Dead Guilty (13 page)

They
all met in the conservation lab on the third floor.
Jonas Briggs, his blue eyes twinkling, entered carrying
a folder. Kendel came in soon after. She was, as usual,
impeccably
dressed,
today
in
a
pearl
gray
suit
with
pearls
at
her
throat
and
clipped
onto
her
ears.
Whereas
Andie
had
several
body
piercings,
Kendel
didn’t even have her ears pierced. She was carrying a
package, an amused expression apparent on her face.

Korey
emerged
from
his
office.
‘‘You’re
going
to
like
this,
Dr.
F.’’
He
led
the
four
of
them
into
his
newly
refitted
X-ray
lab.
Highlighted
by
the
view
boxes that lined one wall, four X-rays of a skull stood
out, as in relief.

‘‘I
have
some
good
pictures
here.’’
He
dimmed
the lights.
Diane looked at the first X-ray of the front view of
the
face
of
a
man
who
was
possibly
four
thousand
years
old.
He
had
distinct
cheekbones,
square
jaw,
rounded forehead. She examined each X-ray in turn
before she said anything.
‘‘Is that what I think it is?’’ said Jonas, pointing at
a dark area surrounding tooth roots in the maxilla.
‘‘If
you
think
it’s
evidence
of
an
acute
periapical
abscess, it is,’’ said Diane.
‘‘That doesn’t sound good,’’ said Andie.
‘‘It wasn’t,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’m sure it caused him a
tremendous amount of pain. Look here at the fistulas
above
the
left
first
and
second
premolars
and
first
molar.’’
‘‘Fistula?’’ asked Andie.
‘‘It’s a pathway the body creates to drain bacteria
from an infected area, in this case, the roots of at least
three teeth.’’
‘‘Oh, gross.’’
‘‘Do you think it was bad enough to have caused
his death?’’ asked Jonas.
‘‘Yes,
this
could
very
well
have
been
what
killed
him.’’
‘‘Well, we made quick work of that,’’ said Andie.
‘‘Now, can you tell how old he was?’’
Diane traced the tooth line with her fingernail. ‘‘He
has his third molars—his wisdom teeth—so that’s at
least past twenty-one. His other teeth are worn pretty
badly, which pushes his age upward. The sutures on
his skull’’—Diane pointed to the X-ray showing the
side view and ran a finger along a faint line—‘‘these
irregular lines here, are almost fused. That pushes the
age up considerably—say, at least past forty. I’ll need
to examine the entire set of X-rays, but our mummy
was well into middle age.’’
‘‘I want to know what’s in that package you brought
with you, Kendel,’’ said Jonas. ‘‘You’ve had this little
smile on your face since you got here.’’
Kendel sighed. ‘‘A member of the family that gave
us
the
mummy
sent
this.’’
She
opened
the
box
and
dug around in the bubble wrap. ‘‘They said it belongs
with the mummy.’’
She
pulled
out
a
cut
glass
jar
with
a
lid
that
ap
peared to be sealed with wax. Something was inside
the jar, and Diane and the others looked closely.
‘‘Is that his finger?’’ said Andie.
‘‘No,’’ said Jonas. ‘‘Definitely not his finger.’’
‘‘Oh, my God, that’s not his...’’
‘‘Apparently, it is,’’ said Korey. ‘‘Must have broken
off during the unwrapping.’’
‘‘That’s
terrible,’’
said
Andie.
‘‘The
poor
guy
ex
pected his body to be safe throughout eternity, and
he ends up the main attraction at a party where he
loses his jewels. At least they put it in a pretty jar.’’
‘‘How confident are we that this belongs to him?’’
asked Diane.
‘‘His is missing,’’ said Korey.
‘‘The
fact that
this
is
a Victorian
pickle
jar
. .
.’’
began Kendel.
‘‘A pickle jar?’’ exclaimed Andie, as if this added
insult to injury.
‘‘Yes. It’s authentic, so the time frame is right.’’
Diane remembered that jars and their history were
an expertise of Kendel’s.
Korey took the jar and held it up. ‘‘This looks like
an old seal. We’ll need a DNA sample from both to
be sure.’’
