“What about the picture?” asked Diane. “It was pretty soaked with blood and body fluids, as I remember.”
“We photographed it in different kinds of light. I’m working on cleaning it,” said Jin. “Did you know that Korey has some of the same document-cleaning agents that we use?”
“Yes,” said Diane. “The museum occasionally does the same kind of restorative work that we do here in the crime lab.”
“I just thought it was kind of interesting,” said Jin.
“Anything else?” asked Diane.
“Caver Doe had a wad of cash in his pocket,” said Jin.
Diane raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“They were stuck together. I’m cleaning them. The bills I can see are ones, so I don’t think it’s going to be a lot of money.”
“He also had a pencil and a key in his pocket,” said David. “The key looks like it belonged to something small, like a box. Didn’t see any strongboxes while you were in the tunnels, did you?”
“No. I guess we’d better keep an eye out when we go back. Is that it?”
“That’s all we know so far,” said Jin.
“You know,” began David, “Jin, Neva and I thought we’d like to have a crime scene section in the museum with displays on what we do. . like the bottle reconstruction we did at the bar fight crime scene-how it’s like the potsherd analysis the archaeologists do.”
“A crime scene section in the museum? You’re joking, aren’t you?” The medicine hadn’t kicked in yet and her arm was still throbbing. It was too early in the day for her to feel so bad now. She took another sip of water.
“No, Boss,” said Jin. “You’re always getting flak because we’re housed in the west wing here. Why not show people what we do? It doesn’t have to be gruesome.”
“Frankly, I’d never thought about that,” admitted Diane. She had always worked hard to keep them completely separate-with the exception of occasionally using the museum staff as consultants to the crime lab.
“Jin’s right,” said David. “People would find trace analysis interesting, and they wouldn’t be so averse to our being here.”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
“And we could make some of our more innocuous databases available on a computer,” added David. “Not AFIS, CODIS or anything like that, of course.”
“Some of David’s databases that we don’t use that often,” said Jin, “like buttons and railroad spikes, maybe feathers. Feathers are nice. You know, makes us not look so. . gruesome-just really weird.”
“We would only be able to use the databases that are ours,” began Diane, when there was a muted knock on her door.
“Yes?”
Neva entered. She nodded at David and Jin, but the uneasy look on her face worried Diane.
Chapter 14
Jin jumped up and gave Neva his chair. “Mike okay?” he asked.
Diane held her breath as Neva answered.
“He’s doing good.” Neva’s hair was falling from the clasp that held it up in its casual twist. She smoothed the freed locks behind her ears. “They got him standing up. I just came here to check in; then I’m going home to get something to eat, take a shower and change clothes.” Neva smoothed her wrinkled shirt with her hands as she settled into the chair. “I’m going to spend the night at the hospital. He doesn’t really need me to, but he insists on not telling his parents until he’s well, and I think someone needs to be there.” Her gaze darted from David to Jin, then to Diane, as if waiting for permission.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate having you there,” said Diane.
Neva’s downturned mouth and wrinkled brow looked to Diane as though she still had something to say, but was waiting to be alone with Diane and did not want to ask the others to leave. David’s and Jin’s eyes met Diane’s for a fraction of a second before the two men headed for the door. They were almost out when Jin turned and asked Neva if she’d heard from the company that made Moon Pies.
Neva’s lips curved up in a small smile as she twisted around toward them. “It’s from the nineteen-forties. They sent me a chart and pictures of all their wrappers since 1917. Another database for David.”
“Yeah,” said Jin, “a Moon Pie database. I’m going to enter it into a contest for the least-used database of all time.”
David rolled his eyes and pulled Jin out the door with him.
“Is Mike really okay? You look worried,” said Diane.
Neva nodded. “They got him up and he walked around his room for a few minutes. He’s stiff, sore and really pissed at the guy who stabbed the two of you. The nurses said he’s doing great.”
Neva didn’t say anything more, just sat in the chair looking small and uncomfortable.
“What’s on your mind, Neva?”
“This is really hard. I always keep confidences. I do. I’m good at that. But. . ” Tears welled up in her brown eyes and she looked like a doe about to make a run for it.
Diane came around her desk and led Neva to the couch. They sat half-turned so they faced each other. Diane rested her injured arm on the back of the sofa.
“But what?” she asked.
Neva took a breath. “Mike’s being sexually harassed.”
Diane didn’t know what she had expected Neva to tell her, but that wasn’t even on the list. She stared at Neva, openmouthed and speechless for a moment.
“What?”
“He asked me not to tell anyone, especially you.”
“Why especially me?”
She shrugged. “He might be afraid you’d think less of him.”
“He should know better than that. Who’s doing it?”
“Look, I know this is a bombshell I’m handing you, but please don’t tell him I told you. He’ll never trust me again. It’s just that Mike’s a really nice guy and deserves better-and now this has happened to him.”
“Who’s harassing him? Someone here?”
“Sort of, but mainly at Bartram University. Dr. Lymon, the geology professor.”
That it was Dr. Lymon also surprised Diane. Dr. Annette Lymon was part of the faculty-exchange arrangement Diane had with various departments at the university-faculty serving as part-time curators in exchange for office and research space. It was a great money-saving system for the museum, which didn’t have a lot of money but did have a lot of space. Mike was Dr. Lymon’s graduate assistant.
“Is he doing anything about it?”
Neva shook her head. “He’s a guy, so he doesn’t believe anyone would take it seriously. But when he turned her down, he lost his assistantship.”
Diane felt fire rise to her face. The wound in her arm tingled from the heat in her skin. “I didn’t know he was losing his assistantship. When did this happen, and why doesn’t he file a complaint? He’s not shy.”
“She came on to him about a month ago. She’s a professor. He’s a student. He says it doesn’t matter, that he can always sling hash until he graduates, and anyway, she’s not on his committee-whatever that means.”
“It means she doesn’t get to judge his dissertation.”
Diane thought for a moment. As she recalled, Annette Lymon was Mike’s major professor. Then she remembered that he had changed the focus of his dissertation from sedimentary structures-Lymon’s expertise-to crystallography several months ago, and changed major professors. Even though that predated the harassment by several months, Diane wondered if it was connected.
There was something about Dr. Lymon that Diane remembered-last month she expressed a desire to step
