Dead Guilty (17 page)

However,
it
was
the
mummy’s
lumbar
vertebrae
that
were
the
most
interesting.
She
pulled
out
two
other X-rays, a side and back view, from the envelope.
He also suffered from vertebral scoliosis, and on the
margins of the body of his lumbar vertebrae there was
a significant degree of lipping.

Interesting.
While the condition of Red Doe’s lum
bar vertebrae was caused by excessive arching of her
back,
the
mummy’s
condition
was
caused
by
a
pro
longed
position
in
the
opposite
direction.
The
mummy,
whoever
he
was,
had
spent
long
periods
bending over in a seated position.

Diane
stared at the X-rays, but saw the mummy and
tried to visualize the person. What came to mind was
a small Egyptian statue she had seen—a scribe in a
cross-legged seated position. The kind of inflammation
in
the ischium
was
also called
weaver’s bottom,
be
cause of the prolonged sitting in front of a loom that
weavers had to endure. Could the mummy have been
a scribe? Or maybe he was some artisan, like a jewelry
maker, who was seated over his work for hours a day.
She liked both of those possibilities.

Diane
examined the remainder
of the X-rays and
found more evidence of arthritis, but no other condi
tions.
Perhaps
when
they
discovered
when
he
had
lived, her observations would have more meaning.

Andie
brought
in
more
mail
for
Diane
to
go
through.
‘‘Probably more requests for mummy tissue,’’ said
Andie. ‘‘Want me to go ahead and deal with it?’’
‘‘Please.’’ Diane handed them off to Andie.
‘‘You’ve been looking at the X-rays. What did you
find?’’ Andie pulled up a chair and sat with her elbows
on the desk and her chin in her hands.
Diane went into detail about all of the conditions
and
her
speculation
about
what
they
meant.
‘‘We
should get even more information from the CT scan.’’
‘‘This is so cool. Do you think he could be a pha
raoh? Maybe one with a hobby?’’
‘‘I
hope
not.
We’ll
have
to
give
him
back
to
the
Egyptian government if that turns out to be the case.
They like to keep their heads of state.’’
‘‘Oh, I never thought of that. Well, scribe is good.
Maybe he was an architect. Did they spend more time
drawing up plans or building stuff?’’
‘‘I have no idea. You’ll have to look to Jonas and
Kendel for details of Egyptian life. I’m going to have
Neva
draw
his
face
from
the
data
we
get
from
the
CT scan.’’
‘‘Okay, now, that is really neat. This is as much fun
as when they were assembling the
Albertosaurus
.’’
Diane nodded. ‘‘It is, isn’t it?’’
Andie went back to her office, and Diane returned
to her paperwork. She checked her E-mail and was
relieved to find no more messages from whoever sent
her the flowers. Probably just a crackpot.
She reviewed several proposals, signed several order
forms for everything from pens to chemicals and an
swered
queries
from
her
board
members.
As
she
worked, an idea came to her about the lone rope from
the crime scene. She jumped up from her chair, looked
on her shelf for her book on knots and headed for
the lab, telling Andie where she would be as she flew
out the door.

Diane’s
museum office was in the opposite wing from
the crime lab. She enjoyed the walk across the mu
seum, even when she was in a hurry. She liked seeing
the visitors going from room to room, looking at the
exhibits, and hearing children’s delighted voices squeal
upon seeing a display upon which the museum staff
had worked hard. But today Diane’s mind was focused
on
a
nagging
problem,
and
she
bypassed
the
crowd
and took the east wing elevator to the third floor and
hurried across to her osteology lab. David met her in
the hallway coming from the crime lab.

‘‘Andie
said you were on your way up.’’
‘‘Yes. I have an idea.’’
‘‘Chief
Garnett
called.
He
traced
the
E-mail
and

