DF02 - Dead Guilty

by Beverly Connor

  has less than ten—not enough even for a normal PCR

  test. Added to that little difficulty is that the pigments

  in the hair can inhibit the PCR reaction.’’

  ‘‘PCR—that’s the test that copies DNA?’’ said

  Garnett.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ the sheriff answered. ‘‘That’s it.’’

  ‘‘Polymerase chain reaction,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It’s a

  powerful method that can be used on degraded and

  small samples of DNA. However, some samples are

  just too small.’’

  ‘‘Like shed hair,’’ said the sheriff.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ agreed Diane. ‘‘Shed hair does have more

  mitochondrial DNA, but that type of DNA doesn’t

  have the identifying power that nuclear DNA has. It’s

  too heterogeneous and doesn’t have the poly

  morphisms.’’

  ‘‘I can see how that would be a handicap,’’ said

  Garnett.

  Diane smiled. This was the first time she’d witnessed

  that Garnett had a sense of humor. ‘‘Polymorphism is

  the occurrence of several phenotypes linked with its

  alternative form....’’

  ‘‘Well, that certainly clears it up,’’ said Garnett.

  There was laughter around the table. ‘‘But what I’m

  hearing you say is just what the sheriff started out

  saying. You can’t get DNA from shed hair.’’ Jin leaned forward as if he was having a hard time

  waiting for Diane to get it out.

  ‘‘Not presently,’’ she said. ‘‘However, a crime lab in

  California is developing a procedure for in situ

  amplification.’’

  Jin couldn’t wait. ‘‘You fix the cells on special

  coated slides and the PCR is done on the slide itself,

  using special equipment. You see, no need to extract

  the DNA. That’s where you lose some of it.’’ ‘‘The in situ method has been done on tissue sam

  ples for other applications,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It’s experi

  mental. They’re still working on the protocol for

  forensic use.’’

  Garnett’s phone rang. He plucked it from his belt

  and looked at a message on the screen and put it back

  in his pocket. He gave Diane a long stare. ‘‘I assume

  it’s not cheap.’’ Garnett glanced over at the sheriff,

  an apparent DNA analysis-phile, and saw that his in

  terest was piqued.

  ‘‘No,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It probably won’t be cheap, even

  if we can get it done. As I said, it’s experimental.’’ Garnett seemed to look inward a moment, then his

  gaze rested on Jin’s tee-shirt. Jin had numerous foren

  sic sloganed tee-shirts—for M.E.s, criminalists—all

  with varying degrees of humor, gore, and double en

  tendre. Today he had worn one that caught Garnett’s

  eye—M.E.S ARE ON THE CUTTING EDGE. Diane could see

  him make up his mind.

  ‘‘Why don’t we give it a try? We can carry the bulk

  of the cost for your county, Sheriff.’’

  ‘‘I’d like to do that, I sure would,’’ said the sheriff. Garnett rose. ‘‘I just got a message saying they found

  Steven Mayberry’s truck on a back road. It’s empty. No

  sign of foul play, but you’ll have to look at it.’’ Diane nodded and turned to Neva. ‘‘I want you to

  process it, Neva.’’

  Neva stared back at Diane and started to speak, but

  Garnett spoke first.

  ‘‘This is real important.’’

  Diane held his gaze, but she could see in her periph

  eral vision that his words had stung Neva.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Diane said. ‘‘I know it is.’’

  Chapter 13

  Diane watched Chief Garnett pause before he left, looking as if he wanted to say more about her choos ing Neva for this assignment. She guessed he was stuck. Garnett was the one who had given Neva to Diane’s crime scene unit. He could not very well say now that he doubted Neva’s abilities. She was wet behind the ears and had a little trouble with rotting bodies, but Diane had examined her qualifications. Neva’s file showed a good training record in evi dence analysis.

  Neva collected her equipment and rushed to catch up with Garnett, casting a glance back that looked like a combination of determination and fear. Jin went whistling into his office to call crime scene researchers in California. The sheriff lifted his lanky frame from his chair, looking suddenly abandoned.