‘‘Why don’t we just kind of put it with him when
we wrap him back up?’’ said Andie.
Jonas
cleared
his
throat.
‘‘That
organ
is
the
best
place to find good blood residue. If we want to look
for certain parasites and the like.’’
‘‘Parasites? In his . . .’’ Andie couldn’t finish.
‘‘That’s true,’’ said Kendel. She handed the jar to
Diane. ‘‘Your forensic lab should be able to sample it
for us, shouldn’t it?’’
Diane held the heavy leaded glass container in her
hand. ‘‘Yes. We can handle it.’’ The thought of ex
plaining this to Garnett flashed through her mind.
‘‘We’ll be able to get some good samples of flesh
when we endoscope him,’’ said Korey.
‘‘We
are
more
likely
to get
a
good
DNA
sample
from the root of a tooth,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We’ll extract
one when we do the endoscopy.’’
Andie looked horrified.
‘‘We’re doing the least invasive tests on him,’’ said
Diane.
‘‘He
will
be
completely
intact,
for
the
most
part, when Korey rewraps him.’’
‘‘I know,’’ said Andie. ‘‘It’s just that this isn’t what
he expected from his death.’’
‘‘I know, but we will treat him with respect,’’ Jonas
told her, ‘‘and we will be getting a lot of useful infor
mation
from
him
about
ancient
illnesses.’’
Jonas
shifted his gaze from Andie to the X-rays of the skull.
‘‘The
dead
can
have
a
lot
to
say,
and
I
think
it’s
important to listen to them.’’
‘‘Andie, I need you and Kendel to go through the
mail from people wanting access to the mummy and
tell them that we will be glad to share with them the
information that we gather.’’
‘‘Will do,’’ said Andie.
‘‘We
need
to
make
a
form
letter,’’
said
Kendel.
‘‘These requests will continue.’’
‘‘Okay.
I’ll
rely
on
you
to
say
something
diplo
matic,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Speaking of form letters, Andie,
I’ve been getting another round of complaints about
the
crime
lab
being
attached
to
the
museum.
Look
through the ones I haven’t deleted and send that Email
we
generated
the
first
time—the
one
thanking
them for their concern, et cetera.’’
‘‘I’ll
get
on
it.’’
With
a
last
incredulous
glance
at
the Victorian jar in Diane’s hand, Andie bounced out
of the lab.
‘‘I’m going to Virginia to the home of one of the
relatives of our mummy donor,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘They
have a collection of amulets that purport to have come
from the mummy wrappings. I’m going to take a look
and try to wheedle them away from them. Failing that,
I’ll get pictures.’’ She hurried to catch up with Andie.
‘‘If anyone can wheedle things away from people,
it’s Kendel,’’ said Jonas. ‘‘I don’t know if you’ve no
ticed, but after you’ve talked to her awhile, you really
want to please her.’’
‘‘Yeah,’’
said
Korey.
‘‘Underneath
that
soft
femi
nine exterior, she’s tough. You kind of get the idea
she can be ruthless if she needs to be.’’
‘‘I’m
glad
you
two
approve
of
my
choice,’’
said
Diane.
‘‘She can sure get the job done,’’ said Korey. ‘‘She’s
got a set of lungs on her too.’’
Jonas
raised
one
of
his
white
bushy
eyebrows.
‘‘Lungs?’’
‘‘You were here when she found the museum snake
in her desk drawer,’’ said Korey. ‘‘Her voice carried
all the way up here.’’
‘‘Well, it was a shock,’’ said Jonas. ‘‘And speaking
of getting the job done, I’m in the process of translat
ing the case our mummy friend came in. I’m working
with
an
Egyptologist
friend
from
the
University
of
Chicago.’’
‘‘Is there any way we can date the case?’’ said Diane.
‘‘I took the liberty of taking a few scrapings from
the inside to send off for analysis. The translation will
also
tell
us
something.
I’ve
sent
photographs
to
my
friend.’’
Diane looked from Jonas to Korey. ‘‘It looks like
all of you have all this well in hand. I’ll be in the lab
if you need me to sign something.’’
