raised in his mind when he heard about the condition of the bodies.’’
‘‘Spectacle lynching?’’ asked Jin, returning from his office with his thumb up, indicating his success with the call to California. ‘‘Sounds like an oxymoron. Weren’t illegal hangings done in secret?’’
‘‘Lynchings were not only hangings,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Any death by a mob is called a lynching. Spectacle lynchings were just that—they were spectacles. They would be announced on the radio and in the newspa per and lasted all day. The mob often tortured the victim, castrating him, cutting off his fingers and toes, burning him with hot pokers, dragging him behind a car or wagon—then they would hang him.’’
The description of spectacle lynchings was not news to David. He was familiar with all manner of human rights violations, but the sheriff’s and Jin’s jaws dropped.
‘‘Sometimes the mob would get themselves in such a frenzy,’’ added David, ‘‘they would take out after any black they saw on the street, or they might break into the homes of black people and drag them away.’’
‘‘No one tried to put a stop to it?’’ asked Jin.
David nodded. ‘‘Many tried. In several instances, white employers tried to protect their black employ ees, but it was at their own peril.’’
David paused, leaned against the table, crossed his arms, and gave them a soft smile. ‘‘One lynching pro duced an oft-repeated movie line. A man named Dick Hinson told about a mob that gathered outside his livery stable, where his father had hidden several blacks. When the mob leader told Hinson they were coming in, through him if necessary, Hinson took out his gun. The leader laughed and told him that he couldn’t shoot all of them. Hinson said sure enough he couldn’t—just the first man who came through the door.’’
‘‘And?’’ asked Jin.
‘‘No one wanted to be shot. No one came through the door.’’
‘‘How long has it been since this kind of thing happened?’’
‘‘The 1920s and ’30s were the height of it. The spec tacle aspect began to die out in the midforties.’’
The sheriff shook his head back and forth. ‘‘I guess I’ll go see Elwood and try to reassure him.’’ He sighed and stared at the maggots. ‘‘I don’t want to rush any thing, Dr. Fallon, but when do you think you might have me something on the skeletons?’’
‘‘I’m starting on them today. They’re a priority. I’ll work as quickly as I can.’’
‘‘Interesting stuff about the rope. It’ll be more inter esting if it actually leads us to the killer. I’d appreciate a call when you find out anything I can use.’’ He put on his hat and headed for the exit.
Diane watched him go past the lab receptionist and into the special elevator they had installed for the crime lab.
‘‘I don’t think we convinced him about the time of death,’’ said David.
‘‘Maybe,’’ Diane said.
‘‘He’s got it bad for Dr. Webber,’’ said Jin.
‘‘Apparently. What arrangements did you make about the DNA, Jin?’’
‘‘The California folks are going to send their proto col to the GBI lab sometime today. I’ll take the shed hair over tomorrow. Good thing I wore this shirt, huh, boss?’’ Jin grinned, showing white, even-edged oc cluded teeth.
‘‘Yes, it is. Much better than the one that says CRIM INALISTS DO IT EVERYWHERE. I’ll be in the osteo lab.’’
The first thing noticeable about her bone lab was the number of tables—eight large shiny tables lined up in two rows of four, spaced with plenty of room around each. Diane liked space to work. One of the most frustrating things about working in the field was cramped space in inaccessible locations. Here she had room to spread out. She had countertops lining the walls. She had cabinet space to spare; she had sinks. It was a good room.
The cabinets held sliding and spreading her measuring calipers, bone instruments— board, stature charts, reference books, pencils, forms. On the counter space she had a series of microscopes. A metal frame work for mounting cameras hung from the ceiling above the tables. Standing mutely in the corner were Fred and Ethel, the male and female lab skeletons.
Her workroom had the essentials of a well-stocked anthropology lab. Much of her analysis with bones was manual labor—concentrated scrutiny, measuring and recording observations. It was a room she could work in even if the electricity went off, as often happened during the frequent springtime and summer thunder storms.
Despite her fondness for lowtech, Diane had some dazzling equipment in the vault, the secure, environ mentally controlled room where she stored skeletal remains. In it she also kept her computer and forensic software, and the 3-D facial reconstruction equipment consisting of a laser scanner for scanning skulls and another dedicated computer with software for recon structing a face from a skull.
She hadn’t invited the sheriff and Garnett to see the vault. Technically, it was part of the museum, and she didn’t want Garnett to think he had free reign in this lab.
Blue Doe’s skeleton was resting in a transparent plastic storage box on the table closest to the vault. The rope Diane had removed from Blue Doe at the autopsy sat in a separate box beside the remains. An other box containing the corresponding rope from the trees sat on top of it. A set. Bones and rope. Victim and weapon. Red and Green Doe were on separate tables, paired with their ropes.
Diane started with Blue by laying out her bones in anatomical position on the shiny metal table. This ini tial process Diane found relaxing. It was a chance to get an overview of the skeleton—how much was there, its basic condition, anything outstanding.
She rested the skull on a metal donut ring at the head of the table. She took the broken hyoid bone pieces from a small separate sack and lay them just below the skull. The hyoid is the only bone in the body that isn’t connected to another bone. In the body it anchors the muscles that are used in speech. It also supports the tongue and, like this one, is nearly always broken during strangulation.
She set the vertebrae in position—atlas, which holds the world, axis which rotates that world, and the spinal