  ‘‘Let David tell you more about his insects,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I want you to understand how we fix the time of death. We can’t go solely by rate of decomposition. Insects can’t eat what they can’t get to. If they aren’t eating, decomposition is slowed. Wind and dry weather can stop decomposition altogether and start a mummification process. The Cobber’s Wood bodies showed a combination of light insect infestation and slight mummification. Our best clue may be the life cycle of the fly larva—telling us how long they have infested the body.’’

  He was silent a moment, holding his hat in one hand and studying the floor as they walked to the maggot room, as David liked to call the small cubicle.

  ‘‘The inside of this building is not the same thing as outdoors,’’ said the sheriff, looking at David’s maggots.

  ‘‘My rearing chamber is similar to the climate at the crime scene,’’ said David.

  As David explained about insect succession and life cycles, Diane could see that the sheriff hadn’t relaxed the rigid pose of his shoulders.

  ‘‘I guess time will tell,’’ he said. ‘‘I have to tell you, the sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better. I know our boy Garnett is’’—he gestured toward the door where Garnett left—‘‘just real excited about hav ing a high-profile case for you guys to work on. But it’s been a pain in the butt for me.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Fortunately, Lynn Webber released informa tion identifying the victims as white. The last thing I needed was rumors of a lynching flying around and having people stirring up trouble.’’

  ‘‘I imagine it was the description of the bodies that bothered Reverend Jefferson,’’ said Diane. ‘‘He’s old enough to remember his parents and grandparents telling about spectacle lynching. Those images must have been raised in his mind when he heard about the condition of the bodies.’’

  ‘‘Spectacle lynching?’’ asked Jin, returning from his office with his thumb up, indicating his success with the call to California. ‘‘Sounds like an oxymoron. Weren’t illegal hangings done in secret?’’

  ‘‘Lynchings were not only hangings,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Any death by a mob is called a lynching. Spectacle lynchings were just that—they were spectacles. They would be announced on the radio and in the newspa per and lasted all day. The mob often tortured the victim, castrating him, cutting off his fingers and toes, burning him with hot pokers, dragging him behind a car or wagon—then they would hang him.’’

  The description of spectacle lynchings was not news to David. He was familiar with all manner of human rights violations, but the sheriff’s and Jin’s jaws dropped.

  ‘‘Sometimes the mob would get themselves in such a frenzy,’’ added David, ‘‘they would take out after any black they saw on the street, or they might break into the homes of black people and drag them away.’’

  ‘‘No one tried to put a stop to it?’’ asked Jin.

  David nodded. ‘‘Many tried. In several instances, white employers tried to protect their black employ ees, but it was at their own peril.’’

  David paused, leaned against the table, crossed his arms, and gave them a soft smile. ‘‘One lynching pro duced an oft-repeated movie line. A man named Dick Hinson told about a mob tha
t gathered outside his livery stable, where his father had hidden several blacks. When the mob leader told Hinson they were coming in, through him if necessary, Hinson took out his gun. The leader laughed and told him that he couldn’t shoot all of them. Hinson said sure enough he couldn’t—just the first man who came through the door.’’

  ‘‘And?’’ asked Jin.

  ‘‘No one wanted to be shot. No one came through the door.’’

  ‘‘How long has it been since this kind of thing happened?’’

  ‘‘The 1920s and ’30s were the height of it. The spec tacle aspect began to die out in the midforties.’’

  The sheriff shook his head back and forth. ‘‘I guess I’ll go see Elwood and try to reassure him.’’ He sighed and stared at the maggots. ‘‘I don’t want to rush any thing, Dr. Fallon, but when do you think you might have me something on the skeletons?’’

  ‘‘I’m starting on them today. They’re a priority. I’ll work as quickly as I can.’’

  ‘‘Interesting stuff about the rope. It’ll be more inter esting if it actually leads us to the killer. I’d appreciate a call when you find out anything I can use.’’ He put on his hat and headed for the exit.

