Dead Secret

Ribs were one of the best places to look for marks left by weapons. Gunshots and knives to the torso could hardly miss them.
    Diane gave the vertebrae a quick look. Most were in good condition, what she expected for a young person. Two of the lumbar vertebrae showed minute signs of a compression fracture, probably from the fall. He would not have been paralyzed, but his back would have hurt like hell. His right tibia was broken, and his right calcaneus—his heel bone—and talus—ankle bone—had compression fractures. He had no fractures on the left side of his body. She checked his arm bones and hands. His right side navicular, one of the carpal bones of the hand, was crushed. The end of his radius where it articulated with the navicular was also fractured with forward displacement—a Smith’s fracture.
    Judging by the bones, it looked like he’d fallen, landed on his feet, favoring his right side, then fell backward, catching himself with his hands, again favoring his right side and fracturing his wrist. When he sat in the cavern in pain, Diane wondered if he pondered the foolishness of caving alone. Or did he sit waiting in the darkness, expecting help to arrive?
    Or was he with someone? Did his caving partner have some accident on the way to get help, or was Caver Doe deliberately left there to die, with all traces of his partner wiped away, leaving only a lost button behind? Or had Diane imagined the faint lines in the silt? Maybe, but she hadn’t imagined the button.
    Her pain came creeping back, so she decided to pack it in and go home early. It was only six o’clock and she was exhausted. She’d just locked the door of her lab when her cell phone rang. She looked at the display.
    “Hey, Frank.” Diane walked down the hallway from her lab leading to the dinosaur overlook.
    “Diane, why didn’t you tell me you’d been stabbed too? I had to hear it from my partner.” The annoyance in Frank’s voice was clear, even over the cell phone.
    “How did he know?”
    “He heard it from the Rosewood police. Don’t change the subject.”
    No secrets around the police department, thought Diane. She had forgotten that Frank said his partner was working with a detective here. “I didn’t want you to worry,” she said. “It’s not serious.”
    “I heard that you had several stitches.”
    “Yes, but I was treated and released.”
    “What am I going to do with you?” His voice was softer, more concerned.
    Diane smiled into the phone. “What did you have in mind?”
    “Don’t change the subject.” He paused. “It’ll be late when I get home. I’ll come over.”
    “That’s why I didn’t tell you. It’s over an hour’s drive. Stay in Atlanta.”
    “I’ll see how things shake out here.” There was a pause, but she could hear him breathing. “Are you all right?”
    “Yes. Frank, you know that because they didn’t know where the knife had been, I had to have blood tests—you know, for hepatitis and other stuff. . . .”
    “When I heard what happened, I assumed you would. A couple of years ago I got bitten by a man I was arresting.” He laughed. “You wouldn’t think white-collar perps would do that kind of thing. He was HIV-positive and I had to go through those tests. Don’t worry. We’ll get through it fine. It’s just a precaution.”
    Diane stood on the third-floor overlook to the dinosaur room, trying to think of something to say to Frank that would put his mind at ease and at the same time attempting not to tear up over his kindness. “I was just leaving work, on my way home.” The words sounded choked.
    As she spoke, she looked across at the hallway connecting to the opposite overlook. Dr. Annette Lymon had just rounded the corner facing Diane and went into the staff lounge. She usually worked for an oil company in the summers, so Diane was surprised to see her. But it was nearing the start of fall term at Bartram, so perhaps she had just gotten back. In any case, Diane was surprised to see her in the museum.
    “Try not to worry,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight—it may be late. Call me when you get home.”
    “I will.”
    Diane slipped her cell back in her pocket, walked around the overlook and headed down the hallway to the lounge. By the time she reached the doorway, she’d rearranged her face into a welcoming smile that she hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt. She didn’t want to alert Lymon that she was under investigation, but she did want to stop the