talked
to Officer Lenderman and his daughter.’’
Diane’s cell rang and she held up a finger motioning
David to wait while she answered it. The ID showed
Frank’s work number.
‘‘Hey,’’ he said. ‘‘Loved seeing you last night.’’
‘‘Me, too. Frank, I’m...’’
‘‘I traced the origin of the E-mail. It was from inside
the museum.’’
Diane
stood
there,
dumfounded.
‘‘Inside
the
museum?’’
David began nodding in agreement.
‘‘You need to tell Garnett,’’ said Frank.
‘‘I will, Frank. Thanks. David’s here, and I think he
has some more information on it.’’
‘‘Good. Call if you need me.’’
‘‘Inside the museum?’’ Diane asked David.
‘‘Yes. Garnett talked to the daughter. She’s a stu
dent at Bartram and comes to the museum to work
on
a
paleontology
project.
She
said
she
sometimes
uses the computers in the restaurant—that’s where the
E-mail originated from.’’
‘‘She sent it?’’
‘‘She says not. She remembers sending some mes
sages and leaving the computer for a minute or two
when she saw some friends come into the restaurant.
That’s when someone must have hijacked her E-mail
account. She was still logged on.’’
‘‘Damn. Does she remembering seeing anyone?’’
‘‘No. I think she was very focused on herself and
her friends.’’
Diane put her hands to her face. ‘‘Not the museum.
This is my worst nightmare.’’
‘‘Wait a minute,’’ said David. ‘‘Why are you worried
about the museum? Whoever this guy is, he’s focused
on you.’’
‘‘But
he’s
coming
into
the
museum.
I
can’t
have
that. Did Garnett have anything else to say?’’
‘‘Yes,
he
wants
you
to
meet
him
at
his
office
in
about an hour. He’s meeting again with Sheriff Braden. I have a file full of reports you can take to each
of them.’’
‘‘Good. I prefer going over there to them coming
here.’’
‘‘They’re talking to Kacie Beck,’’ David said.
‘‘Kacie Beck. Isn’t she...’’
‘‘Chris Edwards’ girlfriend.’’
‘‘Why is that?’’
‘‘She
was
there
very
close
to
the
time
of
death.
They’ve discovered a witness who puts her there even
earlier than she reported—a lot earlier than her 911
call.’’
‘‘I can’t see her hitting him over the head, dragging
him
to
the
closet
and
tying
him
up
like
that.
She
weighs what, a hundred ten pounds at the most?’’
‘‘They’re thinking maybe she had help—like Steven

problem.’’
‘‘What’s that?’’
‘‘It was in the report, but I’m not sure it registered

with
them. On Chris Edwards’ nightstand we found a
digital
thermometer—the
under-the-tongue
variety
that keeps the last temperature reading. Whoever used
it had a 103-degree fever.’’

Diane
pictured
Lynn taking
the
liver
temperature
at the crime scene. She had commented on the early
rigor. ‘‘If it was Chris who had the temperature, that
changes the time of death by several hours.’’