  Diane watched him go past the lab receptionist and into the special elevator they had installed for the crime lab.

  ‘‘I don’t think we convinced him about the time of death,’’ said David.

  ‘‘Maybe,’’ Diane said.

  ‘‘He’s got it bad for Dr. Webber,’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘Apparently. What arrangements did you make about the DNA, Jin?’’

  ‘‘The California folks are going to send their proto col to the GBI lab sometime today. I’ll take the shed hair over tomorrow. Good thing I wore this shirt, huh, boss?’’ Jin grinned, showing white, even-edged oc cluded teeth.

  ‘‘Yes, it is. Much better than the one that says CRIM INALISTS DO IT EVERYWHERE. I’ll be in the osteo lab.’’

  The first thing noticeable about her bone lab was the number of tables—eight large shiny tables lined up in two rows of four, spaced with plenty of room around each. Diane liked space to work. One of the most frustrating things about working in the field was cramped space in inaccessible locations. Here she had room to spread out. She had countertops lining the walls. She had cabinet space to spare; she had sinks. It was a good room.

  The cabinets held sliding and spreading her measuring calipers, bone instruments— board, stature charts, reference books, pencils, forms. On the counter space she had a series of microscopes. A metal frame work for mounting cameras hung from the ceiling above the tables. Standing mutely in the corner were Fred and Ethel, the male and female lab skeletons.

  Her workroom had the essentials of a well-stocked anthropology lab. Much of her analysis with bones was manual labor—concentrated scrutiny, measuring and recording observations. It was a room she could work in even if the electricity went off, as often happened during the frequent springtime and summer thunder storms.

  Despite her fondness for lowtech, Diane had some dazzling equipment in the vault, the secure, environ mentally controlled room where she stored skeletal remains. In it she also kept her computer and forensic software, and the 3-D facial reconstruction equipment consisting of a laser scanner for scanning skulls and another dedicated computer with software for recon structing a face from a skull.

  She hadn’t invited the sheriff and Garnett to see the vault. Technically, it was part of the museum, and she didn’t want Garnett to think he had free reign in this lab.

  Blue Doe’s skeleton was resting in a transparent plastic storage box on the table closest to the vault. The rope Diane had removed from Blue Doe at the autopsy sat in a separate box beside the remains. An other box containing the corresponding rope from the trees sat on top of it. A set. Bones and rope. Victim and weapon. Red and Green Doe were on separate tables, paired with their ropes.

  Diane started with Blue by laying out her bones in anatomical position on the shiny metal table. This ini tial process Diane found relaxing. It was a chance to get an overview of the skeleton—how much was there, its basic condition, anything outstanding.

  She rested the skull on a metal donut ring at the head of the table. She took the broken hyoid bone pieces from a small separate sack and lay them just below the skull. The hyoid is the only bone in the body that isn’t connected to another bone. In the body it anchors the muscles that are used in speech. It also supports the tongue and, like this one, is nearly always broken during strangulation.

  She set the vertebrae in position—atlas, which holds the world, axis which rotates that world, and the spinal column (cervical, thoracic, lumbar, sacrum, coccyx) vertebra by vertebra. Followed by ribs, shoulders, pel vis, long bones, fingers and toes.

  Blue had strong white bones. The internal frame work of her body was quite beautiful now that it was cleansed of rotting flesh.

  Diane began her detailed examination with the pelvis—the main bones needed to reliably sex the indi vidual. Lynn Webber had already judged that Blue Doe was female, and Diane confirmed that the pelvis was indeed that of a female.

  Blue had slim hips, almost androgynous—hardly wider than those of a male her age. Diane ran a thumb along the fine line representing the epiphyseal union of the iliac crest with the flared innominate bone. Fu sion occurs anywhere from fifteen to twenty-three years of age. The iliac crest was not completely fused.

  She turned the pelvis in her hand and examined it for marks or distinguishing characteristics. There were none. No weapon marks, no sign of injury or disease. Nor was there sign Blue had ever been pregnant or given birth, though stress on the pelvis from pregnancy doesn’t always show. The rugged ridged look of the pubic symphysis conveyed an age of eighteen or nineteen—consistent with the epiphyseal fusion. So very young.

