Dead Guilty

is not a murderer. He
seems obsessed with justice—and injustice. If he com
mitted the Cobber’s Wood murders, perhaps he
hanged them for their real or imagined crimes, what
ever they might have been. He dressed them up like
prisoners. Perhaps he really believes himself to be
their executioner for just cause, not their murderer.
Their fingers were cut off to avoid them being identi
fied if they were found.’’
‘‘What if they’d been found before their faces rot
ted? They could have been identified that way.’’ Diane frowned for a moment. ‘‘Maybe there is a
reason the fingerprints are a greater threat to identifi
cation than their faces or their teeth.’’
‘‘How’s that?’’ asked Garnett.
‘‘They grew up in the northeast, not here. Maybe
that’s where they lived, and he thought being far away
from home would delay identification.’’
the killings another ‘‘They grew up in the northeast? How do you
know that?’’
‘‘We got back the chemical analysis on the bones.
Different regions of the world have different chemi
cals in their soil and different kinds of air pollutions.
These chemical combinations show up in bones. I sent
the report to your office.’’
‘‘I haven’t seen it. You’re thinking that he thought
they might not be recognized down here, far away
from home?’’
‘‘Yes. But he might have realized we’d put their
fingerprints through a database and get a hit, so he
cut their fingers off.’’
‘‘Speaking of fingerprints,’’ said Garnett. ‘‘David hasn’t gotten a hit off any of the fingerprints
we’ve found and he’s been through all the databases
we have access to.’’
Diane realized that she hadn’t yet told Garnett
about the tasks she’d assigned to Jin and Neva. She
explained her idea about the plastic surgery discussion
boards and Neva’s idea about the tattoo discussion
boards.
‘‘It’s a long shot,’’ she said.
‘‘But that was a good idea. What did we do before
the Internet?’’
Diane ignored his comment and continued. ‘‘The
DNA results on the shed hair may take a while, or it
might not work. I haven’t heard from Jin.’’ Garnett stood up. ‘‘I feel like we made some prog
ress. It was good to talk it out.’’ He sounded surprised
as he said it, as if he hadn’t really expected he could
talk to Diane and get anywhere.
Diane’s door swung open and Star peeked in. ‘‘Star,’’ said Frank. ‘‘Ever heard of knocking first?’’ He came in behind Star and put his hands on her
shoulders.
‘‘It’s all right. We’re finished,’’ said Diane. Frank and Garnett shook hands. Star stood staring.
She suddenly held out her hand to shake Garnett’s. ‘‘Hello, I know who you are. I’m the girl who didn’t
kill her family.’’
‘‘Star!’’ said Frank and Diane together.
Garnett had a pained look on his face, muttered
something about being sorry for her loss, said good
bye to Diane and hurried out.
‘‘Well,’’ said Star when he was gone. ‘‘When you
use bad judgment, there are consequences. Isn’t that
what you are always telling me, Uncle Frank? So, can
I see the mummy and the Victorian pickle jar?’’ Frank and Diane looked at each other and sighed. ‘‘The mummy’s upstairs.’’
She took them up to the conservation lab and
showed them the amulets and the mummy. Star was
fascinated with both, but disappointed that the object
in the pickle jar had been used to get blood and tissue
samples. Frank was more interested in the baseball
collection that Korey showed him. Afterward, they
had dinner in the museum restaurant and Diane fol
lowed them home in her rental SUV.
Diane curled up on the couch with Frank and a
glass of wine, hoping that there wouldn’t be any mur
ders tonight.
‘‘This has been a nice evening,’’ she said. ‘‘We had a good time. Loved that baseball col
lection.’’
‘‘I needed to slow down. Too much has been hap
pening.’’
‘‘I’ve planned for your relaxation,’’ he said. ‘‘The doors and windows are locked and barred. Star is stay ing in tonight, so all is well. Oh, and I caught two of my identity thieves today. Two seventeen-year-olds from upper-middle-class families. They would have just gotten a slap on the wrist, but one of the people whose identity they stole has a brother who is a state
senator, so their butts are in trouble.’’
‘‘Do you believe in coincidences?’’
‘‘They happen, but as a rule, no.’’
‘‘As a