Dead Secret

jeans—hunting, riding, caving. The lantern’s kind of nice too. It’s circa nineteen-thirties or -forties. We’re still looking into that.”
    “You’d better tell her about the book,” said Jin.
    “It was a perfectly reasonable purchase. We’ve bought many more expensive things,” David protested.
    Diane looked from Jin to David. “You bought something?”
    “A used dog-eared book on railroad-spike collecting, for seventy-five dollars,” Jin said.
    “Seventy-five dollars?” said Diane. “For a book on railroad spikes?”
    “We didn’t have a database of railroad spikes,” said David. “It was perfectly reasonable to get a book to start one. I couldn’t help it if the only one was out of print and rare.”
    “Do we really need a database of railroad spikes?” asked Diane.
    “We have two spikes in this case.”
    “And he read where last year someone used one as a murder weapon in Nevada,” said Jin in a mock defense.
    “I’ll admit there’s not a lot of call for it, but you never know what information a case will hinge on.”
    Diane shook her head. “Okay. So what about the button? We do have a database on buttons, as I recall.”
    David’s grin was so big that both Jin and Diane laughed at him.
    “Our button, it turns out, is rare. And it gives our time line a new date—provided the button actually has some connection to Caver Doe, which is really a long shot, because there were no fingerprints and nothing whatsoever to connect it to the caver, except that they were both in the cave.
    “Although our jeans may date from the thirties, our button dates from the forties. It’s a silver-plated plastic officer’s-uniform button specially commissioned for the newly authorized Army Specialist Corps. The buttons were never used because the secretary of war unauthorized—or whatever it is they do—the ASC before it went into effect. The only people to have them besides the manufacturer were the Philadelphia Quartermaster’s Department and a few colonels.”
    “I’m surprised,” said Diane. “I had no idea you would get that much from the button.”
    “How much is it worth?” asked Jin.
    “Couple hundred, maybe,” said David.
    “Damn,” said Jin.
    “It’s very rare.”
    “Tell her about the backpack,” said Jin.
    “The backpack was rare?” said Diane.
    David shook his head. No. It’s a World War One U.S. Army backpack. It’s what was in it. He had a lot of candles and matches, of course, and get this—a Mickey Mouse flashlight.”
    “A Mickey Mouse flashlight?”
    “Made by USALite. Shows Mickey Mouse walking in the dark with a flashlight. It dates to 1935. About ruined, though. It used two D-cell batteries, and they leaked all in it. It’s a shame; it was a cool light. He had extra batteries and they leaked too. The battery acid got all over a couple of handkerchiefs, the matches, and some candles.”
    “What about the picture?” asked Diane. “It was pretty soaked with blood and body fluids, as I remember.”
    “We photographed it in different kinds of light. I’m working on cleaning it,” said Jin. “Did you know that Korey has some of the same document-cleaning agents that we use?”
    “Yes,” said Diane. “The museum occasionally does the same kind of restorative work that we do here in the crime lab.”
    “I just thought it was kind of interesting,” said Jin.
    “Anything else?” asked Diane.
    “Caver Doe had a wad of cash in his pocket,” said Jin.
    Diane raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
    “They were stuck together. I’m cleaning them. The bills I can see are ones, so I don’t think it’s going to be a lot of money.”
    “He also had a pencil and a key in his pocket,” said David. “The key looks like it belonged to something small, like a box. Didn’t see any strongboxes while you were in the tunnels, did you?”
    “No. I guess we’d better keep an eye out when we go back. Is that it?”
    “That’s all we know so far,” said Jin.
    “You know,” began David, “Jin, Neva and I thought we’d like to have a crime scene section in the museum with displays on what we do . . . like the bottle reconstruction we did at the bar fight crime scene—how it’s like the potsherd analysis the archaeologists do.”
    “A crime scene section in the museum? You’re joking, aren’t you?” The medicine hadn’t kicked in yet and her arm was still throbbing. It was too early in the day for her to feel so bad now. She took another sip of