Beverly Connor - Dead Past

“I got a partial plate. AXE and it looks like a Georgia plate.”

“AXE,” said Jin. “You think that was on purpose?”

“I doubt it. What criminal has vanity plates?” said Neva.

David shook his head. “I also got the interior. The seats look blue. I imagine the carpet is, too.”

“Garnett’s chasing down a lead to the car right now,” said Diane. “If he finds it and them, I’m going to need you guys to process the car and their clothes too, ASAP.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” said Jin.

“What about the face?” asked Diane. “Could you do anything with that?”

“Not really,” said David. “He had on sunglasses. My face recognition software needs to see the eyes. But I cleared it up as much as I could and sent it to the police department. They can use it to show around. Someone might recognize him.”

“OK, I’m going to finish the facial reconstruction. David, do you mind helping Jin and Neva sort the cigarette butts?”

“Not at all,” said David, putting on a pair of gloves. “By the way, why did the guy steal a doll? Was it valuable? And what did it have to do with Cipriano?”

“Because of what was inside the doll,” said Diane. “Cipriano, I think, was a mistake. I’ll tell you more later. Right now we’ve got evidence to process.”

Diane left them sorting cigarette butts and went to her lab where the bones were still waiting for her. She had already pieced together most of the face the last time she worked on them. There weren’t that many pieces left. She made quick work of it, and when she finished she had two complete skeletal faces.

She took them both to her vault, put each in turn on the pedestal, and scanned each with the laser scanner. She asked the software to reconstruct the unknown victim first, then do another construction of the first victim. Now that she had a more complete face, there would be fewer extrapolations and a more accurate rendition of the face. Even though the first reconstruction was already identified, a more accurate picture would be helpful to the police in tracing the guy’s steps before he got blown into tiny pieces.

As the software worked its magic-growing a face- she went back out to the bones and began the tedious task of trying to separate the two skeletons. She accomplished that through measurements and articulated surfaces. The task was made easier by the fact that the two individuals were of different heights. One had been athletic, as indicated by large muscle attachments on his arms and legs and pelvic bones. The other individual had been more sedentary.

The athletic individual was about ten years older than the other, as shown by the sternal end of his ribs, various epiphyses, and the condition of the pubic symphysis. He had a healed wound in his scapula-probably a gunshot wound. It would have reduced the range of motion in his arm and shoulder. From the size of the muscle attachments, he compensated by strengthening his arm and shoulder within the range of motion he had. Gradually she separated out the two skeletons until each lay on a separate table.

She went back to have a look at the faces. The image on the screen when she walked in was the re-scanned face of the identified victim from the basement. It was similar to the first version, but looked more realistic. Faces aren’t actually symmetrical. There are always slight variations from one side to the other. Duplicating one side and flipping it to substitute for missing bones creates a rather strange looking facsimile. This face no longer had that odd appearance.

She flipped it over and looked at the next face-and sat stunned. He could have been Marcus McNair’s brother, he was so similar.

Diane stared at the reconstructed face on the computer screen. Was this what Marcus McNair didn’t want them to find? A relative? Why wasn’t he reported missing? Didn’t he have other family who missed him? Parents, wife, children, girlfriend, friends?

She reached for the phone and called Garnett.

“I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed,” said Garnett, answering her call. “We found the car down a ravine ten miles outside of town. It’s been burned out. No bodies.”

“I’ll send David out,” said Diane. “Maybe he’ll find something useful.”

She was disappointed, but not surprised they ditched the car. She was willing to bet it was a stolen car, anyway. She wrote down the directions to it before she addressed the reason for her call.

“Did McNair have a brother or cousin, midthirties, who was shot in the shoulder, and looked a lot like him?”

Garnett was silent for a few seconds. “He has a cousin Eric McNair who fits that description. Why are you asking?”

“I finished reconstructing the skull on the second basement skeleton. Imagine my surprise when I looked at the computer-generated face and saw a facsimile of McNair.”

“Hmph. Kind of puts a new light on things,” said Garnett. “I imagine that was a shock. So, that’s where Eric got to.”

“Who is he and what’s his story? And why didn’t anybody report him missing?” asked Diane. She stared at the face rotating on the screen as she spoke with Garnett.

“Eric’s one of those family members you kind of hope will go off and not come back. Always in trouble. Spent time in jail for dealing, assault and battery, spouse abuse, you name it. He was shot in a drug deal that went sour. His family had hoped that cured him, but he was a hard case. I guess he’s cured now.”

“Must have been what McNair was trying to hide,” said Diane.

“Probably so. Discovering Eric’s involvement with the meth lab would definitely have implicated Marcus. They were tight. Marcus was the only relative Eric was close to.”

“How did Marcus get to be arson investigator?” asked Diane.

“Marcus kept out of trouble himself. He also had a benefactor,” said Garnett.

“Who?” asked Diane.

“Guess.”

“Adler?” answered Diane.

“First try. It’s looking worse and worse for Adler. The more we find on McNair, the more we have on Adler. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news. He’s been trying to distance himself from McNair. But his political career is circling the drain. I’d love to arrest the bastard. That would be icing on the cake.”

What did David say about payback being a bitch? thought Diane. Adler had no friends in the police department. He should have thought of that. You’d think a politician would have.

“Can I get dental records on Eric McNair or x-rays of his shoulder?” asked Diane.

“The guy may never have gone to a dentist. The hospital should have x-rays from the shooting injury. I’ll get them sent over to you,” said Garnett.

“That’ll confirm the identification,” said Diane. “I don’t guess there’s any line on where the occupants of the Impala went,” she said, jumping subjects.

“None. They obviously ditched the car. They’re probably in another vehicle by now and long gone.”

“They’ll hang around,” said Diane.

“How do you know?”

“Because they didn’t get what they wanted,” said Diane.

“You mean the secret code thing you were talking about?” asked Garnett.

From the tone of his voice and the ambiguity of his understanding of what the secret code thing represented to the gunman, Diane could see that Garnett wasn’t buying the looking-for-treasure motive. It didn’t matter. She bought it. And she knew they would return to get the coded message.

“You’ll let me know if he’s sighted?” she said.

“You know I will,” replied Garnett. “But I think you can relax.”

She hung up with Garnett. The face of Eric McNair rotated in three dimensions on her screen. What a tragic life to have gotten as far as his midthirties and have no one miss him. She printed out both faces-the two men who died together in an instant in the basement of the house-and saved them to a portable memory stick.