  Diane measured the bone at all of its landmarks and recorded the information. So far she’d found nothing that would help her identify the remains, but she hadn’t really expected to in the pelvis.

  After the pelvis, she went to the skull, picking it up gently. The mandible was detached now that the mus cle and ligaments were gone. She picked it up, held it in place and looked into the bone face. Blue had no cavities, a slight overbite, smooth high forehead, slight cheekbones, a pointed chin—and a nose job.

  The nasal spine, the spike below the nasal opening that acts as the nose’s strut, had been modified. A portion of the bridge of the nose had been removed. Blue had undergone extensive rhinoplasty.

  A satisfied feeling

  tended down to her

  identifying Blue Doe.

  gripped Diane’s brain and ex stomach—one step forward in

  She went about the meticulous task of measuring the crainometric points on the skull until she had vir tually a mathematical definition of the face—the length, width, the measurement of each feature and its distance from every other feature. It was a narrow Caucasian female face.

  Diane examined each of Blue’s bones for signs of healed breaks, disease, pathology, cuts from knives or chips from bullets. Other than having the tips of her fingers cut off and a shattered hyoid bone from the hanging, there were no other diagnostically impor tant marks.

  With the sex and race established, Diane measured several of Blue’s long bones on the bone board. From one person to another, bones are relatively consistent in their size relationship to each other. The length of any of the long bones when referenced on the stature tables for age and race gives a reasonably accurate estimate of the height of the individual.

  Blue was a five-foot-five-inch woman, girl really, probably between 18 and 23, but not older than that. She was of good health and strong body—attested to by her prominent muscle attachments. The beveling on the glenoid cavity of her right scapula suggested she rotated her right arm in its socket more than the left, and so was probably right-handed. She’d had good enough dental care and hygiene to have avoided cavities. She had no orthodontia, and her third molars, the wisdom t
eeth, hadn’t yet erupted. Blue had expen sive plastic surgery. These did not appear to be the bones of a homeless waif, as the sheriff thought.

  He—whoever had killed Blue—had taken her fin gertips, so all the terminal phalanxes were missing. Trophy or practicality? She took the medial phalanxes to her dissecting microscope and examined the distal ends. All showed damage. The surface was cut enough on three of them that she could see a striation pattern—two lines, one thicker than the other, per haps representing a flaw on the cutting edge of the tool. She photographed the images.

  After recording the information that now defined Blue Doe, Diane turned to the ropes that had bound her. She took them from the box and laid them out on the table next to the skeleton. The rope was rela tively new and made from hemp. It was rough and stiff in her hands. The loose fibers pricked her sensi tive fingers.

  Diane’s tender skin made her realize how long it had been since she’d been caving. As a caver she didn’t use natural fiber rope but the stronger nylon. Even though she wore special gloves when she caved, her hands were hardened when she was regularly on rope. They had gotten soft.

  She examined each knot in detail. They were as she had described to the sheriff and Garnett—handcuff knot and bowlines backed up by a stopper knot. Diane teased the rope until she loosened the stopper knot.

  Personally, she used a figure eight when she needed a stopper. Whoever tied Blue used a stevedore’s knot—similar to a figure eight but with an extra twist. Further examination showed that he had also tied a stevedore’s knot on the loose end of the bowline that made the neck noose, on the end of the anchor’s bend around the tree limb, on the end of the handcuff knot, and on the end of the loop from the handcuffs to the neck.

  Diane bet to herself that he used the same pattern in all of his knots with the other two victims. Not a significant MO, but certainly one that could help tag a suspect if the sheriff found one.

  Green Doe was at the next table, lying in his clear plastic box with his rope next to him. She opened the boxes and took out the ropes. Bowline, handcuff knot, anchor’s bend—all tied the same way and all with a stevedore’s knot as stoppers. She was right. He made a habit of tying knots a certain way. Another little piece of the puzzle.