in bits and pieces.
Something metallic, partly covered by the detritus
in the dirt on the small screen, reflected a glint of
light. She picked it up and swished it in the water. It
was a piece of thick wire, iridescent blue-green in
color. She turned it over in her palm and examined it
before she took it to the dissecting microscope—one
that allowed her to view three-dimensional objects.
The microscope confirmed that the mashed piece of
metal had been round or oval. Was it from a piece of
jewelry? Earring? From a body piercing? She labeled
it and bagged it. A tiny clue.
Diane looked at the bones on the drying rack again.
They were a mixture of fragments from the skull, pieces
of rib, sections of long bone. When they dried she would
start laying them out in anatomical position on the table.
Who knew, maybe she could put Humpty Dumpty back
together again—after a fashion—provided it was one
individual. So far she hadn’t seen any indication that
there was more than one.
She picked up the petrosal and examined it. It
should produce a good cast of the ear canal. De
termining the sex would be another good clue. As she put the petrosal back on the drying screen,
she noticed something on one of the occipital bones.
On the corner of the piece was some beveling. The
fragment was not big, and the beveling could be an
artifact of the chipper—probably was—but it was
something worth looking at, especially if she could
find the adjacent bones. There was a possibility it was
a gunshot or projectile wound. That would be a big
clue.
A half-inch piece of metal, a petrosal, a possible
bullet hole—not even a handful of clues, but she had
just begun, and who knew what else the sifters would
find in the field.
Diane doffed her lab coat and gloves, washed her
hands, and was ready to lock up her lab. As she was
hanging her coat on its hook, she heard voices. The wall she stood next to separated her office from
the crime lab. She knew that on the crime lab side of
the wall was a large walk-in supply closet. The voices
seemed to be coming from there. The wall wasn’t
thick. There had been no reason to make it sound
proof when they constructed the closet as part of the
crime lab. Odd. The closet was not a place one usually
held conversations.
Though slightly muffled, the voices were loud enough
for her to hear some of the words. She stopped and
listened when she heard Bryce’s high-pitched speech
pattern and another voice that sounded like Curtis
Crabtree’s.
