Carnosaur Crimes by Christine Gentry Page A

metal stool, crossing her long legs at the ankles. “Have a seat.”
    â€œThanks.” He sat across from her, his back toward a table bearing the gracile, re-created bust of a black child. He noticed Chloe had no wedding band. “When did you get into all this?”
    â€œI prefer to think that it got into me,” she corrected with a dazzling smile. “I suppose this is quite a shock for you. When we broke up, I was just a lowly dispatcher for the local sheriff’s department, and you were a trooper climbing the tin-plate ladder. Sheriff Combs told me he was sending a homicide detective, but I had no idea who it was.”
    â€œYou ducked the question. What happened to get you into facial reconstructions?”
    â€œOh, I decided that being just an observer of the criminal action wasn’t my calling. After you left, I quit the department and got a Ph.D. in physical anthropology at MSU Missoula. Next came enough forensic experience to get me certified by the American Board of Forensic Anthropology. Afterwards I went to the Scottsdale Artist’s School and got certified in forensic reconstruction. I worked in Arizona for quite a while but ended up in Billings a year ago as an associate professor with the College of Technology.”
    Dorbandt stared into her deep blue eyes. “Sounds
very
impressive to me, Chloe.”
    She shrugged. “It’s worked out all right. I teach some 3D computer imaging classes, get access to their facial reproduction and photo superimposition software, do research, and run my studio business helping police, coroners, and pathologists identify faceless people.”
    â€œYou’re a miracle worker. It takes a focused intuition and lots of fortitude to make the conscious determinations used to re-create a human personality from nothing but cold bone. I’d never have the patience for it. Sitting for hours on a stool would kill me. I’m a mover.”
    â€œI remember,” she replied fondly, “but the real miracle is that I do what I love and manage to make enough money to survive financially. This is strictly a labor of love, Reid. There’s always some lost human soul calling out to be recognized and named. Their numbers seem endless, and I often feel I’m not working fast enough. Sometimes I have to be careful not to go plum crazy thinking about it. Now what about you? How do like Mission City?”
    â€œI love it. It’s a small town with big ideals. Of course, I like coming home once in a while so I can brush the cow patties off my boots and tromp around the Rimrock Mall, eat Greek food at the Athenian, or listen to live jazz at the Golden Pheasant. I haven’t gone native yet.”
    â€œAny family?”
    Dorbandt hesitated, though he was glad she’d broached the subject first. She seemed curious in an anxious sort of way. He took that for a good sign. “No. Not yet.”
    â€œStill haven’t settled down, huh? I’ve been married and divorced. No kids.”
    â€œSorry to hear that.”
    Chloe sighed. “Well, my career didn’t help. I’ve been obsessed about it. I was juggling a lot of things, and Cody got lost in the shuffle. How long are you staying in Billings and where?”
    â€œI’m bunking at the Motel 6 until the day after tomorrow. That should give us time to discuss the case in detail. How are you doing the reconstruction?”
    â€œSince this is a rush job, I’m going to do a completely computer-generated photo rather than the usual clay bust. Clay requires at least ten to fourteen days of very concentrated work, and is more labor intensive than digital work. Besides studying the skull characteristics, placing the twenty-one skin markers, and filling in with clay, I’ve got to make a mold of the completed head with synthetic rubber reinforced with fiberglass plaster, sand it, paint it, and retouch the bust. Your supervisor wants a quicker