Diane stepped to the table and began putting the bones back in the box. She kept the petrosal out, got a smaller box from a cabinet, and dropped the bone inside.
‘‘Well, just how does that work, exactly?’’ asked the sheriff. ‘‘I hear all the time about copying DNA, PCR tests, and this and that, but I don’t understand how you can copy something like DNA. They always talk about it as if they were making a Xerox copy.’’
‘‘I don’t understand it either,’’ said Henry.
Jin would be better at this, thought Diane.
‘‘Every living thing has a mechanism to copy its DNA—if we didn’t, we couldn’t grow or make new cells. And there is not a lot of variation across the animal and plant kingdoms in the way the copying is done. One of the big breakthroughs came when peo ple working with DNA figured out how to make that copying process happen in a test tube.’’
For a fraction of a moment Diane thought she could stop there with her explanation, but no. The three of them were looking at her again, demanding an expla nation of how one goes about copying DNA. Jin wanted to do a computer teaching program for the museum. It was a good idea. Diane wished she had one now. She smiled at the three of them, actually glad they were curious. Curiosity was good for mu seum business.
‘‘It’s an enzyme—polymerase—that makes the cop ies of DNA when a cell divides. We can use polymer ase from certain organisms, such as the bacteria Thermus aquaticus, in a test tube to mimic the natural procedure. Polymerase and some other chemicals unzip the DNA helix, use both sides of the helix as tem plates, copy them, and zip them back up, re-forming the helix.’’ Diane whorled her finger around for em phasis. ‘‘Millions of copies can be made.’’
She knew they were going to ask how, and she re gretted that she wasn’t a better teacher. Occasionally she taught classes in physical anthropology at the mu seum for Bartram University, but they were mainly hands-on courses about the very basics of bones and the human skeleton.
But Henry didn’t ask for details. He wanted to know about mistakes.
‘‘I remember somebody saying you get errors when you make a lot of copies from a little bit of DNA. Is that true?’’ he asked.
‘‘That was a problem with some of the earlier pro cesses,’’ said Diane. ‘‘But the Thermus aquaticus poly merase compares each duplicate with the original and corrects errors as it copies.’’
Henry grinned. ‘‘Now, see, that’s just plain amazing. That’s just like science fiction.’’
‘‘It is that,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘Kind of hard to wrap your brain around.’’ He paused a moment as if study ing what she had told them. ‘‘Is there any possibility you can get some DNA from these bones?’’ he asked again.
‘‘Yes,’’ Diane reluctantly agreed, ‘‘there is a small possibility that there may be something we can use, particularly if we are lucky enough to find some intact teeth or bone marrow.’’
The sheriff grinned broadly. That was what he wanted to hear. Diane sighed inwardly; she might have been able to avoid the whole explanation if she had just said yes in the first place. She put the smaller box containing the petrosal in with the other bones and put the lid back on the box.
‘‘If you and your grandfather like, you can tour the museum before you leave. I’ll call for a docent if you want a guided tour,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Thank you. We might just look around some,’’ said Arlen Wilson. ‘‘But Henry here knows this place pretty good.’’
Diane picked up the box and escorted the three of them out of the lab, through the unfinished humanevolution exhibit, and out into the main hallway. Diane and the sheriff stood off to the side, away from the flow of people visiting the museum. The sheriff watched Arlen and his grandson as they disappeared past the museum store toward the dinosaur exhibit.
‘‘Arlen and his wife, Mary, are good people,’’ he said. ‘‘They raised Henry and his brother, Caleb Miller, since they were just little fellas.’’ He looked back at Diane. ‘‘Arlen’s daughter and son-in-law were kind of wild. Not in a real bad way. They didn’t do drugs or any thing. Just liked having fun. Got in a boating accident on the lake—going too fast, as usual. Killed the daugh ter, Arlene, and left Caleb Senior in a coma for a couple of years before he died too. Real sad. Arlen and his wife did a good job raising the boys, though. Caleb will be finishing up at Bartram this year. And you see how Henry is. Bright kid. Both of them are.’’
He shook his head. ‘‘Henry was excited about find ing the bones. He doesn’t quite see the tragedy behind it. It’s adventure to him. But I’m afraid folks are going to be pretty upset finding out somebody’s been put through a wood chipper.’’
Diane remembered when she had thought of foren sics as an adventure. One mass grave ended the ro mance for her. She paused and waved at one of the visitors who was waving at her, trying to remember his name. She turned back to the sheriff.
‘‘As the archaeology students are sifting for the bone, they need to look for bug parts too—carapaces and the like. David...,’’ began Diane.