Before Diane went back to the other bones in her
lab, she asked Korey to send the X-rays to her office
so she could study the complete set on her light table
that
evening.
She
was
getting
as
excited
about
the
mummy as the others. It felt good. She would like to
have explained to the people who didn’t want a crime
lab next to the museum that for the people working
in the lab, the museum was a welcome oasis.

Jin
looked through the glass into the jar and back
at Diane, his face somewhere between amazement and
laughter. ‘‘Nice piece of glass he’s in,’’ said Jin.

‘‘I
need a blood sample. My people in the museum
tell me that this is the best place to get it.’’
Jin nodded. ‘‘All that vascular tissue it has is needed
to—’’ He grinned. ‘‘Well, you know.’’
‘‘Indeed. Will you take care of it?’’
‘‘You
came
to
the
right
place.
Did
you
break
it
off?’’
‘‘No. He came to us in that condition.’’
‘‘Want me to let you know if it was whacked off
or broken?’’
‘‘Please.’’
‘‘I
knew
there
would
be
perks
in
working
here,’’
said Jin, taking the Victorian pickle jar to his work
station.
Diane started back to her lab, but abruptly turned
and went to Jin’s desk—a large work space with mi
croscopes, glassware and chemicals. It could have been
the space of a mad scientist.
‘‘Jin, did you leave anything in my car?’’
‘‘Leave anything? Like what?’’
‘‘Like anything.’’
‘‘No. Was I supposed to?’’
‘‘No. Just asking.’’
Diane didn’t really believe that Jin would have sent
her flowers, but you never know.

She
laid out the bones of Green Doe in order, head
to toes, on the shiny metal table. As with Blue, she
started with the pelvis, measuring, recording and ob
serving. The pattern of Green Doe’s pubic symphysis,
the front articulation of the two sides of the hips, was
similar to Blue’s—rough and unworn. He hadn’t lived
the
years
it
takes
to
smooth
out
the
ridges
and
in
crease beveling along the margins. Green was around
the same age as Blue Doe. Young—late teens or early
twenties. There were no markings on his pelvis, nor
were
the
muscle
attachments
overly
prominent.
He
hadn’t been a particularly muscular fellow.

She
went to Green’s skull, which had strikingly in
teresting facial features. Her mind flashed to the clay
models
that
Neva
had
presented
to
them.
The
fact
that she was an artist wasn’t on her vitae—it wasn’t
something
that
Neva
thought
employers
would
find
important. But it was important to Diane. She picked
up the house phone and rang the lab. David answered.

‘‘Jin
showed me the mummy’s crown jewels. Inter
esting,’’ David said.
‘‘I imagine it will generate all manner of conversa
tion among my staff.’’
‘‘How could it help but?’’
‘‘Is Neva there? Would you send her to the bone
lab?’’
‘‘Sure thing.’’
‘‘Oh, and David. You didn’t happen to leave any
thing in my car, did you?’’
‘‘No. What did you find there?’’
Diane told him about the flowers and the card. ‘‘I
didn’t think you or Jin sent them, but so far, no one
I know has.’’
‘‘That’s really odd. I take it Frank didn’t send them,
or Mike?’’
‘‘No, they didn’t.’’
‘‘Maybe you should get one of us, or museum secu
rity, to walk you to your car for a few days.’’
‘‘It’s odd, but I don’t think it’s ominous.’’
‘‘Nevertheless . . . it doesn’t hurt to be careful. I’ll
send Neva over.’’
Diane met Neva at the entrance to her lab and let
her in. Neva stopped at the entrance and gazed around
the lab and over at the table where Green Doe was
laid out.
‘‘I haven’t seen this lab. It’s big,’’ she said. ‘‘You
didn’t put it on the chief’s tour.’’
‘‘No, I didn’t. Technically, it’s part of the museum.’’
Neva looked uncomfortable . . . a little embarrassed.
‘‘I want to thank you for sending me to process the
car by myself.’’
‘‘I had confidence you could do it. And now—why
I
asked
you
in
here.
You’re
about
to
discover
that
there are hazards in letting your employer know you
have a talent.’’

