Dead Guilty by Beverly Connor Read Free Book Online Page A

asked Raymond.
‘‘I’m a caver. We rely on ropes and knots.’’ ‘‘Really?’’ said Lynn. ‘‘Have you explored many
    caves?’’
‘‘Quite a few. Not many in Georgia, even though I
grew up here. But one of my employees at the mu
seum is introducing me to some of the Georgia caves.’’ ‘‘I’ve always wanted to see the one in Mexico with
all the crystals,’’ Lynn said.
‘‘The one on the Discovery Channel, right?’’ said
Raymond. ‘‘It didn’t look real, all those white
crystals.’’
‘‘The cave is called Lechuguilla,’’ said Diane. ‘‘The
formation you’re talking about is the Crystal
Ballroom.’’
‘‘Yeah, that’s it.’’
‘‘Those are gypsum crystals. They’re even more im
pressive in person.’’
‘‘You’ve been there?’’ asked Lynn.
‘‘Yes, I have. A couple of microbiologist friends in
vited me to go on an expedition with them. It’s a
protected cave. I was lucky to get the chance.’’ ‘‘It appears to be very beautiful,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘Stunning.’’ Diane looked down at the decayed
husk that used to house a young woman. ‘‘The line of
work I’m in, it’s very rejuvenating to be able to look
at something so breathtakingly beautiful.’’
‘‘What about this knot?’’ asked Raymond. ‘‘Is it
something special?’’
‘‘It’s a handcuff knot.’’
‘‘Handcuff knot? I don’t like the sound of that,’’
he said.
‘‘It’s good as a handcuff and for hobbling horses.
Our perp added a little twist. He took the working
line and wrapped it around the vic’s hands, tucking
the end through the loops. I guess he didn’t want her
wiggling her fingers.’’
‘‘Easier to cut them off,’’ said Raymond. ‘‘Did he
do that while they were alive?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘I’m not sure I’ll be
able to tell.’’
‘‘I think I can secure the outer loops without cutting
them, but I’ll have to cut the loops on the handcuffs,’’
said Diane.
She took a blue cord and secured all the loops to
gether and tagged each one. She treated each loop
around the wrist in the same way she handled the
noose around the neck—tying them off before cutting
the loop free.
‘‘It’s like cutting an umbilical cord,’’ said Lynn. As Diane slid the rope free, a cool breeze eased
through the autopsy room.
‘‘I don’t believe it,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘They got someone
to fix whatever was wrong.’’
‘‘Just needed a little motivation,’’ said Raymond. ‘‘Oh, it feels good,’’ said Lynn. She took in a deep
breath, as if the cool air made everything smell better.
‘‘Let’s get this done. What do you say, Raymond?’’ She turned to Diane. ‘‘I hope you don’t mind me
running you off to the other room. I like to have as
few people as possible in the room when I’m working
on a body this decomposed.’’
‘‘Believe me, I don’t mind. I’ll take these ropes back
to the lab and start my team working on them, and
then I’ll come back. Do you intend to do the other
two victims today?’’
‘‘I’d like to try. Raymond and I will collect the in
sect samples.’’
As Diane was going out the door, Lynn started the
Y incision.
    RiverTrail Museum of Natural History was housed in a beautiful gothic three-story granite structure that began its life as a museum in the late 1800s. The build ing was converted into a private medical clinic in the 1940s, and was now converted back to a museum. It had large rooms with Romanesque moldings, polished granite floors and rare wall-sized murals of dinosaurs painted at a time when everyone thought the huge animals dragged their tails behind them.
    Diane had a sense of peace as director of the mu seum. It was a place of scholarship, learning and fun— and she ruled. Thanks to the late founder, there were no bureaucrats between her and what she wanted to do for the museum. It was idyllic, a dream career. She couldn’t imagine going back into