Dead Guilty

Diane started to explain, when their attention was drawn to a rustling of the bushes, and her forensic team filed into the clearing.
    ‘‘Well, this is weird.’’ Deven Jin set down his case and stared at the two bodies in the trees and the one on the ground.
Neva Hurley stopped abruptly, her mouth agape. ‘‘One of those flies is going to light on your
    tongue,’’ said Jin, shoving her gently.
Neva snapped her mouth closed.
David Goldstein used a small set of binoculars to
    focus in on the bodies, then shifted to the leafy can opy. ‘‘I suppose you’ve seen the other rope,’’ he said. ‘‘Just now.’’ Diane introduced her team to Dr. Web ber and the sheriff. ‘‘Neva came to us from the Rose wood Police. Jin’s from New York, where he worked crime scenes, and David worked with me at World Accord International as a human rights investigator.’’ They shook hands, muttered hellos and commented briefly on the strange state of the corpses.
    Her team was anxious to get started. Jin, the youn gest, was in hyperactive mode, his body moving even though he was standing in one spot, looking as if he was about to break into dance to some music only he heard. Diane envied his youthful energy. He snapped opened his case and began pulling out the marker flags, rope, wire stakes and drawing supplies. He shoved his straight black hair out of his eyes, pulled it back into a ponytail and donned the plastic cap that Diane required.
    ‘‘David doesn’t need a cap,’’ Jin said. ‘‘He just wears one so people will think that fringe around the edges is a full head of hair.’’ Laughing, he handed a cap to Neva.
    David rolled his eyes and quietly took out his cam era equipment.
Dr. Webber watched as he loaded it with film. ‘‘He doesn’t use a digital camera?’’ she asked Diane.
‘‘I use both, but I get greater depth of field and finer detail with the film,’’ said David over his shoulder. ‘‘David’s actually quite an artist,’’ said Diane. David scowled. ‘‘Trying to be accurate isn’t artistry.’’ ‘‘I’m talking about your bird photographs.’’
He cocked his head. ‘‘One might describe them as artistic.’’
Neva put on her cap and stood glancing from David and Jin to Diane, as if waiting for directions. Diane was torn between giving her some reassuring gesture or leaving her to manage whatever insecurities she was dealing with. Neva was one of the gifts Diane had to accept in her curious bargain with the Rosewood Po lice. She wasn’t sure Neva really wanted to be here.
The ropes tied around the branches made a creaking sound as a breeze passing through the trees caused the bodies to swing slowly. The stench of dead flesh washed over them. Diane watched Neva hold her breath.
‘‘You’ll get used to the smell,’’ Diane told her. ‘‘This is actually mild. Breathing through your mouth helps.’’
Neva looked horrified. Probably thinking about the flies and her open mouth.
‘‘You should work with a decaying body that’s in an enclosed space,’’ said Jin. ‘‘I swear, the smell per meates your eyeballs. Your tears even stink,’’ he added, grinning.
‘‘The stench of adipocere formation is the worst,’’ said David, swinging his camera to his side and turning toward Neva. ‘‘Absolutely the worst. One time, the smell just wouldn’t go away. I had to have steroid shots in each nostril.’’
Neva looked miserable.
‘‘You should have to autopsy those bodies,’’ said Dr. Webber. ‘‘One of my first autopsies was on a bloated body found in an abandoned trailer. Like an idiot, I stuck a scalpel in the thing and it exploded all over everyone. I thought I could taste the stuff for a week.’’
That did it for Neva. She turned and headed for a tree, heaving. Diane followed and handed her a bottle of water.
‘‘They’re making fun of me, aren’t they?’’ Neva pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her face.
‘‘A little,’’ said Diane. ‘‘You’re the new guy, and they’re just breaking you in. They mean no disrespect. We all had to have a period of adjustment to this kind of work.’’
‘‘Did David really have to get shots in his nose?’’
‘‘No, he made up that little story. And the odor doesn’t make your tears smell either. But bodies do blow up with gasses, and if you puncture them just right—well, you can imagine. But the pathologist al ways wears a face shield when autopsying decayed bodies.’’
Neva