Neva’s
frown deepened as Diane said the word
haz
ard,
as if bracing herself for a dressing-down, but by
the time Diane reached the end of the sentence, Neva
simply looked puzzled.

Diane
smiled. ‘‘Let me show you another room that
wasn’t on the tour.’’
She
picked up
the skull
of Green
Doe and
led
Neva
into
the
vault.
Neva’s
gaze
moved
over
the
room, resting on each piece of equipment, then on
Diane.
‘‘What is this room?’’
‘‘This is where I keep my special toys.’’
Diane turned on the computer and equipment and
set Green Doe on a platform in front of a machine.
‘‘This is a laser scanner. The laser reads the topogra
phy of the skull as it rotates on the pedestal and gen
erates a matrix of points. It looks like a wire frame
on the computer screen. Other software uses a skindepth
database
to
reconstruct
and
display
a
textur
ized face.’’
Diane
turned
on
the
computer
and
called
up
an
image. ‘‘This is a reconstruction I’ve already done of
Ethel—Fred and Ethel are the skeletons in the corner
of the lab.’’
She
showed
Neva
the
sequence
of
images
for
Ethel from the wire frame to the reconstruction of
a thirty-year-old woman with dark hair and eyes, a
small nose, thin lips and high cheekbones. The face
had
the
masklike,
lifeless
look
of
a
computergenerated
face,
but
it
was
a
remarkably
detailed
face.
‘‘Wow. This is some incredible software.’’
‘‘It is. It’s the absolute state of the art.’’
‘‘You want me to run it?’’
‘‘I’m assuming that if you can do the detailed sculp
tures that you do, you can also draw.’’
Neva nodded. ‘‘I wanted to take art, but my parents
discouraged
it.
They
said
you
can’t
make
a
living
with art.’’
‘‘Well, you are about to. There are several prob
lems with facial reconstructions. One is characteris
tics that the bones don’t show—the shape of the eyes,
lips and tip of the nose. And
these
are the things
that trigger recognition. People recognize the tip of
Karl
Malden’s
nose
without
seeing
any
other
feature.’’
‘‘Who’s Karl Malden?’’
‘‘Someone whose nose you would recognize if you
were my age. I don’t suppose you know who Jimmy
Durante is either.’’
Neva held up a hand as if she held a hat, quivered,
and sang ‘‘Hot-cha-cha-cha-cha!’’ in so perfect an im
pression of Jimmy Durante that Diane almost fell off
her chair laughing.
‘‘I used to entertain my relatives as a kid with that.
Amazing what you can get by with as a kid.’’
‘‘Your talents are apparently endless.’’
Diane shook her head and returned her attention
to the computer-generated photograph of Ethel.
‘‘We could show this to Ethel’s mother and there is
a good chance she wouldn’t recognize her. Her mother
knew
her
as
an
animated
person,
with
mannerisms,
facial expressions, and gestures. She knew all the de
tails of her daughter’s face, and this just doesn’t have
all those fine details that make up the person she knew
as her daughter.
‘‘However, if we were to show this to a store clerk
who bagged Ethel’s groceries, he might recognize her.
He may not remember what the tip of her nose looked
like, but he remembers the general look of her. What
we
need
is
pictures
that
both
a
mother
and
an
ac
quaintance can recognize. What I would like you to
do is take an image like this and draw a more realis
tic picture.’’
Neva
put
her
hands
to
her
face
and
pressed
the
bridge of her nose. ‘‘Okay. I can do this.’’
‘‘It means you will have to learn the software.’’
‘‘I’m good with computers.’’
‘‘Good.
Start
by
looking
at
computer-reconstruction
files
to
with how it all works. Then we’ll do the three hanging
victims. After we get a CT scan of the mummy, I’ll
show you how to use the information from the scan
to reconstruct his face.’’
Neva nodded.
‘‘You’ll
also
have
to
learn
the
bones
of
the
skull
and how the bones affect the look of the face,’’ said
Diane.
