As they walked in, Jane Everett breezed right up and introduced herself to Betty with professional charm before Sloan could make the introductions. From his office behind the entry, Chet Morgan rose and came out to join them by the front desk, grinning and friendly as he met Jane.
“We’ve set up the skull in the interrogation room,” Betty said, standing. “I’ve got a scanner in there, camera connected to the computer, sketch pad... I’ve watched a few forensic programs, so I thought you might want to take a lot of pictures and do whatever you do to get that 3-D image thing going. I mean, the computer has a camera, but I wasn’t sure how you’d move it around to get the right angles, so...well, anything you need, we’ll do our best to get for you.”
“That’s perfect, thank you. Actually, more than perfect. I have my own instruments for measurements. I’ll probably do what I call an imagination sketch today—just what I see from the skull,” Jane told her. “It’s late, and I’ve come in from the D.C. area, so I’m little travel-weary. Tomorrow, I’ll start with the measurements.”
“I’m intrigued to see your work!” Betty said enthusiastically.
Betty was a good woman—and a good deputy. When he’d come back to Lily, Sloan had been surprised that she hadn’t wanted the job of sheriff herself. A widow with two grown children, she’d worked for the department most of her adult life. But she hadn’t wanted the responsibility of being sheriff. She had iron-gray hair, cheerful blue eyes and a way of handling the occasional drunk or kid working on a misspent youth with unshakeable stoicism and a calm demeanor. She had the ability to convince both drunks and adolescents that they weren’t going anywhere—they’d pay the price for their transgressions before a judge and no fast-talking lawyer was getting them out of the clink that night. Sloan had told her that being sheriff of Lily wasn’t really a matter of heavy responsibility but Betty had said, “Oh, Sloan, small towns can still have big problems. I like being a deputy. You run for sheriff. I’ll vote for you!”
“Ms. Everett—Agent Everett!” Chet said, quickly correcting himself. “Anything you need, you let me know!”
Chet was only twenty-six. He was staring at Jane Everett as if Marilyn Monroe had risen from the grave and floated into their offices. He was as good and solid a deputy as Betty, just...young. Tall, a bit awkward, Chet had served in the military as a sharpshooter before returning to Lily—and a parade in his honor. Lily was small; the return of a serviceman was an occasion to be celebrated.
“Agent, come with me, if you will,” Sloan said. “I’ll show you your workroom. And the skull.”
“Well, show her the kitchen and where to find coffee, too, huh?” Betty said, frowning at Sloan before turning to smile at Jane again. “We’ve got sodas, coffee, snacks, you name it. Kitchen’s the first door on the left down that hall and you help yourself to anything. Oh, and you have an intercom in there. If you need me for anything, just push the button and call me.”
Jane thanked Betty and Chet and followed Sloan down the hall. He opened the door to Interrogation Room A. They also had Interrogation Rooms B and C, but they’d never actually used A to interrogate anyone, much less B or C.
He opened the door and turned on the lights. There was a desk with a computer and they’d also set up a graphic arts easel with a large sketch pad for their guest. As she’d said, Betty had supplied their guest with a camera, computer, scanner, tracing paper, “tissue markers,” wire and mortician’s wax. The skull itself had been set in the middle of a conference table in the center of the room; it was on a stand, minus the wig and with a few adjustments. Sloan hadn’t known much about reconstructing a lifelike image from a skull, but Betty had done some research and had some help from a professor friend in Tucson. The skull had been angled to the best of the professor’s ability at a “Frankfurt plane,” or the anatomical position of the skull as it naturally sat on the body.
The jawbone, disarticulated, lay in front of it, just as it had when it was found.
Jane seemed to have eyes for nothing but the skull. She walked right up to it, studied it for a moment and then picked up the jaw, testing the jagged lines that connected it.
“The M.E. was right,” she murmured. “It’s very old.” She glanced at Sloan. “If this was someone who’d died more recently, the structure would have more integrity. The years gone by create these soft spots. If you pressed too hard along one of these lines, it could just fall apart. I would agree that it’s the skull of a woman—probably in her late twenties or early thirties, judging by the fusion of the bones. She took good care of her teeth, since there’s very little decay.”
For a moment, she closed her eyes. She seemed to be in a trance; she looked like a medium standing there, as if she could communicate with the bone.
Irritated, he cleared his throat.