Hershel. “Of course death would have been quick, but very painful.”
Lela studied Green’s corpse. Big and fleshy, the American professor was tall, about 250 pounds, with a mane of gray hair. His eyes bulged, a shocked look on his face as if his own death had come as a complete surprise.
Lela examined the Gerber folding knife planted to the hilt in his upper chest. Channels of dried blood radiated out from the wound. Lela looked away, taking in the expansive walk-in tent.
A camp bed lay in one corner, a storage trunk in another, a tier of bookshelves stacked with books and ledgers by the bed. Nearby was an old desk, and on top of it what looked like a rolled clump of rotting material. An ancient-looking clay urn sat on the ground.
Lela nodded. “I’ve seen enough. What else can you can tell me, Yad?”
Hershel replaced the sheet. “Death happened sometime between five and six A.M. The knife hilt had been wiped clean of any prints. We found four sets of footprints leading to the door, but from the wipe marks I found on either side of them I reckon they came after the killer left . The floor had been scrubbed, probably just after the killing. I wish my wife was as clean.”
“What else?”
“A couple of partial bootprints to the right outside the tent—we’ll try and match those. As for fingerprints, we’d be busy for another year just trying to document them all. On the bookcases, the storage trunk, even part of the ground sheet. This was the professor’s office, after all. All of the crew came in here at some stage. We took at least twenty sets of prints off the center tent poles alone.”
Lela noticed a dried crimson spatter on the dirt floor, knelt, touched it with her fingertip, and placed the tip to her nostrils. Hershel grinned. “It’s a coffee stain. I checked.”
Lela brushed her hands and stood, turning her attention to the desk and the rolled clump of rotting material that lay on top. “What’s this?”
“The linen cloth the scroll was found wrapped in. It was inside the urn. We’ll take a look at those for prints too.”
Lela leaned over to study the linen and inhaled. It smelled ancient, infused with must and soil. “Any prints on the desk?”
“A lot.” Hershel picked up a plastic evidence bag and showed it to Lela. “We also found these scattered on the floor.”
Lela examined the bag and saw slivers of sepia-colored material that looked like faded newspaper, a couple of inches long. “What are they?”
“I suspect they’re flakes of ancient parchment. They probably came from the scroll.”
Lela said, “Do you think there was a scuffle of some kind?”
“There isn’t much evidence of that. But we’ll analyze the material. We can even have it carbon-dated just to prove the age of the parchment.”
“So when will you have something for me, Yad?”
“Like I told Mosberg, I ought to have the autopsy done by tonight. The other stuff sometime tomorrow.”
Mosberg said, “I’ve sent out a couple of my men to talk with the local Bedu, hoping we might pick up something. So far we’ve drawn a complete blank.”
“Any witnesses? Did anyone see anything, Yad?”
“The trouble is, everyone claims to have had a few drinks too many and crashed in their tents, except Jack Cane and Yasmin.”
“Are they involved with each other?”
Mosberg shrugged again. “Nobody’s saying that, but the two were talking on that hill at six A.M. I’m thinking it couldn’t have been just social. Buddy Savage says he was woken by the sound of Professor Green’s tent entrance flap cracking in the wind at about six A.M. He claims the noise kept him awake and that when he went to investigate he found Green unconscious with the knife in his chest. Mr. Savage woke the others. Later it was discovered that the scroll was gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Stolen, disappeared, whatever. I had my men search every tent, porta-potty, and office trailer. There’s no sign of it in the
Lela studied Green’s corpse. Big and fleshy, the American professor was tall, about 250 pounds, with a mane of gray hair. His eyes bulged, a shocked look on his face as if his own death had come as a complete surprise.
Lela examined the Gerber folding knife planted to the hilt in his upper chest. Channels of dried blood radiated out from the wound. Lela looked away, taking in the expansive walk-in tent.
A camp bed lay in one corner, a storage trunk in another, a tier of bookshelves stacked with books and ledgers by the bed. Nearby was an old desk, and on top of it what looked like a rolled clump of rotting material. An ancient-looking clay urn sat on the ground.
Lela nodded. “I’ve seen enough. What else can you can tell me, Yad?”
Hershel replaced the sheet. “Death happened sometime between five and six A.M. The knife hilt had been wiped clean of any prints. We found four sets of footprints leading to the door, but from the wipe marks I found on either side of them I reckon they came after the killer left . The floor had been scrubbed, probably just after the killing. I wish my wife was as clean.”
“What else?”
“A couple of partial bootprints to the right outside the tent—we’ll try and match those. As for fingerprints, we’d be busy for another year just trying to document them all. On the bookcases, the storage trunk, even part of the ground sheet. This was the professor’s office, after all. All of the crew came in here at some stage. We took at least twenty sets of prints off the center tent poles alone.”
Lela noticed a dried crimson spatter on the dirt floor, knelt, touched it with her fingertip, and placed the tip to her nostrils. Hershel grinned. “It’s a coffee stain. I checked.”
Lela brushed her hands and stood, turning her attention to the desk and the rolled clump of rotting material that lay on top. “What’s this?”
“The linen cloth the scroll was found wrapped in. It was inside the urn. We’ll take a look at those for prints too.”
Lela leaned over to study the linen and inhaled. It smelled ancient, infused with must and soil. “Any prints on the desk?”
“A lot.” Hershel picked up a plastic evidence bag and showed it to Lela. “We also found these scattered on the floor.”
Lela examined the bag and saw slivers of sepia-colored material that looked like faded newspaper, a couple of inches long. “What are they?”
“I suspect they’re flakes of ancient parchment. They probably came from the scroll.”
Lela said, “Do you think there was a scuffle of some kind?”
“There isn’t much evidence of that. But we’ll analyze the material. We can even have it carbon-dated just to prove the age of the parchment.”
“So when will you have something for me, Yad?”
“Like I told Mosberg, I ought to have the autopsy done by tonight. The other stuff sometime tomorrow.”
Mosberg said, “I’ve sent out a couple of my men to talk with the local Bedu, hoping we might pick up something. So far we’ve drawn a complete blank.”
“Any witnesses? Did anyone see anything, Yad?”
“The trouble is, everyone claims to have had a few drinks too many and crashed in their tents, except Jack Cane and Yasmin.”
“Are they involved with each other?”
Mosberg shrugged again. “Nobody’s saying that, but the two were talking on that hill at six A.M. I’m thinking it couldn’t have been just social. Buddy Savage says he was woken by the sound of Professor Green’s tent entrance flap cracking in the wind at about six A.M. He claims the noise kept him awake and that when he went to investigate he found Green unconscious with the knife in his chest. Mr. Savage woke the others. Later it was discovered that the scroll was gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Stolen, disappeared, whatever. I had my men search every tent, porta-potty, and office trailer. There’s no sign of it in the
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