‘‘And
you’ll
have
to
pay
attention
to
other
details too. Sometimes knowing things like the person
walked with a pronounced limp might give you a hint
Fred’s
and
Ethel’s
familiarize
yourself
about how to portray a facial expression. Or if a toxi
cological report on a decayed victim comes back show
ing
a certain
kind
of thyroid
medication, you
might
guess
that
the
victim
has
a
bug-eyed
look
that
is
a
side effect of some of those medications. A big part
of this work is intuitive.’’
Diane watched her look at the skull sitting on the
platform.
‘‘I’ve seen how they do those skin-depth points to
make a sculpture of a face. But I’ve never understood
how they know what the nose looks like.’’
‘‘You can’t know the shape of the tip. However . . .’’
Diane
took
the
skull
and
sat
down
at
a
desk,
mo
tioning Neva to draw up a chair. ‘‘The width of the
nose
is
indicated
by
the
size
of
the
nasal
opening.
The bridge of the nose and the nasal spine—this sharp
projection
at
the
bottom
of
the
nasal
passage—
determine the length of the nose. A large nose needs
a strut to hold it up. That’s what the anterior nasal
spine does. If you draw a line coming off the end of
the nasal bone and one coming from the nasal spine,
where the lines meet gives you an idea how long the
nose was. The angle of each line can suggest the tilt
of the nose.’’
Neva nodded. ‘‘That makes sense.’’
‘‘Another effect of a long nasal spine is upward
angling of the skin between the upper lip and the
nose. Notice what happens when I pull on the lower
part of my nose.’’ Diane pulled the bottom of her
nose forward, stretching the skin above the lip. ‘‘In
a shorter nose, that part of the face is parallel to the
plane
of
the
face,
but
in
a
long
nose
it
angles
forward.’’
‘‘So
this guy
would have
that
characteristic,’’ said
Neva.
‘‘I believe so. Look how far the tip of the nasal
spine
is
from
his
maxilla—where
his
upper
teeth
are.’’
Neva nodded and reached out and touched the skull
with her fingertips, along the spine and down the max
illa. She stopped abruptly and drew her hand away.
‘‘This is one of the hanging victims, isn’t it? How did
his bones get so clean?’’
‘‘Yes, he is one of the victims. The diener at the
morgue cleans the bones after we take all the samples
we need from the flesh.’’
‘‘What a job—I’d hate to have to do that.’’
‘‘He
seems
to
enjoy
it.
Having
the
proper
equip
ment helps.’’
Neva laughed nervously. ‘‘But it has to be a mess.’’
‘‘Not a lot messier than dealing with his clothes—
and you had to do that.’’
‘‘That’s true. Thank God for latex gloves.’’
‘‘And Febreze,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Oh, God, yes. When we got out of the woods, I
had to spray myself down good with Febreze to kill
the
odor.
You’d
think
the
woods
would
be
well
ventilated.’’
‘‘Another feature that is a consequence of a large
nasal
spine
like
this
one
is
nostrils
that
appear
arched.
That
shape
exposes
a
larger-than-normal
portion
of
the
inside
of
the
nose—the
surface
of
the septum.’’
‘‘Yeah, I’ve seen that in people.’’
Diane
touched
a
point
on the
bridge
of
the
nose
directly between the eyes. ‘‘This is the nasion. It’s a
craniometric point. Here just below the opening of the
nose is the nasospinale. For physical anthropologists,
the length of the nose is measured between these two
points. However, the relative position of the bones as
they are situated in the face determines how we per
ceive the length of the nose.’’
Neva furrowed her brows, looking hard at the skull
as Diane continued.
‘‘See how the bridge of the nose stands away from
the face, forming a straight line from the forehead to
the
nose?
It’s
different
from,
say,
mine.’’
Diane
rubbed her finger across the nasal bone of the skull
and then touched her own.
‘‘His is kind of like those Roman statues.’’
‘‘Exactly. That would make
the nose look longer.
In this kind of nose there is a perception that the nose
is longer than it actually is because your eye sees the
nose as starting at the forehead, rather than where the
nose actually starts.’’
‘‘Okay, I see. What about people with a bump on
their
nose,
like
the
mummy?
What
would
the
bone
look like?’’
