair—a thick curly fringe around his head. ‘‘That’ll
help.’’
‘‘Did you happen to find any fingertips?’’ Diane
asked him. ‘‘None of the bodies had theirs.’’ ‘‘Nope. We did find where a truck was parked.
From the cable marks on the tree branches, I’d say
he hoisted them up with a winch.’’
‘‘How’s Neva doing? Jin said you took her out for
a walk-through.’’
He wavered his hand from side to side. ‘‘She’s about
fifty-fifty. Hasn’t decided if she likes this work yet.
They just assigned her here, you know, didn’t ask her
if she wanted it. But she’s no different than any other
newbie I’ve trained.’’
‘‘How are you doing?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘You don’t have to watch me. I’m not going to
self-destruct.’’
‘‘I’m not worried about your sanity, just your
happiness.’’
David Goldstein had shown up literally on Diane’s
doorstep, asking for a job. The massacre of their
friends at the mission in South America had left him,
like her, on the edge of sanity—burnt out and with
no place to go. Diane’s loss of her daughter had so
overwhelmed her she didn’t really see the grief the
others were feeling from losing their friends. David
was adrift when he arrived in Rosewood. Diane was
glad to be able to give him a job. It surprised her that
he requested to work in her new crime lab. ‘‘Are you sure you want to do that?’’ she had asked
him. ‘‘Don’t you want to get away from everything
we’ve seen?’’
‘‘Don’t you?’’ It was a reasonable question.
‘‘Diane—you know how it was. You stand in those
concrete rooms splattered with dark stains you know
are going to be blood, and you look at the shackles
and dirty rusted tables and you know that no matter
how many people you interview, how many deposi
tions you get, those responsible will never be put on
trial. Most of the time, the best we could hope for
was to have some poor schmuck arrested who was just
guarding the place.
‘‘But this here...abig percentage of the time,
we’ll bring the killers to justice. I need to do that.
Bring killers to justice. I need to know that what I’m
doing will make a difference.’’
‘‘Our record out there was a little better than that,’’
Diane had whispered almost to herself, but she knew
what he meant. Rarely did they get to the top of the
food chain.
‘‘I’m doing okay,’’ he said finally. ‘‘What’s nice
about the museum here is when things get tough with
the crime evidence, I can go look at rocks, or shells or the big dinosaurs. I particularly like the shells. The colors and the curved shapes are very soothing. Re member how Gregory
paintings, particularly
liked to go look at beautiful the Vermeers, whenever we
were near a museum? It’s like that.’’
Gregory had been their boss at World Accord Inter
national and a mentor to Diane. Gregory even carried
postcard-sized representations of famous paintings.
The everyday scenes painted by Vermeer were his fa
vorite. He could look at them for hours.
She had adopted Gregory’s love of looking at beau
tiful art when she needed a break from the grim reali
ties of human rights violations. She understood what
David meant about the museum. It was a refuge for
her too.
‘‘What’s that new medical examiner in the next
county like?’’
‘‘Dr. Lynn Webber. Nice. Hospitable.’’
‘‘And that means?’’
‘‘Just what I said. Seems pretty competent.’’ ‘‘You don’t like her?’’
‘‘I didn’t say that.’’
‘‘You didn’t have to. I was listening to your ringing
endorsement.’’
‘‘I got the impression that she kind of likes to be
the star.’’ Diane hesitated a moment. ‘‘I think she’s
going to get the time of death wrong. She doesn’t have
much experience with hangings.’’
‘‘And for that you don’t like her?’’
‘‘I didn’t say I don’t like her. Just that she reminds
me a little of Leah.’’
‘‘A cherry bomb waiting to go off?’’
Diane made a face. They had worked with Leah for
a while in South America. She was a bit of a prima
donna, albeit a competent one.
‘‘I shouldn’t have said anything. She’s been very
gracious. Even wants me to take her caving.’’ ‘‘You going to take her?’’
‘‘I thought I’d ask Mike about some easy caves.’’ ‘‘Mike? Mike Seger? I thought you’re dating
Frank Duncan.’’
Diane was taken aback. ‘‘I’m not dating Mike.
We’re just talking about going caving. He’s an
employee.’’
‘‘Don’t you guys have to take your clothes off to
cross a body of water in a cave—to keep the water
clean?’’
‘‘You can leave your underwear on.’’
‘‘So, do you wear Victoria’s Secret or those cotton
jobs?’’
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