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conditioner is working in the rest of the
building.’’
Lynn glared at him for a moment before she spoke.
‘‘Well, it’s not working in here. What brings you here
anyway?
I
don’t
think
I’ve
ever
seen
you
visit
the
autopsy room.’’
‘‘I was talking to a patron when this . . . this . . .
horrific odor came into my office.’’
‘‘The maintenance man said it’s a problem with the
vents. You’ll have to talk to him.’’
‘‘He’s home sick.’’ As Jackson spoke, he breathed
through his mouth and tried holding his nose.
‘‘Surely he’s not the only person the hospital em
ploys who can fix air conditioning.’’
‘‘He’s the only one who can look into this. We’ve
had an injudicious use of vacation time, and the other
man who does this kind of work is out of town.’’
‘‘Then you’ll have to call in someone from outside
the hospital.’’
‘‘We don’t have the money.’’
‘‘Then we’ll have to put up with the smell until Mar
lon gets back.’’
‘‘This is impossible.’’
‘‘No,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘Just difficult.’’
‘‘I’ll see what I can do.’’ He hurried out of the lab.
The door slammed behind him.
‘‘Bean counter?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘That’s
him.
I
won’t
ask
you
what
you
did,
Raymond.’’
‘‘That’d be best, Ma’am.’’
‘‘Yes,
well,
getting
back
to
Blue.
We
gave
the
clothes an initial inspection before you got here,’’ said
Lynn,
speaking
to
Diane.
‘‘It’s
hard
to
tell,
but
the
coveralls look relatively new.’’
‘‘From Sears,’’ said Raymond.
‘‘Maybe at your lab you’ll be able to pick up some
more information,’’ said Lynn.
‘‘How’d a crime lab in a museum come about any
way?’’ Raymond asked Diane as he rolled the body
over while Lynn held the head and neck.
‘‘The
Rosewood
Police
Department
made
me
an
offer I couldn’t refuse.’’
‘‘Uh huh,’’ said Raymond.
‘‘The city and county assessed the museum’s prop
erty value so high it couldn’t pay the taxes. The mayor
and chief of detectives suggested that if we would op
erate
a
new
crime
scene
evidence
laboratory
in
the
museum for the city, the city would arrange for the
money from the real estate taxes paid to be returned
to the museum for services rendered.’’
‘‘Sounds to me a great deal like extortion,’’ Lynn said.
‘‘A deal with the devil,’’ Raymond said.
‘‘ Collaborative partnership is the operative term.’’
‘‘Yeah,
we
get
that
all
the
time
here
too,’’
Lynn
said.
‘‘Whenever
I
hear
that,
I
know
my
money
is
about to be cut and my workload increased. Makes
me want to gag more than this smell.’’
‘‘From the mayor’s point of view, it’s a perfect solu
tion. They get a new crime lab, and we get to keep
the museum and the taxes we can’t afford to pay. As
an added bonus, they send us one of their employees.’’
‘‘That would be Neva?’’ asked Lynn.
‘‘She’s kind of caught in the middle. She’s not to
blame.’’
‘‘So, your forensic anthropology unit was swallowed
up by the city’s crime lab?’’
‘‘No.
I
wouldn’t
stand
for
that.
The
crime
lab
is
separate. Half my salary and that of my forensic staff
is paid by the city to operate their crime lab. It takes
a team of accountants to do the paperwork. The one
big downside of it is that on paper, I and a chunk of
my staff are part-time employees of the city. Some
times the mayor and the chief of police forget that it’s
only on paper.’’
‘‘Bureaucracies are certainly wonderful,’’ said Lynn.
‘‘I
think
I’ve
found
something
on
the
ankle
here—
some kind of tattoo.’’
Diane walked over and took a look at the blackened
skin with a barely visible darker design.
‘‘I
see
it,’’
said
Raymond.
‘‘Can’t
tell
what
it
is.
Want me to get the lamp?’’
‘‘I think we have enough slippage so we don’t have
to burn off the skin. Get me a damp piece of gauze.’’
Raymond
fetched