‘‘The nose is supported by bone and cartilage. You
see the bone here in Green Doe’s skull, but the carti
lage was destroyed by the cleaning of the bones. When
a
body
decomposes,
the
cartilage
decomposes—
though more slowly than flesh. The bump on the nose
in the mummy resulted when the supporting cartilage
decomposed
and
collapsed
following
death,
and
the
nose drooped, revealing the end of the nasal bone—
making it look like a bump. The mummy wrappings
have pressed the nose down so
that the nasal bone
has a prominence that it wouldn’t have had while he
was
alive.
Looking
at
all
the
pictures
of
Egyptian
mummies
in
our
reference
books,
it’s
easy
to
think
that Egyptian pharaohs all had nose bumps—making
them all look alike.’’
‘‘That’s funny. I did think that all those pharaohs
had bumps on their noses.’’
‘‘Bet you thought they were old and lean, too.’’
Neva grinned. ‘‘Yes, I did.’’
‘‘In
more
modern
skeletal
remains,
you
can
tell
from the upward angle of the lower part of the nasal
bone that some noses probably had a bump. A person
can appear to have a bump on their nose if they have
damaged the cartilage supporting the tip of the nose,
like from an accident or just getting hit hard in the
nose.’’
‘‘And that would show up in the skull?
‘‘Not necessarily. You might see a break in the nasal
bone,
but
you
wouldn’t
know
how
the
break
mani
fested itself. Is that more than you wanted to know
about how to determine the shape of the nose from
the skull?’’
‘‘No. This is good. I’ve seen all those nose types in
people. It never occurred to me that it had anything
to do with their bones. How about the eyes and lips?’’
‘‘Those are more of a problem. You know how far
apart
the
eyes
were
because
you
have
the
sockets.
But you don’t get much help beyond that. Information
about gender and race helps, along with knowledge of
the geometry of the face—like where the corners of
the lips are in relation to the other features. And age
plays a big part. As you get older the eyelids sag, the
lip
line
isn’t
as
distinct.
As
I
said,
much
of
this
is
intuitive. You do the best you can with the informa
tion
you
have.
But
you
go
as
far
as
you
can
with
the bones.’’
The phone on Diane’s desk rang, lighting up the in
house
line.
Diane
reached
and
pressed
the
speaker
button.
‘‘Fallon, here.’’
‘‘Dr.
Fallon,
it’s
Andie.
I’ve
been
going
through
your E-mail, and there’s one that’s kind of strange.’’
‘‘Strange? How?’’
‘‘I’ll read it to you. It says: ‘Sometimes the dead are
guilty.’ ’’ Neva and Diane exchanged glances.
‘‘The
dead
are
guilty?
What
does
that
mean?’’
asked Neva.
‘‘I don’t know. I’m going downstairs. You stay here
and work with the software.’’
Diane
left
her
lab
and
headed
for
the
elevators.
Andie was sitting at her desk when she entered the
private door to her office.
‘‘What
do
you
think
they’re
talking
about?’’
said
Andie, giving up her seat at Diane’s computer.
Diane looked at the message.
Sometimes the dead
are guilty.
That was all, no signature, no explanation.
Diane looked at the sender. JMLndrmn23. It wasn’t
anyone she recognized. But then, who did she know
that would send her a message like this?
Sometimes the dead are guilty. A prank? An uneas
iness began creeping up Diane’s spine to the back of
her neck.
‘‘Are you going to respond?’’
Andie’s voice startled her. She’d forgotten she was
still standing there by the desk.
‘‘I don’t know.’’ But she found herself clicking the
_REPLY
button, and she wrote a simple note,
What do
you mean?
and hit the
SEND
button.
‘‘What do you think it does mean?’’ asked Andie.
Diane
shook
her
head.
‘‘Probably
some
selfrighteous person who doesn’t like the museum being
connected to the crime lab.’’
She also was beginning to think that it wasn’t such
a good idea. But Rosewood had her between a rock
and a hard place on that one.
Odd, in any case. Something else she had recently
described as odd. Oh, yes, the flowers. That was odd
too.
David
appeared
at
the
door,
interrupting
her
thought. ‘‘Garnett just called. We have another case.’’