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of bugs. David’s got quite a collection. That’s
about all so far.’’
Neva stood up from the farthest grid square from
Diane. ‘‘I have something here.’’
Diane
searched
covered.
crossed
the
grids
that
had
already
been
and
stooped
to
see
what
Neva
had
dis
    ‘‘It’s
just a rope,’’ she said, ‘‘but . . . well, there’s a
lot of rope here, and...’’
The rope had been covered in leaves and lay in a
loose
tangle
on
the
ground.
It
was
hemp,
like
the
death ropes, had no knots and showed signs of chafing
in several places.
‘‘This is good,’’ said Diane. ‘‘The killer might have
dropped it. Take a picture of it, do a sketch, but let
me take it up.’’
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘When
you
sketch
it,
take
note
of
how
the
rope
crosses itself.’’
Neva nodded. ‘‘David and Jin said you do forensic
knot analysis. I’ve never heard of that.’’
‘‘It comes in handy. It’s amazing how many you run
across in criminal investigations.’’
‘‘Can you really find out anything from knots?’’
‘‘You can make some good guesses about the per
son who tied them. How good he is at tying knots,
perhaps what kind of job or hobby he’s had.’’
‘‘I always thought a knot was a knot.’’
‘‘Oh, no, there’s a specific knot for every purpose.
Some are commonly used, and some are rare.’’
‘‘This rope doesn’t have any knots in it. Will you
be able to tell anything from it?’’
‘‘I doubt it, but you never know. There might be
bloodstains or fibers on it that’ll give us information.
If we’re lucky, we might be able to find out where it
came from. It’s a good find.’’
Neva nodded. ‘‘I was afraid it might be just trash.’’
‘‘There’s
no
such
thing
as
‘just
trash’
at
a
crime
scene.’’
After Neva photographed the rope, she lay a grid
over
it
and
began
drawing
a
sketch
of
it
onto
the
graph paper.
Diane stepped out of the crime scene and walked
around the perimeter toward David. She noticed that
Neva occasionally cast nervous glances in her direc
tion. Neva was a friend of Janice Warrick. Warrick’s
mishandling of the Boone family crime scene had re
sulted in her demotion in the Rosewood police depart
ment, a demotion that was blamed on Diane by almost
everyone in the department.
‘‘How’s it going?’’ she asked David.
‘‘We’re ready to take them down.’’
He
stood
in
the
cleared
area
under
the
corpses,
looking like he was about to be hanged himself. Diane
understood. She hated this part—placing once living
people into body bags.

Chapter
5
    The
only other time Diane had been in a hot autopsy
room
was
in
the
South
American
jungle.
Dr.
Lynn
Webber’s lab in the regional medical center was sti
fling. The smell of death weighed over the room like
a
heavy
blanket
of
rotting
flesh.
The
metal
tables,
white
glass-door
cabinets,
appliances
and
tools
that
went so well with the usual chill of the autopsy room
looked out of place and dreadful here. Diane wanted
to back out of the overwhelming stench and heat and
go someplace else.
    Through
a window on the opposite side of the main
lab Diane could see the isolation room designed for
the autopsy of badly decomposed and infectious bod
ies. The diener, servant to the dead, stood by a table
occupied by one of the hanging victims—extended on
a shiny metal table, neck curved around the torso so
that the head sat beside the shoulder.
    Lynn
was in her office on the phone, the door open.
Her voice carried out to the autopsy room.
‘‘I asked you two days ago to come fix the air condi
tioner.’’ Pause. ‘‘I don’t care if it’s the vents, not the
unit. The temperature is too high in here. I have dead
bodies rotting on my tables. No amount of lemon juice
is ever going to get the smell out of my hair.’’
Lynn tapped a pencil on a pad of paper as she lis
tened. ‘‘I don’t care if both your ankles are sprained.
A man your age has got no business being on Roll
erblades. Let me remind you