Dead Guilty by Beverly Connor Page B

excite ment, both surprised and pleased that Diane had de cided to spring for the expense of a scan.
‘‘Korey, you’ll have to package him so he doesn’t contaminate the hospital,’’ Diane said.
‘‘I can do that. I’ll take care of any infestations first, then we’ll wrap him in plastic wrap on a board.’’
‘‘Plastic wrap?’’ said Andie.
‘‘Sure. He’ll be wrapped up like a mummy.’’
A groan from Andie. ‘‘Oh, please.’’
‘‘We’ll need tissue samples for dating and other analysis,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Jonas, I’ll depend on your knowledge of embalming techniques for the various dynasties to help us narrow in on the time and place of origin for this guy.’’
‘‘Already been collecting my references,’’ he said.
‘‘Korey, let me know when you set up the scan.’’ Diane left them excitedly discussing the mummy and headed for her office.
She sat down behind her desk, closed her eyes and lis tened to the water bubbling over the rocks of the fountain decorating the side table in her office. She had designed and constructed the fountain to remind her of the inside of a cave. When she closed her eyes and listened, she was in some deep dark grotto. She could almost feel the cool of the rock around her—the perfect peace.
‘‘Damn, I’m sorry to disturb you.’’
Diane opened her eyes. Peace was always shortlived. ‘‘Mike. Can I help you?’’
Mike Seger, graduate assistant to the geology cura tor, pulled up a chair and laid a folder on her desk. ‘‘Saw your interview on TV last night,’’ Mike said
‘‘Last night? Interview?’’
‘‘About the bodies in the woods.’’
‘‘I didn’t give an interview.’’
‘‘It looked like file footage taken at the official opening of the crime lab. You talked about justice, the objectivity of evidence, the evil of murder—’’
‘‘Great. My mailbox will be filled with more com plaints about the crime lab being in the museum.’’
A handful of people—including a few on her board—objected to having something as tawdry as a crime lab in the pristine learning environment of the museum, and they liked to E-mail her about it, having somehow gotten her private E-mail address.
From the look of her mail, she was right. Amid Email from various members of her staff was some from people she recognized as dissenters.
‘‘I have photographs of the model in progress,’’ Mike said. ‘‘Of the Journey to the Center of the Earth exhibit.’’
‘‘Have you shown it to Kendel?’’
‘‘Yes. But since it was your idea...’’
Mike’s light brown eyes glittered with what looked to Diane like mischief. She processed her E-mail as Mike laid out photographs of the model he and the exhibit designers were constructing.
There was a message from a man who lamented that everywhere he turned there was forensics—books, mov ies, TV networks, learning channels, and darn it all, now his museum. And an E-mail from a woman who insisted Diane resign rather than serve two masters—the sublime and the grotesque. Another one began with something about an eye for an eye, and what did a museum director know about evil? And several wanted her to include the crime lab on the museum tour. She hesitated a moment, wondering whether to forward the messages to Andie for reply, or simply delete. She deleted all of them.
Mike was enthusiastic as he arranged the photos.
‘‘It’ll look just like they’re descending through lay ers of the earth. It will be especially cool when they get to the fossil layer.’’
‘‘This is what I had in mind,’’ she said. ‘‘I like it.’’
‘‘I thought perhaps we could discuss it over dinner sometime.’’
‘‘If the exhibit designer would like to, you don’t need my permission. You can meet anywhere you want.’’
Mike grinned broadly. For a moment she thought his teeth actually sparkled.
He leaned forward with his forearms on her desk. ‘‘That wasn’t exactly what I had in