Dead Past

laughter. The teachers joined in—“Around the rugged rock the ragged rascal ran.”
    It sounds as if they have a tongue twister for every department in the museum, thought Diane.
    Someone started the old favorite, “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.”
    An alliteration of p ’s again, thought Diane. Why did that tug at her brain?
    “. . . totally unexpected and just so much more work.”
    Dr. Thormond was talking the whole time, and Diane didn’t have any idea what he was saying. She nodded, hoping a nod made sense.
    “None of us had a clue Dr. Keith was leaving,” he continued.
    Dr. Keith . . . history.
    “Are you talking about Shawn Keith?” asked Diane.
    “Yes. He’s left us in just the worst time. I’m having to take his classes,” said Dr. Thormond.
    “He lives in the basement of my apartment building,” said Diane. “I didn’t know he was moving.”
    “He caught everyone by surprise. I can’t believe he was job hunting all this time and none of us knew,” he said.
    While Dr. Thormond expressed annoyance at Dr. Shawn Keith’s abrupt departure, Diane was thinking about when she first saw Blake Stanton aiming his gun at Professor Keith’s car. All along she’d thought it was just an opportunistic encounter. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Blake had run to someone he knew and they got into some kind of argument and Blake pulled a gun on Keith. Someone at the university end had to help grease the way for Blake to steal things there. What if it was Keith?
    The docents in charge of the groups of children came and they started on their tour. Diane waved at Thormond as he left with his baby ducks, and she detoured up to her crime lab.
    Her crew was there. David was at the computer—Diane didn’t know if he was working on a case, one of his databases, or algorithms for working with databases. Neva was at a microscope and Jin was sitting by himself looking glum.
    “Those cigarette butts. I could’ve had my DNA lab,” he moaned.
    “Jin,” said Diane sharply, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get to work. Not everything is high-tech.”
    Jin jumped at the sound of her voice. “What do you mean, Boss?” he said.
    “You photographed the cigarette butts before you picked them up, didn’t you?” she asked.
    “Of course, I did,” he said, a trifle indignant.
    “Look at the photographs and find out what kind of cigarettes they are.” Diane stood over him, folding her arms over her chest.
    “How will that help us? You can’t nail down a single person with a brand. Hundreds . . . thousands, maybe millions of people will smoke the same brand.”
    “Jin, with those thinking skills, I’m not sure you deserve a DNA lab.”
    “Boss!” he cried.
    “Right now we don’t even have a list of suspects—forget about a perfect match. Get us a pool of possibles to work with.”
    “OK, I find out what kind of butts they are and then I get a list of everyone in Rosewood who smokes that brand?”
    “Jin, I’ve never seen you feeling this sorry for yourself,” said Diane.
    “I let someone sneak up on me,” he lamented.
    “You weren’t meant to hear, that’s why they were sneaking. Find a suspect population and then narrow it down. For example, we’re thinking the motive for McNair’s murder might be revenge for the deaths of the students. Who felt the deaths the most?”
    “The parents,” he said.
    “Who else?”
    Jin thought a minute. “The people who had to deal with it. Us.”
    “And I’m sure there are more. Where would members of those pools of suspects have been found lately . . . for long periods of time . . . smoking cigarettes?”
    Jin thought again. “The crime scene. Tent city,” he said.
    “Then why don’t you get your sorry self out to where the tent city was and look for cigarette butts?” she said. “In the tent where we were, I noticed several people stepping out to smoke. I’m sure that was true where the coffee tent was also, and where the crowd of onlookers waited, and where the media were set up. If you’re lucky, the cigarette butts you found at the warehouse will be distinctive or uncommon in some way. If you find a match at the tent city, then at least we will be on a trail of clues again.”
    “Boss, that’s a good idea. But they will be trampled by now; the DNA will be degraded; they will be mixed in with the butts thrown out by the people dismantling the tents.”
    “Right now we are just looking for clues that might point us somewhere;