status-role hierarchy, the distribution of power, or rather the nondistribution of power.”
Empowerment. Self-actualization. Status-role hierarchy. From somewhere—the sociology department at Nevada? The business school?—Callie had appropriated these and similar terms, and made frequent and ardent use of them. She was reputed to run her own department using fearsome-sounding techniques like sociotechnical systems analysis and instrumented team facilitation. At the last WAFA meeting Gideon had attended, she had conducted a session called “Values Clarification for the Forensic Scientist: A Nonevaluative Simulation.” He’d sat through all three hours of it and come away thoroughly baffled.
Generally speaking, he kept well clear of Callie. No matter how impassioned she got, there was always a part of him that hung back, unwilling to buy what she was selling. The jargon might be right, but somehow the behavior didn’t quite jibe. And, genuine or not, all that concentrated earnestness could be overwhelming. After a conversation with her he tended to come away drained, while she seemed to go her way with more energy than ever.
“I believe the woman somehow
feeds
on one,” Leland had once remarked along similar lines, “like a veritable goddamn vampire.”
Her assessment of the theft left them in silence for several seconds. Harlow blinked nervously at her, one finger digging fitfully at a spot below his sternum. Leland stared out the window looking distantly amused. Les grinned more openly.
“Don’t you just love it?” he said to Gideon.
“Have the police been notified?” Leland asked.
“Well, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you,” Miranda said. She mooched a cigarette from Callie and lit it like someone not overly familiar with the process. A choky little cough when she inhaled confirmed this. “The fact is, I haven’t called them yet, and I’m not sure if I should. I think it’s just a prank too—”
Callie, drawing deeply on a fresh cigarette, shook her head theatrically.
“—and I think the bones will be returned,” Miranda went on. “At least, I’m hoping they are. Well, if that happens, I don’t see the point of a lot of publicity and fuss, maybe even a police record for some of the kids.”
“Call the police, Miranda,” Leland said firmly. “For one thing, they’re not ‘kids’; they’re in their twenties and thirties. For another, putting the fear of God into them just might have a salutary effect, even at this late juncture.” Miranda looked uncomfortable.
“No, I just can’t agree with that, Leland,” Callie said tightly.
“Somehow,” Leland said, “I fail to be astonished.”
Callie flushed but said nothing. Unlike the others, Callie let Leland get under her skin. An ability to take things with a grain of salt was not one of her strong points.
“Come on, give them a chance to return them on their own,” Les said. He scratched his short beard. Biceps bulged. “Come on, guys, let’s be honest: we all did things just as dumb when we were going to school.”
“I most certainly did not,” Leland said.
Les grinned at him. “Hey, I believe you, Leland.”
“Is there any insurance involved?” Gideon asked.
“No,” Miranda said. “Just on the cases, not the contents.”
He nodded, unsurprised.
Objets d’anthropologie
were not quite the same as
objets d’art.
What was the market value on a bunch of burned or otherwise mutilated human bones? What was the estimated replacement cost? And if you could arrive at one, just how would you go about replacing them?
“I’ll tell you what’s really worrying me,” Miranda said. “What’s the museum board going to say? And what about Jasper’s family, for God’s sake?”
“Ah,” Leland said, “the estimable Casper Jasper, et al.”
“As long as you’re worrying,” Callie said, “don’t forget about Nellie Hobert. He’ll have kittens when he hears.”
“Gadzooks,” Miranda said.
Empowerment. Self-actualization. Status-role hierarchy. From somewhere—the sociology department at Nevada? The business school?—Callie had appropriated these and similar terms, and made frequent and ardent use of them. She was reputed to run her own department using fearsome-sounding techniques like sociotechnical systems analysis and instrumented team facilitation. At the last WAFA meeting Gideon had attended, she had conducted a session called “Values Clarification for the Forensic Scientist: A Nonevaluative Simulation.” He’d sat through all three hours of it and come away thoroughly baffled.
Generally speaking, he kept well clear of Callie. No matter how impassioned she got, there was always a part of him that hung back, unwilling to buy what she was selling. The jargon might be right, but somehow the behavior didn’t quite jibe. And, genuine or not, all that concentrated earnestness could be overwhelming. After a conversation with her he tended to come away drained, while she seemed to go her way with more energy than ever.
“I believe the woman somehow
feeds
on one,” Leland had once remarked along similar lines, “like a veritable goddamn vampire.”
Her assessment of the theft left them in silence for several seconds. Harlow blinked nervously at her, one finger digging fitfully at a spot below his sternum. Leland stared out the window looking distantly amused. Les grinned more openly.
“Don’t you just love it?” he said to Gideon.
“Have the police been notified?” Leland asked.
“Well, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you,” Miranda said. She mooched a cigarette from Callie and lit it like someone not overly familiar with the process. A choky little cough when she inhaled confirmed this. “The fact is, I haven’t called them yet, and I’m not sure if I should. I think it’s just a prank too—”
Callie, drawing deeply on a fresh cigarette, shook her head theatrically.
“—and I think the bones will be returned,” Miranda went on. “At least, I’m hoping they are. Well, if that happens, I don’t see the point of a lot of publicity and fuss, maybe even a police record for some of the kids.”
“Call the police, Miranda,” Leland said firmly. “For one thing, they’re not ‘kids’; they’re in their twenties and thirties. For another, putting the fear of God into them just might have a salutary effect, even at this late juncture.” Miranda looked uncomfortable.
“No, I just can’t agree with that, Leland,” Callie said tightly.
“Somehow,” Leland said, “I fail to be astonished.”
Callie flushed but said nothing. Unlike the others, Callie let Leland get under her skin. An ability to take things with a grain of salt was not one of her strong points.
“Come on, give them a chance to return them on their own,” Les said. He scratched his short beard. Biceps bulged. “Come on, guys, let’s be honest: we all did things just as dumb when we were going to school.”
“I most certainly did not,” Leland said.
Les grinned at him. “Hey, I believe you, Leland.”
“Is there any insurance involved?” Gideon asked.
“No,” Miranda said. “Just on the cases, not the contents.”
He nodded, unsurprised.
Objets d’anthropologie
were not quite the same as
objets d’art.
What was the market value on a bunch of burned or otherwise mutilated human bones? What was the estimated replacement cost? And if you could arrive at one, just how would you go about replacing them?
“I’ll tell you what’s really worrying me,” Miranda said. “What’s the museum board going to say? And what about Jasper’s family, for God’s sake?”
“Ah,” Leland said, “the estimable Casper Jasper, et al.”
“As long as you’re worrying,” Callie said, “don’t forget about Nellie Hobert. He’ll have kittens when he hears.”
“Gadzooks,” Miranda said.
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