The sheriff was shaking his head before she could finish. ‘‘I’ve got nothing against David, and I know he’s good with bugs. But the crime lab is different than when you were running it.’’
‘‘Get an entomologist at the university then,’’ said Diane.
The sheriff nodded and leaned his shoulder against the wall, rolling the brim of his hat as he spoke.
‘‘I wasn’t real fond of the last police chief in Rose wood; you know that; but we worked things out. But this new mayor and the people he put in, they’re arro gant and pushy. Why did you guys vote them in?’’
I didn’t, thought Diane, but she didn’t say it. She shrugged. ‘‘There was a lot of petty crime, and Jeffer ies promised that as mayor he would do something about it. I think a lot of voters responded to that. The last administration concentrated on drugs and violent crimes and less on burglaries, but more people are actually affected by break-ins. Plus, Jefferies is fairly young. Rosewood tends to see itself as Atlanta and wants young blood.’’
‘‘Don’t I know it. Rosewood’s always been too big for its britches. We didn’t need a crime lab in the first place. No offense intended, but the GBI lab was just fine.’’ He sighed. ‘‘You know, it’s awfully hard some times to get burglars. Even if you know who it is— proving it’s another matter. Have these new guys done any better than the old bunch?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I don’t keep up with local politics or the police blotter.’’ Diane shifted the box to rest on a hip.
The sheriff shook his head and rolled the brim of his hat again. Diane wondered why it didn’t have a permanent roll in it.
‘‘The new head of the crime lab, now, Bryce . . . he’s a piece of work,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘You know what he did?’’
Diane shook her head.
‘‘Early on, when we had that killing at the tavern near the county line, Bryce showed up to work the crime scene. I hadn’t called him and didn’t intend to. We had the GBI coming. I told him I wasn’t using the Rosewood crime scene unit. He got all huffy. I thought me and my deputies were going to have to escort him back to the city limits. Felt sorry for Neva. I like her, and I know she must have been embarrassed.’’
He shook his head. ‘‘And now Mayor Jefferies is talk ing about incorporating Rosewood and Rose County. Hell, if we wanted to have Rosewood politics, we’d move into the city. He’s not going to get anyone in the county to vote for that, I can tell you.’’
The sheriff stopped, finally, it seemed, running out of wind. He stood up straight.
‘‘Well, I guess I need to let us both get back to work,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll go directly to the Bartram Ar chaeology Department and ask about some students to do the sifting. We’ll bring any more bones we find straight to you, if that’s all right.’’
Diane nodded. ‘‘That’s fine. Take care, Sheriff. Good to see you again.’’
> ‘‘You too,’’ he said and took his leave, weaving his way through a crowd of schoolkids getting on the ele vators to the second-floor exhibits.
Diane’s cell rang. It was Jin calling from the DNA lab in the basement of the museum.
‘‘Boss, you got to help me. I’ve had to lock down my lab,’’ said Jin.
Chapter 3
‘‘Locked down?’’ said Diane. ‘‘What do you mean?’’ ‘‘I mean that Lloyd Bryce sent this guy, Curtis Crab
grass, from the crime lab to apply for a job—’’ ‘‘His name is Crabgrass?’’ said Diane.
‘‘Maybe it’s Crabtree,’’ Jin conceded. ‘‘Curtis Crab
tree. Anyway, I told him the DNA lab is not hiring
right now. But the guy won’t take no for an answer.
He tried to bully me into giving him a job. I finally
got him out the door, but he tried to come back. I
had to lock him out.’’
‘‘Is he violent?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘Not exactly violent, yet, but he did some shoving.
Now he’s hanging out at the door talking on his
phone.’’
‘‘You say Bryce sent him?’’
‘‘Yeah, like it was an order to me from Bryce that
I should give Crabtree a job in the DNA lab.’’ ‘‘I’ll be right down.’’
Diane shoved her phone in her pocket, picked up
the box of bones, and headed for the DNA lab. ‘‘What on earth does Bryce think he’s up to?’’ she
muttered.
Visitors were gathered in front of the bank of eleva
tors, waiting to go up to the second-floor exhibits. She
worked her way past them and balanced the box of
bones on her knee as she unlocked the private eleva
tor, the one that went all the way from the subbase ment to the attic. It was quiet inside the elevator, and she tried to clear her thoughts as she rode down to the recently renovated basement that housed the
brand-new DNA lab.
The elevator door opened and Diane saw Curtis
Crabtree in front of the glass doors to the DNA lab.
