Moments later Karen Reynolds came in and sat down without being asked.
Danny had expected a petite blond high school bombshell, like Shirley Moretti from when he was in high school. Karen Reynolds was blond, but not like Shirley Moretti. Her hair, cut short, was, like Karen Reynolds, fresh. She was lean and solid and tall, with long legs, and wore no makeup. There was an aura of health and wholesomeness about her. Karen Reynolds belonged in California on the beach or in Montana climbing a mountain.
'You swim?' Danny asked as she sat, back straight, showing blue eyes and perfect white teeth.
'Yes,' she said.
'Records?' he said.
'A few. You swim?'
'Didn't have a pool at my school. I swam in the river.'
'The river? The Hudson?'
'I kept my mouth closed,' he said.
She smiled.
'What did you see in Mr. Havel's class before he dismissed you?'
'Nothing unusual.'
'You liked Mr. Havel?'
'Yes,' she said.
'And he liked you.'
It was a statement, not a question. She said nothing.
'You were the last one out?'
'Yes. I think so.'
'No one was left in the classroom besides Mr. Havel.'
'No one,' she said.
'I'm curious. What does your father do?'
'My father is dead,' she said.
'I'm sorry.'
'It's all right. He died when I was seven. He was a diamond dealer, very heavily insured. My mother took over the business.'
'Mr. Havel ever make any moves on you?'
'No,' she said. 'He looked. That's all. I liked him. He was a great teacher.'
'You have a boyfriend?'
'You asking for a date?'
She was smiling, maybe trying to make Danny a little uncomfortable.
'I'll wait a few years,' he said. 'You have a boyfriend?'
'Terry Rucker. A senior. Terry is not the jealous type and he did not come to school today. He's stuck in Ithaca. Rain. Basketball game last night.'
Danny nodded.
'I'd like to call my mother before I say anything else.'
'You're eighteen. We don't need your mother's permission to talk to you.'
'You didn't tell me I could leave any time I wish unless you're arresting me.'
'Why should we arrest you?' asked Danny. 'You kill Mr. Havel?'
'No.'
The answer was forceful. Danny was starting to think she was taller than he was.
'We can hold you on suspicion of withholding information,' he said.
'There is no such charge.'
'You planning on becoming a lawyer?'
'Yes,' she said.
Danny was certain now. The girl was taller than he was.
He examined her palms, which she allowed him to do without protest. 'You can leave,' he said when he was done.
'No,' she said. 'I want to cooperate. So if you have more questions…'
'No, you can leave.'
She stood. So did Danny. He didn't normally stand when women came or went, but there was something about her that made him sure that she expected the gesture. She took a dozen steps toward the dining hall door, then stopped and turned around.
'Everybody liked Mr. Havel,' she said.
'Not everybody,' Danny said.
Lindsay had laid a white cloth on the floor of the room in the CSI lab. On the table in front of her was a large, dead pig. Next to the dead pig were two hollow-cast, human-shaped heads lined on the inside with blood packs. One of the heads was vertical, head up. The other was horizontal, on its side.
Lindsay wore a white lab coat and goggles and her hair was covered in a plastic surgery-room cover.
She was ready. Different-size sharpened red pencils were lined up on the lab table. Lindsay picked up one of the thicker pencils in her gloved hand and plunged it into the neck of the pig. There was no blood. The blood had been drained from the pig the previous day. She left the pencil in the pig's neck and consulted the crime scene photographs of Alvin Havel and her own notes on the depth of his neck wound.
She shook her head, pulled the pencil from the pig, selected another pencil and plunged that one in, harder than the first time. Again she consulted the photos and her notes. Closer. Very close, but not quite right. She repeated the process once more, plunging the pencil in even harder. This time it was almost perfect. She removed the pencil and inserted a needlepoint gauge in the wound.
When she looked at the reading, she chewed on her lower lip and made a notation. Whoever had stabbed Alvin Havel had been strong, very strong.
The pig was on a stainless steel wheeled cart. Lindsay opened the door, wheeled the cart out of the room and turned it over to lab tech Chad Willingham, who was waiting eagerly outside the door for news.
Lindsay showed him her notes.
She started back into the room to assault the blood-packed heads on the table.
'Can I…?' Chad asked.
'Sure,' said Lindsay.
There was about to be a lot of blood in the room, and someone would have to clean it up. That someone would be Chad. He at least deserved to be in on the fun part.
Sid Hammerbeck was looking down at the body of Alvin Havel. The pencils embedded in the chemistry teacher's eye and neck were still there. Sid removed the pencils carefully, noting the depth of each wound. The only question was which of the wounds had killed the teacher and when.
Sid gently probed the eye wound. The wound was remarkably clean, a straight puncture. The victim had not squirmed or fought back. This was not a wild, frantic stab to the eye. The man was already dead when someone had plunged the pencil into his eye.
Sid consulted his notes and called Mac on his cell phone.
The line was busy.
'They think the ceiling's going to come down,' Stella said into the cell phone.
She was sitting in the compact crime scene vehicle she and Hawkes had taken to the site of Doohan's Bar. The