‘‘Well,
damn. That’s all I need is to tell Lynn Web
ber she got another time of death wrong.’’
Jin
came
bopping
through
the
hallway
from
the
crime lab and stopped when he saw Diane and David.
‘‘You tell her about the time and temperature thing?’’
David nodded. ‘‘Just now.’’
‘‘The babe at the scene didn’t have a fever,’’ said
Jin.
‘‘You sure about that?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘Sure,
I’m
sure.
How
you
going
to
break
it
to
Doc Webber?’’
‘‘Gently,’’ said Diane. She thought for a moment.
‘‘Okay,
she’s sure
to
have noticed
at
the autopsy
if
Edwards had any kind of infection.’’
‘‘One would think,’’ said David.
‘‘The medicine on the nightstand with the thermom
eter suggests that it was upper respiratory,’’ said Jin.
Diane recalled Chris Edwards coughing a time or
two at the Cobber’s Wood crime scene.
‘‘Lynn Webber probably hasn’t alerted Chief Garnett about any possible change in the time of death,
so here’s what I want you to do. David, call her at
home if she is taking time off, and tell her about the
thermometer
and
the
fever,
and
you
are
concerned
about someone else being in the house and you want
to know if Edwards was sick. That ought to give her
enough of a nudge to call Garnett herself.’’
‘‘You’re going to tell him too?’’ asked Jin.
‘‘Of course,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’m just trying to keep
the
peace.’’
She
shrugged.
‘‘I
probably
shouldn’t
bother, and just let the chips fall.’’
‘‘Speaking of letting things fall,’’ Jin said. ‘‘It was
cut clean with a sharp knife.’’
Diane stared at him for a moment. ‘‘What was?’’
‘‘King Tut’s jewels.’’ Jin pushed his hair out of his
eyes.
‘‘Ouch,’’ said David.
‘‘It
was
postmortem.’’
Jin
grinned
broadly.
‘‘That
must have been some unwrapping party,’’ Jin contin
ued on his way through the museum. ‘‘I’ve sent a sam
ple of his blood off,’’ he
called as he went through
the doors into the museum proper.
‘‘Garnett wants to see me in an hour?’’ said Diane.
David nodded. ‘‘Okay. I have just enough time to test
an idea about the rope.’’
‘‘Don’t tell me you
discovered what kind of knot
was tied.’’
‘‘Maybe.’’
‘‘This I gotta see.’’ David followed Diane into her
lab.
Diane
flipped
to
the
index
of
her
handbook
and
looked under
hitches
until she found the knot she was
looking
for.
She
found
the
page
and
lay
the
book
down next to the rope that she had trussed up with
rubber bands.
‘‘They
sort
of
look
alike—in
a
way,’’
said
David,
comparing the illustration in the book and the rope
on the table, tilting his head as if that would give him
the ability to see the resemblance more clearly.
Diane took the rubber bands off the experimental
rope and looked around the lab for a place to tie the
hitch. The cabinets. She studied the rope a moment,
looking at the green and red marks that represented
kinks and chafes. She secured one end of the rope to
the
handle of
the cabinets
above the
counter. Then
she made a crossing turn at the first green mark and
a
bight
farther
down
at
another
green
mark.
After
several complicated twists and loops, she placed one
of the loops over the handle of the bottom drawer,
tightened
the
rope,
and
stood
back,
surveying
her
work.
The knots matched up with her green marks. The
red marks along the rope also met up with each other,
showing that they had rubbed against each other. The
loop around the lower cabinet handle also fit with her
color coding—a kink with chafing on the inside made
by rubbing against something it was looped around.
‘‘Okay, what is it?’’ asked David.
‘‘A
waggoner’s
hitch.
It’s
not
common,
but
when
I noticed how the chafing spiraled around the rope,
something nagged in my brain and I finally thought of
this
hitch.
It’s
a
hitch
for
tying
down
a
load
in
a
wagon. It’s kind of a cool knot. It’s very secure under
tension.
But
once
the
tension
is
released,
the
hitch
comes loose easily. It has to be tied and set properly
for it to work right. One of its characteristics is that
if
the
knot
is
repeatedly
tied
in
the
same
place,
it
really wears down the rope by the friction against it
self from movement.’’
‘‘I’m impressed. I really didn’t think you could re
create the knot in that scrappy piece of rope. How
ever,
not
to
rain
on
your
parade,
does
this
get
us
anywhere?’’
‘‘It was once used by waggoners. Some truck drivers
still use it.’’
‘‘Okay, that does get us somewhere.’’
‘‘It doesn’t mean he’s a truck driver, but he did use
this piece of rope often. That’s why it’s in such bad
shape. It is the same kind of rope used in the hangings,
and
it
was
found
at
the
crime
scene.
It’s
at
least
suggestive.’’
‘‘Truck
drivers
travel quite
a
bit—perfect
occupa
tion for someone who wants to hide what he does in
his spare time. Sheriff Braden’s going to like this.’’
‘‘Would you photograph this?
I’m going to pay a
visit to the Rosewood Police Department.’’

The
Rosewood
police
department
was
housed
in
a
new building constructed in a more modern style than
the red brick 1900 courthouse to the left and the 1960s
pink
granite
post
office
across
the
street.
From
the
time Diane walked in, she could feel the unfriendly
looks in her direction.

Even
Frank’s friend, Izzy Wallace, looked sheepish
when he saw her. He still didn’t like her. He no longer
had a reason. Before, he at least had the excuse of
the untruths told about her. Now he apparently just
couldn’t break the habit. He turned from the officer
he
was
talking
to
and
forced
a
big
smile
onto
his
fleshy face.

Frankie
boy?’’
‘‘He’s back from San Francisco. Convicted his guy,
so he’s happy. How are you doing?’’
‘‘Just fine. Just fine. I understand that’s quite some
crime lab you have over there at the museum.’’
He
grinned,
and
Diane
thought
she
saw
some
of
the policemen look at each other and snicker. They
probably knew she was
pressured into housing it at
the museum. Diane smiled sweetly.
‘‘We’re very proud of it. Good to see you, Izzy.’’
She turned to the sergeant on duty. ‘‘I’m here to see
Chief Garnett.’’
She showed him her identification, and he nodded
and pointed up the stairs.
Homicide squad took up the entire second floor of
the
building.
She
passed
reception
and
entered
the
main
squad
room.
It
was
an
open
area
with
desks
marking each detective’s work space. One wall of the
room was a giant magnetic dry-marker whiteboard for
attaching
photographs,
drawing
social
networks,
or
for
simply
thoughts.
interaction
patterns,
giving
pictures
to