She had glimpsed him in the parking lot but had not
known his name. She remembered David telling her
that Bryce had hired two new people—a young woman
whom David and Neva called Lollipop because she
always had one in her mouth, and a man who David
was sure was some kind of thug. This must be him,
she thought.
Curtis Crabtree had dark curly hair and a fair com
plexion that made his day-old beard look dark on his
thin face. He was wearing corduroy bell-bottoms, a
white shirt open at the neck, and a gold chain hanging
among wisps of black chest hairs.
Jin saw her through the glass door and came out,
locking the door behind him. His jet-black hair was
cut short. He had on jeans and a white lab coat and
wore a decidedly irritated expression on his face. Deven Jin was formerly one of Diane’s crime scene
crew. He was now head of the new DNA lab run
under the auspices of the museum. DNA labs all over
the country were backed up with work, and Jin was
getting just about more samples to
could handle himself. The lab was
analyze than he proving to be a lucrative addition to the museum. He had not adver tised yet, but he was planning to hire another techni cian. But Jin was picky. He had to be. Diane could imagine that Curtis Crabtree in no way met Jin’s
criteria.
‘‘This is Curtis Crab... tree,’’ said Jin, waving a
hand in the direction of Mr. Bell-bottoms and Gold
Chain.
Crabtree stood with his arms folded, frowning at
Jin.
‘‘Look,’’ Crabtree said, ‘‘Lloyd Bryce appointed me as the link between the Rosewood Crime Lab and the DNA lab. He wants me to run all the samples that
come from our unit. What’s the problem?’’ Diane set her box down on a nearby coffee table.
‘‘Lloyd Bryce has no authority to appoint anyone to
the DNA lab,’’ said Diane. ‘‘All DNA personnel deci
sions are made by Jin and reviewed by me. We have
strict protocols for access to our laboratory services.
Those protocols do not allow for an agency submitting
DNA samples to use our equipment to analyze it
themselves.’’
Crabtree had a staccato laugh that she imagined
would become annoying very quickly.
‘‘Funny,’’ he said. ‘‘This is different. We aren’t just
any agency. If you want the business of the Rosewood
crime scene unit, this is how it’s going to be done.
This is our policy.’’ He stood with his chin jutting out,
his body rigid as his eyes shifted from Diane to Jin. Jin rolled his eyes.
‘‘Then we will have to forgo doing your DNA test
ing,’’ said Diane. ‘‘The Georgia Bureau of Investiga
tion has an excellent DNA lab. You can take your
proposal to them—or to any of the other labs across
the country.’’
Crabtree hesitated a moment, as if he had expected
her to give in and now didn’t know quite how to pro
ceed. He didn’t laugh.
‘‘You better rethink this. You don’t know what you
are getting into,’’ he said.
‘‘Mr. Crabtree,’’ said Diane, ‘‘I think you had better
go. Even if we were hiring right now, you’ve disquali
fied yourself by your aggressive behavior.’’
‘‘What? You’re kidding. I was just defending myself.
He started it.’’ Crabtree pointed to Jin.
‘‘Jin started it,’’ Diane repeated. ‘‘Are you in the
third grade?’’ She pointed to the stairs. ‘‘Please leave.
This area is off-limits to you.’’
Crabtree narrowed his eyes to slits. ‘‘You’re a fool
ish woman,’’ he said. ‘‘A very foolish woman.’’ He stood there in front of them for several moments as if deciding whether or not to dig his heels in. Sud denly he turned and headed for the stairs. Diane and
Jin watched him leave.
‘‘Cheeky bastards,’’ said Jin.
‘‘Aren’t they,’’ said Diane. She took her cell from
her jacket pocket and called the crime lab and asked
for Lloyd Bryce.
‘‘I think there has been a misunderstanding,’’ said
Bryce when Diane had briefed him on the encounter.
‘‘Curtis is enthusiastic in everything he does. He was
probably just being an assertive applicant. Your guy
is just overly sensitive.’’
Diane sat down on one of the leather chairs in the
small sitting area near the entrance to the lab. She
put her feet up on the oak coffee table and rubbed
the middle of her forehead with the tips of her fingers.
Jin sat in a chair opposite her and leaned forward, his
elbows on his knees.
‘‘Enthusiasm aside, Mr. Crabtree’s behavior was in
appropriate,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I explained that we cannot
accommodate your DNA requirements. Our protocols
don’t allow it.’’
‘‘I believe we can come to some compromise on
this,’’ Bryce said.
‘‘What kind of compromise?’’ said Diane. ‘‘Certifi
cation standards require that we use only highly trained
technicians who function under our direct supervision
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