Dead Guilty by Beverly Connor Page A

to be truly connected to the others. However, we don’t need to offend Rankin.’’
Diane could see that Garnett was going to make a political decision, and started to say something, but Whit beat her to it.
‘‘We’ll send them to Dr. Webber.’’
Garnett looked sharply at Whit Abercrombie, as if forgetting for a moment that it was Whit who had the power to make that decision. Whit’s black eyes spar kled as he returned Garnett’s gaze, and his teeth gleamed against the border of his short black beard.
‘‘I’ll talk to Rankin,’’ Whit said. ‘‘I’m sure he won’t mind.’’
Garnett nodded. ‘‘If you have everything under con trol here, I need to see about finding Mr. Mayberry.’’
Diane was glad to see him go. He might be the lead detective, but his presence was like a guest who ar rived uninvited for a dinner party and you didn’t quite know where to put him.
‘‘How did you get mixed up with the Rosewood police?’’ Whit asked when Chief Garnett was safely away. ‘‘Last time I heard, you weren’t on their Christ mas card list.’’
Diane explained the complicated scenario.
‘‘So you got blackmailed into it, and Rosewood got free space for a crime lab.’’
‘‘That’s about the size of it. I have to admit, I rather like it. But I can’t tell the mayor or the chief of detec tives that.’’
Whit laughed. ‘‘I understand. It’s like, ‘Please, Brer Fox, don’t throw me in that briar patch.’ ’’
‘‘Thanks for making the call on Lynn Webber.’’
‘‘It makes sense,’’ said Whit. ‘‘Rankin won’t mind. He’s not as political as the people around him.’’
    Lynn Webber arrived with the medical technicians to transport Chris Edwards’ body to the morgue. Diane asked the technicians to wait on the porch while Lynn examined the body and Diane and Jin finished processing a path to the door.
One of the technicians, a white man about twentyfive with brown receding hair and dark blue eyes, asked if it was all right to sit down on one of the porch chairs.
    ‘‘It’s been dusted,’’ Jin yelled from the living room. ‘‘Might get powder on you.’’
The other, a black man of about thirty, told him he’d best remain standing. ‘‘No telling what you might sit on at a crime scene.’’ The two of them talked to each other about football while they waited.
Lynn twisted the neck and jaw of the corpse, and then moved his arms as far as the rope would allow. ‘‘Whit tells me I have you to thank for this.’’
‘‘I hope you don’t mind. They may be related.’’
‘‘This looks different from those in the woods,’’ said Lynn.
‘‘But this is one of the men who found the victims in the woods.’’
Lynn looked up at Diane sharply. ‘‘What’s going on?’’
‘‘I don’t know.’’
Lynn shook her head, pushed her thermometer into Chris Edwards’ liver and looked at her watch. ‘‘Ninety-four point five. Rigor’s . . .’’ Lynn looked around the room. ‘‘Who’s the detective on the case?’’
‘‘Chief Garnett’s taking the lead,’’ said Diane. ‘‘This guy’s partner, Steven Mayberry, is missing—the one who was with him in the woods when they found the bodies.’’
Lynn’s frown deepened. ‘‘This just gets worse. Any idea what this is all about?’’
‘‘Maybe we’ll find out when Mr. Mayberry is found.’’
Dr. Webber stood up. ‘‘At a one-and-a-half-degree drop an hour, it’s possible he died two and a half hours ago. He’s already into rigor. That’s a little early, but it looks like he put up a fight and that would hasten it.’’
‘‘His girlfriend put the call in about two and a half hours ago,’’ said Whit. He was standing back from the body, watching Dr. Webber examine it.
‘‘I suppose Chief Garnett needs to talk with her,’’ said Dr. Webber. ‘‘I’m done here.’’
She turned to Diane. ‘‘Raymond has one skeleton for you. Blue Doe. He’s delivering it today. He’ll have Red