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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.
    “It’s good coffee,” Lynn said, grinning at Diane. “You were so nice. I’d have ripped her a new one.”
    “She was only doing what she was told. It always amazes me how little influence I have.”
    Lynn’s laugh was almost a giggle. The two of them pulled up chairs and sat across from Rankin and Pilgrim.
    “I just got off the phone with Whit,” said Rankin, shifting his position and putting his cell phone back on his belt. “He’s thinking there may be as many as thirty bodies.”

Chapter 5

    Diane stood at a shiny stainless steel table in the cold morgue tent, looking down at a shock of blond hair held together by an iridescent blue clip. The hair and a small bit of scalp were attached to a piece of parietal bone from the right side of a skull.
    Explosions and fires are odd. They consume or blacken most everything, but occasionally there are surprising anomalies, such as this beautiful lock of blond hair—almost untouched, somehow thrown free in the explosion, along with scalp and bone.
    Diane measured the size and arc of the bone before Jin photographed it. Jin was a good assistant for this, not just because of his keen interest in DNA and his basic competence, but because, even in the worst of circumstances, he was nearly always happy. The tent would be somber without him if its only occupants were her, the MEs, the police, and burned bodies.
    “Plenty of roots for DNA,” said Jin as he tweezed samples of rooted hair from the scalp. He had a green surgical cap covering his straight black hair and wore green scrubs and short sleeves despite the cool temperature of the tent. Diane envied his ability to withstand the cold. She was bundled up and freezing. “You know if we had our own DNA . . .”
    “I know,” said Diane, interrupting Jin before he made another petition for a DNA lab. She liked the idea, but refrained from telling Jin or he would be ordering the equipment.
    The problem was that Rosewood didn’t want to pay for a DNA lab. Diane guessed they were holding out for her to put one in on the museum’s budget. After all, the museum, which was officially not part of the crime lab, had its own DNA lab—what’s one more lab, she was sure they were thinking. True, depending on how she crunched the numbers, she might be able to make a DNA lab pay for itself. But she didn’t tell Jin that, either.
    “You going to put in a DNA lab?” asked Lynn Webber. Diane looked up to see Lynn putting an organ—it looked like a heart—on the scales.
    Diane looked sideways at Jin as he stared down at nothing in particular on the tent floor. Just as she thought, he’d put Lynn up to it.
    “Jin wants to.” Diane evaded answering her directly, hoping Lynn would drop it.
    “It’d probably pay for itself,” said Lynn, retrieving the organ from the hanging scales. Diane shot her a scowl. Lynn smiled back.
    “Probably female,” said Diane of the remains on her table. “It’s a small skull.” She looked again at the wavy lock of hair, touching it with her