Read Online Dead Guilty by Beverly Connor - Free Book Online Page B

Taller than the woman, though it
would be hard to tell exactly until Diane could mea
sure
the
bones.
Now,
from
his
head
to
his
feet
his
stretch length was eight feet seven inches.
‘‘Other than the appendix scar, there are no visible
external markings. No needle marks or signs of defen
sive
wounds
that
are
visible.’’
Lynn
talked
into
the
recorder in a monotone voice, quite different from her
conversational tone.
Lynn didn’t run Diane out for the autopsy this time.
Diane stayed and continued to collect insect specimens.
At the crime scene and on the bodies a full range
of insects were present—insects that feed on flesh, and
insects that fed on the flesh-eating insects. The only
kind she didn’t see were the ground beetles that feed
on
dried flesh.
All the
dried flesh
was hanging
well
out of their reach.
Lynn made the Y incision and pulled back the flaps
of tissue, increasing the putrid smell in the room. Lynn
was petite, even looked delicate next to the autopsy
table, but she had no problem cutting away the chest
plate, gaining her access to the block of organs.
‘‘You
know,’’
said
Lynn,
‘‘I
really
prefer
fresh
bodies.’’
Diane had to agree as she watched Lynn and Ray
mond locate the subclavian and carotid arteries.
‘‘Go ahead and tie them off, Raymond—if you can.
I’m getting a lot more decay in this one than the Blue
girl. Let’s get these organs out and, Diane, you’re wel
come to any insects you can find.’’
Raymond
did
most
of
the
cutting
to
remove
the
organs and took them to the other autopsy table for
Lynn to examine. There were very few insect larva in
the chest cavity, but Diane found several good speci
mens in the lower abdomen.
‘‘Go ahead and get at the brain,’’ Lynn told Ray
mond. ‘‘I hope it’s not mush.’’
As
Lynn
examined
the
organs,
Diane
told
them
about the unexpected mummy.
‘‘So he just kind of showed up on your doorstep?’’
said Raymond. ‘‘Now, that’s cool. Dr. Lynn, I’m going
to cut the neck, if you can . . . never mind, I think I
can manage it. These long necks are a mess to deal
with, I’m telling you.’’
‘‘So
you’ll
be
opening
an
Egyptian
exhibit?’’
asked
Lynn.
‘‘At some point perhaps. We’ve got a lot of research
to do before then.’’
‘‘Oh, this fellow had a heart condition,’’ said Lynn.
Diane
looked
over
her
shoulder
at
the
darkened
heart Lynn had opened up.
‘‘See
here?’’
Lynn
pointed
her
scalpel
at
a
valve.
‘‘He
had
a
mitral
valve
prolapse.
You
know,’’
she
turned her head toward Diane, ‘‘this might show up
in his bones.’’
‘‘You
think
it
may
be
associated
with
skeletal
abnormalities?’’
‘‘It’s observed in about two-thirds of patients with
this condition.’’
‘‘Would
he
have
been
under
a
physician’s
care?’’
asked Diane.
‘‘It’s not severe, so he may have been basically
asymptomatic.
That’s
not
uncommon.
He
may
have
had
to
take
antibiotics
when
he
had
dental
work.’’
The sound of the Stryker saw was of short duration.
Raymond
was
skilled.
The
sound
of
the
calvarium
being removed didn’t have the characteristic pop of a
fresh body.
‘‘Pretty soft,’’ said Raymond. ‘‘We may be able to
fix it.’’
Out of the corner of her eye Diane saw him care
fully
remove
the
jellylike
brain
and
put
it
in
a
jar
of formalin.
Little by little they were collecting bits of informa
tion about the victims—tattoos, scars, bad heart valve.
There was a good chance that all these things would
add up to a critical mass of information leading them
to the identity of the victims.
Surely, someone was missing these people—unless
they
were
the
lost
people,
the
invisible
class
that
slips through the cracks and becomes easy prey for
killers.
It was almost 9:30 P . M . by the time they finished the
third autopsy and Diane arrived at the museum with
the evidence for her crime lab. David was there, tak
ing notes and checking on his insects.
‘‘I called the weather