Dead Past

in the morning.”
    “I’ll stay and have everything organized when you come back in the morning,” said Jin. “Say, does her phone have GPS?”
    Frank raised a brow. “I don’t know. That’s an idea. I’ll find out. Thanks Jin.”
    Jin likes to find lost people, thought Diane. How ironic that he now had someone he knows who needs finding. Oh, God. Don’t let one of these be Star. She took off her lab coat and walked with Frank into the night.
    Snow was falling heavily now, and there didn’t seem to be as many people near the coffee tent— just the loved ones, she thought. The ones who won’t leave until they know something.
    Frank clasped her hand as they walked past the tent and past the journalists. Thankfully, none of them recognized her as a member of the forensics team—perhaps because she and Frank now looked like desperate parents.
    Frank’s car was parked well outside the cordonedoff area. She noted that he had new snow tires and she thought of her car. She wondered if Neva had had time to process it, or if it was sitting windowless in the snow. She needed to check with Neva to be sure they wouldn’t lose potential evidence.
    Diane grabbed the cell phone from her pocket, flipped it open, and selected Neva’s number. The voice that answered was less weary than it should be.
    “Hello, Diane. Anything I can do to help in locating Star?” How did she know so fast, wondered Diane. Bad news travels at light speed.
    “Thank you, Neva. I’ll let you know on that. I’m sorry to burden you with another matter. Have you had a chance to process my car?”
    “Yes. Early on, the fire crew wouldn’t let us have access to the house site because of hot spots they were still trying to put out. David and I processed the carjacking site then. We worked the area around your car, as well as the area of the attempted Keith carjacking. Then I had your car towed to the crime lab and locked in the garage until we can get back to it.”
    “Thank you, Neva. If I haven’t told you lately, I really appreciate the way you always come through when the going gets tough.”
    “You know that if I can do it, I will. Please let me know about Star.”
    “As soon as we know anything.”
    “Process your car?” asked Frank after Diane had closed her cell phone.
    “Long story. I’ll tell you later after we find Star.”
    He was satisfied with that. It was unusual for him not to try to pry the story out of her if he suspected she had some dangerous near miss. But, focused on the snowy road ahead, he was quiet now as he drove toward campus. They were almost to the library when he spoke.
    “How many . . . how many bodies have you processed?”
    Processed. So cold and clinical. He’s trying to keep a distance, she thought. “Seven, maybe more. Jin and I . . .” She shut her mouth, unwilling to say Jin and I have examined many body parts. “We’ve only been working for a little over three hours. We think there may be thirty-two altogether.”
    “How many females have you processed of the seven?” asked Frank.
    “Three,” she answered.
    Frank was a math person. She wondered if he thought he could somehow figure out the possibility that one was Star based on the math. Of course not. Silly. He was just trying not to break down by asking questions that had a definite answer.
    “Three,” he repeated. “If your sample is random, then of the thirty-two victims, thirteen or fourteen of them would be female.”
    “We don’t know if they were randomly located in the house when . . . when it exploded—or randomly recovered.”
    “No.” He shook his head. “I’m just trying to occupy my mind. Here’s the library.”
    He parked his dark blue Expedition and they walked up the columned entrance to the library. Since 9/11, the entrance had huge concrete planters out front so that a vehicle loaded with explosives couldn’t get close to the front entrance. They walked past the planters containing spruce trees and up the granite steps.
    The information desk was manned by a young woman who looked as if she might be a student herself. Frank asked if there was a way to page a patron in the library. No, there was not. From the sympathetic look they got, they were not the first to ask.
    “I’m afraid you’ll have to go to each floor and look,” she said. “If you know what courses your . . .”
    “Daughter,” supplied Frank.
    “Daughter is taking, you might start where those books or journals are shelved.” She