Dust to Dust

out of the office,” she said.
    I don’t blame you , thought Diane.
    Lynn punched the button for the lobby and the elevator moved with a lurch. “Are you parked in the parking garage?” asked Lynn.
    “Yes,” Diane said.
    “Me too. Have you heard from Ross?” asked Lynn.
    “No. I expect to,” said Diane.
    “I hope this won’t make his job more difficult,” Lynn said.
    The elevator doors opened onto the lobby. They stepped out as several people brushed past them to get in. Diane and Lynn headed for the exit to the parking garage.
    “I take it from the article that Stacy was murdered,” said Diane.
    “Yes. A first-year student could have made the call. Hell, anyone who watches forensic crime dramas could have seen it was murder,” she said.
    A great many people were going to be unhappy with the findings, especially the way in which they were announced. Probably the only satisfied person at the moment was Harmon Dance. And quite possibly, the reporter.
    The exit to the parking garage was just off a small hallway. Diane pushed on the large gray door. Just as they were outside, a man approached. Lynn started to speak, but stopped.
    “You vindictive bitch. You stupid, vindictive bitch.” The man was taller than either of them, but wasn’t quite six feet. He was slim, but pudgy, had a round face and a head of thick, wavy, reddish brown hair. His eyes were close together and he had a cruel twist to his mouth. He held a newspaper in his right hand and was hitting the palm of his left hand with it.
    “Oran Doppelmeyer,” said Lynn. “I see you hate having your incompetence revealed. And after you have made such efforts to hide it.”
    “You think you can get away with this pathetic stunt? It’s only going to show you up for the pissy little amateur you are.” He stopped in front of Lynn and reached for her arm. “Don’t think . . .”
    Lynn’s jaw clinched. “Get your hand off my arm,” she said.
    Diane could almost hear Lynn’s teeth grinding.
    “You need to go somewhere and calm down,” Diane said to him.
    He turned toward Diane without letting go of Lynn. “Who the hell are—Ow!”
    Lynn had karate-chopped the arm that held her. Before he could react, Diane shoved her Rosewood identification in his face.
    “Stop, or I’ll place you under arrest. You think the newspaper makes you look bad now, wait until it gets the story that you attacked Dr. Webber. You won’t be able to spin yourself out of it. Back off now and calm down.” Before Lynn beats you up , she felt like adding.
    He stared at Diane’s identification for a long moment.
    “What’s this?” he said. “Crime lab?”
    “Yes, and I can arrest if the need arises. Lynn, why don’t you go on to your car?”
    “And leave you alone with this maniac? No.” Lynn was in a fighting mode.
    Jeez , thought Diane. They’re both maniacs .
    Diane started to tell Lynn she needed to go first and let him save some face, but she could see Lynn wasn’t in the mood to allow any face-saving measures for Doppelmeyer. The door opened and several men filed out, heading to their cars. They eyed the three of them as they passed. The heavyset men wore beards and overalls and clearly made Doppelmeyer uncomfortable.
    “You need to go get in your car and go somewhere and chill,” Diane said to Doppelmeyer. “No good can come of your staying here.”
    He glared at Lynn and pointed a finger. “We aren’t finished.”
    Lynn pointed a finger back, punctuating her words. “Yes, we are.”
    He backed away, not breaking eye contact with Lynn. Unfortunately, Lynn wouldn’t break eye contact either. She stood with her arms folded, staring. Doppelmeyer was at his car. He either had to break contact first, or stand there looking as stupid as Diane felt for standing there with the two of them.
    His solution to his dilemma was to give Lynn the finger. There were some things Lynn wouldn’t do and, happily for Diane, returning the gesture was one of them. He got in his car and left.
    “Okay,” said Diane. “Just what high school do you two go to?”
    Lynn looked over at her sharply, then shrugged. “Oh, I suppose you’re right. He just brings out the worst in me.”
    “I can see that,” said Diane. “He’s acting dangerous. I think you ought to ask security to walk you to and from your car.”
    “He’s all talk. He doesn’t have the guts to do anything,” she said.
    “Grabbing your arm wasn’t all talk. I’m serious. He looks like he’s not