Dead Hunt by Beverly Connor Read Free Book Online Page B

isn’t like you,’’ said Diane. ‘‘You are always
self-assured. Is there anything you need to tell me?’’ ‘‘Nothing that would help.’’ Kendel ran her hands
through her hair. ‘‘Since this article came out, I’ve
been getting calls and e-mails accusing me of grave
robbing, stealing, ethnocentrism, and other things too
vile to mention.’’
‘‘That’s awfully quick,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It was just
out today.’’
‘‘It started with that first article a few days ago,’’
said Kendel. ‘‘And my name wasn’t even mentioned
in that one.’’
‘‘The article was very vague,’’ said Diane, wrinkling
her brow.
‘‘It was precise enough for some people,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘I imagine that now there is going to be a flood
of hate mail.’’
‘‘Save all your mail and anything on the answering
machine. Keep notes on any harassing phone calls you
take in person. Is there anything else?’’ Diane sensed
that there was.
‘‘I got an e-mail rescinding my invitation to speak
at the University of Pennsylvania seminars,’’ said Kendel. Her gaze searched the room as though there
might be something in Diane’s office that would explain all of it. ‘‘I’ve worked hard building my reputation,’’ she said, staring again at the photo of Diane at
the end of the rope. She blinked and the tears spilled
down onto her cheeks. ‘‘And this—it’s like being
struck by lightning—just suddenly out of the blue, all
of this . . .’’ Diane handed her a tissue and she wiped
her eyes. ‘‘And I don’t understand even how the university found out so quickly.’’
Diane stared at Kendel for a moment, then glanced
at her computer. ‘‘The University of Pennsylvania had
you listed on their Web site as an upcoming speaker,’’
she said. ‘‘I’m sure the reporter did an Internet search
for your name and found it there. She must have contacted them.’’
‘‘If that’s true, it was cruel. What did the reporter
think would happen? Don’t they care if they ruin
someone’s life?’’ She wiped her eyes again. ‘‘I don’t
know what to do about this.’’
‘‘I do,’’ said Diane. She picked up the phone and
called Jin. He was probably down in the basement in
his new DNA lab caressing his equipment. ‘‘Jin,’’ said
Diane, ‘‘you are on break, aren’t you?’’
‘‘Sure, Boss, I’m on my own time,’’ he said. That
was one thing Diane liked about Jin. He was always
quick. She couldn’t really use any of her crime scene personnel on non–DNA lab museum business—not at
this point. But she could use them on their own time. ‘‘I assume that Neva is on her break too,’’ said
Diane.
‘‘Sure is,’’ said Jin. ‘‘What can we do for you?’’ ‘‘I want you to go to the conservation lab and open
the crates marked . . . Just a minute.’’ She looked up
at Kendel.
‘‘EG970 through EG975,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘There are
six boxes.’’
Diane relayed the numbers to Jin. ‘‘I need you to
process the artifacts. No fingerprint powders or
glues—these are antiquities. Use the big camera and
high-contrast film for any latents. I also want every
piece photographed from all angles, collect any dust
and detritus you find, get a sample of the packing
material—anything that might help us trace their origin. You can use powders on the outside of the
crates.’’
‘‘I get to use David’s cameras,’’ said Jin. ‘‘He’ll
love that.’’
Diane could almost see him grinning on the other
end of the phone. To Jin everything was fun. Maybe
she should send Kendel to take notes from him.
‘‘Don’t forget the lighting in your zest to get into David’s cameras,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Boss . . . I know about photographic enhancement
and latent prints,’’ he said in mock hurt.
‘‘Good. I want you to be thorough and very fast.’’
The question from the reporter about queries from
the FBI nagged at Diane. She didn’t want the