bone from the heel of the hand. That one’s from a big, older male.”
“That’d be Nate Swanson then,” Tanner said, slipping the bone into a breast pocket. “He was a big guy. Good guy. Wheat farmer. Friend of mine. Course, Warden’s a small town. Everybody’s friends here, mostly.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” McKean remarked. “Now, I believe there was one more blood stain.”
“Right,” Tanner said, motioning us to double back the way we’d come into the box canyon. “All that shooting Nate and Tad did, is what caused your little problem, isn’t it, Doc? Somebody, or something, got hit. C’mon, the other patch of blood’s over here.”
He led us just beyond a mound of angular lichen-splotched basalt boulders jumbled beside the entrance to the box canyon. Pointing to another dried black puddle, he said, “Forensics took a sample here and the rest you know. Beats me how a blood stain can have that many different things in it.”
“That’s what I’m here to clarify,” McKean asserted. “I intend to restore the reputation of my DNA test.”
“Not bad cover,” I remarked, looking across the rock mound to where the victims had died. “This spot’s protected from the place where the two men went down. If I were springing an ambush on armed men, I’d start from here. So this blood is likely to be from a wounded perpetrator.”
Tanner nodded and spat on the rocks. “That’s what Forensics figured.”
“Any sign of where this man went?” I asked.
“Man?” Tanner laughed, tipping his smokey hat back and grinning at me so widely I could inspect his bridgework. “Who said it was a man?”
“Person,” I corrected.
He shook his head. “Only signs on this ground were coyote. No boot prints. No shell casings, no nuttin’ that looked like people was here.”
Peyton McKean leaned and squinted hard at the bloodstain. “So, this is the source of my trouble,” he murmured. He pointed to a small scrape in the soil and asked Tanner, “Is this where the sample was taken?”
“Sure is,” Tanner said. “Look funny to you? Like it’s two bloods mixed or something? Don’t look funny to me.”
“Agreed,” McKean replied. “Simply mixing human and dog and coyote blood would be too simple to explain the facts.”
“Which are?” I prompted.
“Oh,” McKean responded. “I neglected to tell you the details, didn’t I, Fin?”
“You were expounding on everything else while I drove us here, Peyton.”
“Sorry,” McKean apologized without meaning it. “Traveling through the desert puts me into a reverie. The geology is spectacular. The lava flows - ”
“Yeah, you told me. Half the state flooded with lava fifteen million years ago. Then giant Ice Age floods tore these canyons out of solid ground. Then the place turned into a desert. But what about the blood test?”
McKean stroked his angular jaw. “My DNA test can detect twenty-five common species of animals, including man. With hunters involved, the chance that it was animal blood was strong, but with murder involved, the chance that it was human blood was likely as well.”
“Trouble is, Doc,” Tanner chimed in, “the results of your schmancy test said it was human and coyote and dog all at once.”
“Which,” McKean continued, “caused your forensics people to run more tests, including one to see if the human blood matched one of the victims, but they couldn’t tell. Whole sections of human DNA were entirely absent from this puddle of blood.”
“So, therefore,” I said, trying my hand at deduction, “the human result from the first test was in error.”
“Answer: no,” McKean said emphatically. “My test was developed over years of diligent lab work. It doesn’t give erroneous results.”
“You can’t tell everything from DNA,” a voice said. We wheeled around to see a man who’d come up silently behind us on the trail. He wore a dusty buckskin coat, an open leather vest, blue jeans and moccasins.
“That’d be Nate Swanson then,” Tanner said, slipping the bone into a breast pocket. “He was a big guy. Good guy. Wheat farmer. Friend of mine. Course, Warden’s a small town. Everybody’s friends here, mostly.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” McKean remarked. “Now, I believe there was one more blood stain.”
“Right,” Tanner said, motioning us to double back the way we’d come into the box canyon. “All that shooting Nate and Tad did, is what caused your little problem, isn’t it, Doc? Somebody, or something, got hit. C’mon, the other patch of blood’s over here.”
He led us just beyond a mound of angular lichen-splotched basalt boulders jumbled beside the entrance to the box canyon. Pointing to another dried black puddle, he said, “Forensics took a sample here and the rest you know. Beats me how a blood stain can have that many different things in it.”
“That’s what I’m here to clarify,” McKean asserted. “I intend to restore the reputation of my DNA test.”
“Not bad cover,” I remarked, looking across the rock mound to where the victims had died. “This spot’s protected from the place where the two men went down. If I were springing an ambush on armed men, I’d start from here. So this blood is likely to be from a wounded perpetrator.”
Tanner nodded and spat on the rocks. “That’s what Forensics figured.”
“Any sign of where this man went?” I asked.
“Man?” Tanner laughed, tipping his smokey hat back and grinning at me so widely I could inspect his bridgework. “Who said it was a man?”
“Person,” I corrected.
He shook his head. “Only signs on this ground were coyote. No boot prints. No shell casings, no nuttin’ that looked like people was here.”
Peyton McKean leaned and squinted hard at the bloodstain. “So, this is the source of my trouble,” he murmured. He pointed to a small scrape in the soil and asked Tanner, “Is this where the sample was taken?”
“Sure is,” Tanner said. “Look funny to you? Like it’s two bloods mixed or something? Don’t look funny to me.”
“Agreed,” McKean replied. “Simply mixing human and dog and coyote blood would be too simple to explain the facts.”
“Which are?” I prompted.
“Oh,” McKean responded. “I neglected to tell you the details, didn’t I, Fin?”
“You were expounding on everything else while I drove us here, Peyton.”
“Sorry,” McKean apologized without meaning it. “Traveling through the desert puts me into a reverie. The geology is spectacular. The lava flows - ”
“Yeah, you told me. Half the state flooded with lava fifteen million years ago. Then giant Ice Age floods tore these canyons out of solid ground. Then the place turned into a desert. But what about the blood test?”
McKean stroked his angular jaw. “My DNA test can detect twenty-five common species of animals, including man. With hunters involved, the chance that it was animal blood was strong, but with murder involved, the chance that it was human blood was likely as well.”
“Trouble is, Doc,” Tanner chimed in, “the results of your schmancy test said it was human and coyote and dog all at once.”
“Which,” McKean continued, “caused your forensics people to run more tests, including one to see if the human blood matched one of the victims, but they couldn’t tell. Whole sections of human DNA were entirely absent from this puddle of blood.”
“So, therefore,” I said, trying my hand at deduction, “the human result from the first test was in error.”
“Answer: no,” McKean said emphatically. “My test was developed over years of diligent lab work. It doesn’t give erroneous results.”
“You can’t tell everything from DNA,” a voice said. We wheeled around to see a man who’d come up silently behind us on the trail. He wore a dusty buckskin coat, an open leather vest, blue jeans and moccasins.
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