Beverly Connor - Dead Past

Most of the debris was pieces of wood and shingles from the house. Other than blood, probably from victims who were outside the house when it exploded, neither she nor Neva initially found any human remains.

Diane was setting a green flag beside what looked like the leg of a chair when she heard her name. She stood up to see medical examiner Lynn Webber waving to her from the road.

Reaching for something hanging on a limb, Neva was a few feet away near a small maple tree.

“Neva, I need to go… ”

Neva retrieved the object-it looked like a piece of cloth to Diane-bagged it, marked the limb with a tag, and put a yellow flag beside the tree. Yellow flags were the code for “look up.”

“Sure. We can handle this,” Neva said.

“Neva, I know this is a lot, but when you finish here, I need for one of you to process my car. It’s parked in front of my house.”

“Your car? What happened?”

That’s right, thought Diane, they don’t know. She hadn’t told them about the kid with the gun.

“Someone tried to highjack my car last night.”

“What?” Neva stood openmouthed. Glancing over at the burned-out house still holding the charred bodies, she said, “All this, and you had to deal with a carjacker?”

Diane gave her a quick explanation, waving off her concerns with a flick of her hand. “It turned out all right.” And it had, but the kid with the bloody stump had haunted her dreams during the few hours’ sleep she was able to catch before Garnett’s call.

Diane retraced her steps to where Lynn Webber stood shivering in her brown suede coat. Her white earmuffs looked like snowballs against her short black hair. Her tan linen slacks appeared wholly inadequate for the weather, as did her leather fashion boots with two-inch heels.

Lynn’s dark eyes were somber. “How bad is it?” she asked.

“Bad. Garnett is trying to find out how many students were involved. They’re setting up a command post near the morgue tent,” said Diane, gesturing for her to lead the way.

“Allen Rankin and Brewster Pilgrim are waiting in that tent.” Webber pointed at the green and white striped tent. “They were offered hot coffee.”

“Sounds good.” Diane smiled and walked with Webber toward the hospitality tent.

“You know,” said Webber, “our local hospitals are better equipped to handle this. I feel as though I’ve run away with the circus.”

“You’re preaching to the choir. Apparently, the mayor wants a very visible presence so everyone will see that he’s on top of the situation.”

Lynn Webber shrugged. “Maybe he’s right. People do have a tendency to think you aren’t doing anything if they don’t see you doing it.”

“Well, they’ll have a ringside seat here,” said Diane.

As she walked with Lynn through the slush, she scanned the crowd that was gathering behind the police barricade. Cars were parked down the street as far as she could see. Too many people, she thought. Surely, this many people don’t have missing children.

“Most are rubberneckers trying to catch site of something sensational,” said Lynn, as if reading Diane’s thoughts. “At least, I hope this many people haven’t lost a loved one.”

As she grew closer to the onlookers, Diane could pick out the worried parents and friends. It was the look of desperation and fear that gave them away. The gawkers and ghouls had eyes that glittered with anticipation as they strained to get a look at the burned-out house in the distance. A man with a camera tried to get under the roped-off area, and a policeman pushed him back.

“All those people…,” whispered Lynn.

Diane avoided meeting anyone’s gaze and was glad to duck inside the coffee tent. A young policeman was on his way out with a carton of several cups of coffee for the policemen standing duty. He nodded at them as he passed.

There were few people other than medical examiners in the tent. A long table on one side held a commercial coffeemaker and an array of pastries. Four women manned the table, setting out plastic forks and packages of Styrofoam cups. They looked up as Diane and Lynn entered and began pouring two cups of coffee.

A policewoman was arranging a desk near the entrance. Diane guessed it was to be the location to receive x-rays, toothbrushes, hairbrushes, and other objects that might hold DNA or other clues to victims’ identities. Diane didn’t recognize the policewoman. She thought she was learning all the personnel on the force, but apparently there had been some recent additions.

This young woman looked just out of the academy. In fact, her smooth unlined face looked like she could still be in high school. She was unloading a grocery bag, setting boxes of different sizes of Ziploc freezer bags on the desk.

Lynn Webber walked on past to a waiting cup of hot coffee, but Diane stopped at the desk.

“Hi.” She hoped she sounded friendly. “Are those all the bags for holding objects for comparison DNA samples?”

“And you are?” said the young woman without looking up from her task.

“I’m sorry.” Diane held out the identification that hung around her neck. “I’m Diane Fallon. I’m head of the Crime Lab here in Rosewood.”

The woman looked up and gave her a tight smile. “Yes, I’m to collect the samples from the parents.”

“Plastic bags are good for transporting evidence,” Diane said. “But for storage, plastic isn’t right for all evidence. Let me bring you some evidence bags… ”

“My sergeant told me to get these.” Her voice was curt; she broke eye contact and continued unloading the plastic bags.

“If a parent brings in a damp bath towel, for example, it would…”

“I do what my sergeant tells me.”

“Of course you do. I’m sorry to have brought it up to you.” Diane took her phone from her pocket, flipped it open, and called Garnett. “Chief Garnett, I would like the evidence from family members collected in the evidence bags from our lab, and I need you to talk to the sergeant in charge so he can change the orders of the patrolman at the scene here.”

Diane paused. The policewoman looked at her, wide-eyed. She sat back and expelled her breath in a huff.

“I’m in the coffee tent, or whatever you call it. The police are setting up a desk here to receive the samples.”

Diane paused again, listening to Garnett. “I did tell her myself. She is very into chain of command.” Diane handed the phone to the policewoman. “It’s Chief Garnett. He wants to speak to you.”

The young woman took the phone hesitantly, eying Diane as she said hello.

“Sergeant Davis told me…” She stopped talking for several moments. “Yes, sir,” she said and handed the phone back to Diane.

“I’ll have someone bring you the proper bags and boxes,” said Diane, punching Neva’s cell number. She told Neva what she wanted and apologized for pulling her off the scene. Diane was thinking that things like this could be avoided if she gave workshops to the police on collecting evidence. They had resisted the notion, but she’d talk to Garnett about it again.

Diane smiled and thanked the policewoman, but she could see she hadn’t made a friend. Great, she thought, I’ll never get on good terms with the police.

The other two medical examiners, Pilgrim and Rankin, were in a corner, sitting on a couple of folding chairs and drinking from steaming Styrofoam cups. She waved at them and headed in their direction. They had barricaded themselves in with folding chairs held in place by their booted feet. Their bodies looked relaxed, but their faces showed deep frowns. Rankin was on his cell phone. Lynn was a few feet away, drinking her coffee with an amused expression. She handed Diane a cup as she walked by.