matched, categorized, imaged, mapped, and correlated all those database items.
“Find all this useful, do you?” he said at last.
“Extremely,” said Diane. “Data from evidence analysis is what physically links the criminal to the crime. Everyone leaves something behind or takes something away from a crime scene.”
“Can’t replace good old- fashioned talking to people, sizing them up,” he said.
“It’s not meant as a replacement,” said Diane. “Interviewing and sizing up bring to bear your knowledge, your years of experience, and your judgment toward the solution of a crime. Data from analysis of physical evidence provides the hard proof that the law requires. It’s our job here to extract all the information that evidence can give us.”
She saw David working in one of the cubicles on the other side of the room. He glanced at her and looked back down at whatever he was working on.
Diane led the sheriff to the forensic anthropology lab, a large white-walled room with shiny tables, sinks, microscopes, measuring devices, and Fred and Ethel, the male and female lab skeletons standing in the corner. Whereas the crime lab was affiliated with the city of Rosewood, the osteology lab belonged to the museum. It was completely her domain.
“What do you do here?” he asked, looking at the metal table. He touched it on the edge and gave it a slight shake, then took his hand away.
“I’m a forensic anthropologist. I analyze skeletal remains in this room,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “How many jobs you got?” he asked.
“Three, you could say. I’m director of the museum, director of the crime lab, and I’m a forensic anthropologist. I’m sent skeletal remains from all over the world and I try to get as much information as I can about the people they were,” she said.
“How’s that work out, having so many jobs?” he asked, looking around the room, his gaze resting on Fred and Ethel.
“I work a lot. But I also have a lot of people working for me,” she said.
“You do a good job at all of them?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
For the first time he almost smiled.
Diane led him to her office, a room in the corner of the lab. This office was smaller than the one in the museum—and more stark. The walls were painted a pale off-white color. The floor was made of green slate. The furniture was spare and unimaginative—a dark walnut desk, matching filing cabinets, a burgundy leather couch and matching chair, and a watercolor of a wolf on the wall. That was it. As Diane sat behind her desk, she directed him to the stuffed chair nearby.
“You know bones?” he said, sitting down in the stuffed chair and crossing his legs so that his left ankle was on his right knee.
“Yes,” she said.
“You sure those were bones at Slick Massey’s place?” he said.
“I have no doubt,” said Diane.
“Slick and Tammy say it’s a plastic Halloween skeleton you saw,” he said.
“It wasn’t,” said Diane. “I’m quite sure of what I saw.”
“Slick’s no-account. His daddy wasn’t much better. This Tammy’s about the kind of woman his father usually took up with. Still, I need to see bones before I can do anything,” he said. “Got no missing persons.”
“I understand,” said Diane.
“Travis said you took some wood with you from that tree that fell on you,” he said.
“I did. I wanted to see if a body had decomposed inside the hollow tree,” she said.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Slick might say it was a deer,” he said. “Not that it would make a bit of sense. But you can’t know if it’s human, is what his lawyer would say.”
“His lawyer would be wrong,” said Diane. “We can identify human antigens if they are there.” Diane didn’t explain immunochemistry to Sheriff Conrad. She would let him ask if he wanted a lengthier explanation.
“You can tell if it’s human . . . even without the body?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
Diane was a little
“Find all this useful, do you?” he said at last.
“Extremely,” said Diane. “Data from evidence analysis is what physically links the criminal to the crime. Everyone leaves something behind or takes something away from a crime scene.”
“Can’t replace good old- fashioned talking to people, sizing them up,” he said.
“It’s not meant as a replacement,” said Diane. “Interviewing and sizing up bring to bear your knowledge, your years of experience, and your judgment toward the solution of a crime. Data from analysis of physical evidence provides the hard proof that the law requires. It’s our job here to extract all the information that evidence can give us.”
She saw David working in one of the cubicles on the other side of the room. He glanced at her and looked back down at whatever he was working on.
Diane led the sheriff to the forensic anthropology lab, a large white-walled room with shiny tables, sinks, microscopes, measuring devices, and Fred and Ethel, the male and female lab skeletons standing in the corner. Whereas the crime lab was affiliated with the city of Rosewood, the osteology lab belonged to the museum. It was completely her domain.
“What do you do here?” he asked, looking at the metal table. He touched it on the edge and gave it a slight shake, then took his hand away.
“I’m a forensic anthropologist. I analyze skeletal remains in this room,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “How many jobs you got?” he asked.
“Three, you could say. I’m director of the museum, director of the crime lab, and I’m a forensic anthropologist. I’m sent skeletal remains from all over the world and I try to get as much information as I can about the people they were,” she said.
“How’s that work out, having so many jobs?” he asked, looking around the room, his gaze resting on Fred and Ethel.
“I work a lot. But I also have a lot of people working for me,” she said.
“You do a good job at all of them?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
For the first time he almost smiled.
Diane led him to her office, a room in the corner of the lab. This office was smaller than the one in the museum—and more stark. The walls were painted a pale off-white color. The floor was made of green slate. The furniture was spare and unimaginative—a dark walnut desk, matching filing cabinets, a burgundy leather couch and matching chair, and a watercolor of a wolf on the wall. That was it. As Diane sat behind her desk, she directed him to the stuffed chair nearby.
“You know bones?” he said, sitting down in the stuffed chair and crossing his legs so that his left ankle was on his right knee.
“Yes,” she said.
“You sure those were bones at Slick Massey’s place?” he said.
“I have no doubt,” said Diane.
“Slick and Tammy say it’s a plastic Halloween skeleton you saw,” he said.
“It wasn’t,” said Diane. “I’m quite sure of what I saw.”
“Slick’s no-account. His daddy wasn’t much better. This Tammy’s about the kind of woman his father usually took up with. Still, I need to see bones before I can do anything,” he said. “Got no missing persons.”
“I understand,” said Diane.
“Travis said you took some wood with you from that tree that fell on you,” he said.
“I did. I wanted to see if a body had decomposed inside the hollow tree,” she said.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Slick might say it was a deer,” he said. “Not that it would make a bit of sense. But you can’t know if it’s human, is what his lawyer would say.”
“His lawyer would be wrong,” said Diane. “We can identify human antigens if they are there.” Diane didn’t explain immunochemistry to Sheriff Conrad. She would let him ask if he wanted a lengthier explanation.
“You can tell if it’s human . . . even without the body?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
Diane was a little