Edwards, she knows who did.’’
Diane took the folder from in front of Garnett and thumbed through the reports. She pointed to an item.
‘‘My team found a thermometer showing a tempera ture reading of 103 degrees on Chris Edwards’ nightstand, along with cold medications. If he was run ning a temperature that high at the time of death, it will push back the time of death estimate to around seven P.M. The M.E. didn’t have that information when she took a liver temperature at the crime scene.’’
Garnett took the report back from Diane, removed a pair of glasses from his pocket and examined it as if for the first time. ‘‘We don’t know that this was Edwards’ temperature.’’
‘‘Not now, but we took a swab from the thermometer . . .’’ began Diane. She reached over and pulled out the autopsy report on Chris Edwards. ‘‘Dr. Webber indicates he had congestion in his lungs.’’ Diane looked for attachments. ‘‘His blood work is not back yet.’’
Garnett started to speak, but was interrupted by his phone. From the one-sided conversation, Diane knew it was Lynn Webber. Diane wasn’t sure why she had bothered with this elaborate ruse. It wasn’t a desire to spare Lynn Webber’s feelings or reputation that motivated her. What she wanted was to keep on good terms with the sheriff—and Garnett, for that matter. Both seemed rather swept off their feet by Webber.
‘‘That was Dr. Webber,’’ said Garnett, returning the phone to its cradle. ‘‘She said the blood work came back on Edwards showing he had an infection and that he probably had a fever. That corresponds to what you were telling us.’’
Diane merely nodded.
‘‘That doesn’t mean that Miss Beck isn’t good for it,’’ continued Garnett. ‘‘But we’ll have to let her go.’’
‘‘No sign of Steven Mayberry?’’ the sheriff asked.
‘‘No. He seems to have vanished. He’ll turn up sooner or later—I hope alive.’’
‘‘I just finished the rope analysis.’’ Diane explained about the waggoner’s hitch.
‘‘Well, I’ll be,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘You got that from that old piece of rope?’’
‘‘It doesn’t mean he’s a truck driver,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I understand. But it’s a place to start,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘Who’d’ve thought you could find anything in an old piece of rope like that?’’
‘‘You sure that rope belongs with the crime scene and it wasn’t one that just happened to be in the woods?’’
Garnett didn’t seem to be criticizing, but rather the evidence appeared to excite him and he didn’t want it to evaporate by being irrelevant. Everything that Diane did in the crime lab that impressed Sheriff Braden—or anyone else—was a feather in Garnett’s cap.
‘‘It has the same orange fiber on it that was on the clothes of the victims and on all the hanging ropes. The fourth noose and the Cobber’s Wood crime scene also had the orange fiber, but no skin cells around the noose. It was never used.’’
Garnett nodded, looking satisfied.
Diane reviewed the evidence, crime scene by crime scene, starting with Steven Mayberry’s truck, which was found on a dirt road near a small lake. ‘‘There was blood on the steering wheel and some smeared on the seat. We don’t have the lab work back yet, so we can’t say whose it is.’’
‘‘It could be Chris Edwards’, then?’’ said Garnett.
‘‘Could be anyone’s. We found Mayberry’s finger prints on the steering wheel. Some were in the blood, indicating the prints were left when the blood was fresh. His fingerprints were also on the dash, the seat, the gas cap, and the back gate of the truck. Chris Edwards’ prints were on the passenger’s side dash, the inside and outside door handles and the glove com partment. On the passenger’s side we found another set of unidentified prints. They were smaller and could be female.’’
‘‘Miss Beck?’’ said Garnett.
‘‘No. We have her prints and these don’t match. Inside the car we found three beer bottle caps, and a parking ticket issued by the Bartram campus police. He had parked in a faculty lot at the university library. The ticket had a boot print on it that matched Chris Edwards’ left boot. We also found carpet fibers that matched Mayberry’s trailer carpet. There were also cotton fibers, but we won’t be able to provide any distinguishing match for those.’’
‘‘I don’t suppose there were any orange carpet fi bers?’’ said Garnett.
‘‘No matching orange carpet fibers found anywhere yet. So far we haven’t been able to physically connect any of the crime scenes. The only connection is the coincidence of Edwards and Mayberry finding the bodies and Waller assisting with the autopsy.’’
‘‘So it could all be a coincidence,’’ said Garnett. ‘‘And one murder doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the others.’’
Diane briefly went over the other crime scenes, ex cept Raymond Waller’s. They had covered them in the previous meeting, but it helped her to repeat the evidence. She suspected it would help Braden and Garnett too.
Both Sheriff Braden and Chief Garnett were silent when she finished her summary. Each sat back in his chair like they were digesting a large meal.
‘‘The perp was looking for something in both the Edwards and Waller crime scenes,’’ said the sheriff, after a moment.
‘‘In Mayberry’s trailer, too,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It was tossed like the others.’’
‘‘So what do you think the perp, or perps, was look ing for?’’ asked the sheriff to neither of them in particular.
‘‘Waller had a significant baseball collection,’’ said Garnett. ‘‘I don’t know that our other two boys had
