‘‘Michael Kors,’’ said Kendel, holding out her hand to Lynn.
A technician came out to the corridor. ‘‘We’re ready for our patient.’’
He took the gurney into the imaging room and di rected them into the viewing room where several staff from the hospital had assembled to watch. The mummy was a celebrity. Someone had even called the newspaper. A reporter, a young woman who looked like she might still be a journalism student and an equally young photographer hurried through the door just behind Diane and her staff.
‘‘Thanks for asking me,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘This is a nice thing to come back to after burying Raymond.’’
‘‘I’m happy to have you look at the scan and offer any ideas on what you see.’’
The viewing room was actually too small for the crowd gathered there. It was already getting hot, but no one but Diane seemed to notice. When they were all settled, Jonas repeated the story of the mummy to the reporter and the crowd of technicians, nurses and doctors. Diane imagined that he must have been a great lecturer. He took all the bits and pieces of infor mation they had discovered so far and wove a fascinat ing story. As he spoke, Diane watched the technicians lift the mummy from the gurney onto the CT platform. The photographer snapped pictures as the mummy started his journey into the circle.
‘‘Chevron one encoded,’’ said the technician at the viewing screen. A few of the onlookers laughed, some rolled their eyes, most looked puzzled.
‘‘You’re a
‘‘Ya, sure, ya betcha,’’ he quoted from the TV series.
‘‘Me too,’’ said Diane.
The mummy moved back and forth through the CT ring, and images of the skull cavity began appearing on the monitor.
‘‘Look at that.’’
‘‘Amazing.’’
‘‘That had to hurt.’’
Everyone commented at once when the upper jaw and its abscesses were revealed.
‘‘You’re right,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘That must have been what killed him.’’
‘‘Why didn’t they just pull the teeth?’’ asked one of the doctors.
‘‘I don’t know,’’ answered Jonas. ‘‘They had den tistry methods, but they rarely did extractions.’’
A cell phone rang and three-quarters of those pres ent turned at once, searching for the offender.
‘‘You are supposed to turn those off in the hospi tal,’’ said a nurse. ‘‘They interfere with the equip ment.’’ She had zeroed in on the culprit, the journalist.
The young woman smiled and shrugged. ‘‘It won’t be but a minute.’’
‘‘Now!’’ said the nurse.
But the young woman wasn’t listening. She had crumpled to her knees in tears.
Chapter 32
Diane was the first to her side. She put an arm around the sobbing girl and took the phone out of her hand. She read the text message before she turned off the power.
OH GOD, WHERE R U? KACIE MURDERED! AMY
‘‘I’ll take care of her,’’ said Diane, pulling the woman to her feet and helping her out the door. The photographer started to put down his camera and leave with her. Diane turned to him. ‘‘You stay and finish.’’
He stopped in his tracks. ‘‘Oh, okay, sure.’’ Diane took her to the nearest lounge and sat her down in a chair. She found a paper-cup dispenser and got her a drink of water.
‘‘What’s your name?’’ Diane asked, after the woman took a drink.
‘‘Madison. Madison Foster.’’
Madison had blond hair arranged back in a single braid. She pulled at her short khaki skirt as she talked. Her white tee-shirt had a drop of blood on it.
‘‘Your nose is bleeding.’’ Diane dug in her purse for a tissue. ‘‘Put your head back and pinch your nose.’’
‘‘I’ve always gotten nosebleeds. It happens when I cry.’’ She put the tissue to her nose and put her head back.
‘‘Do I need to get a nurse?’’
‘‘No. This happens a lot. It’ll go away soon.’’
Diane gave her several moments before she said anything. When the bleeding seemed to have stopped, she spoke to her in a low, calm voice.
‘‘Madison, are you a student?’’
‘‘Yes. A journalism student at Bartram.’’
‘‘You knew Kacie Beck?’’ asked Diane.
Madison looked at her for a long moment. ‘‘You read the message?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Kacie was my best friend.’’ She took a deep breath and seemed to collect herself. ‘‘I need to call Amy. Maybe she’s playing some kind of trick. She has an odd sense of humor sometimes.’’
