Frozen Stiff by Annelise Ryan Page A

vitreous samples while you develop the film.”
    “That would be great. Thanks.”
    I get the X-ray processor turned on and warmed up while Arnie fetches Harold Minniver’s body from the fridge. After hoisting Minniver, still inside his body bag, onto the X-ray table, we shoot head-to-toe pictures of him. Then we put him back on the stretcher and wheel him into the autopsy room, where Arnie does the eye thing while I retreat to the dark room.
    When I’m finished and carry the X-rays into the autopsy room, I see that Arnie has opened Minniver’s body bag but has only started with the vitreous samples. “Have you gone over any of the evidence from Callie Dunkirk yet?” I ask him, turning my back and hanging the films on a wall-mounted viewer.
    “I typed the blood from her wound,” Arnie says. I shudder as I hear the faint squishy squeak of a needle entering an eyeball. “I also looked for fingerprints on the knife that killed her but the carved surface of the handle isn’t very conducive to retaining them. I found a very small partial and sent it to Madison but I don’t know if it will be enough. And those metal fragments we found in her hair? Turned out those are lead bits, most likely from soldering.”
    I’d forgotten about the metal bits and as soon as Arnie says this, I recall Hurley’s workshop, where I saw both an acetylene torch and a soldering iron. I hadn’t made the connection when I was there last night; I was too distracted by Hurley’s presence. But I’m making it now and it seems a little too coincidental. The earrings Hurley gave me are still in my ears and my lobes feel hot all of a sudden.
    “I also examined that hair we found in the congealed blood of the wound,” Arnie says.
    This is the direction I wanted the discussion to go so I shake off my sense of dread and try to focus on my original plan.
    “What, exactly, do you look for when you examine hair evidence?” I ask, trying to sound only mildly curious. Arnie loves talking about his work and he takes great pride in what he does. So I’m hoping for a basic rundown of hair as trace evidence to give me some idea of what to look for if I compare Hurley’s hair to the one found on Callie, assuming I can do so on the sly. But I forgot how extreme and varied Arnie’s interests are, and he gives me a whole lot more than the basics.
    “You’d be amazed at the things you can learn from hair,” he starts. “Hair evidence has figured quite prominently in some very high-profile cases throughout history. For instance, an analysis of hairs from Napoleon’s body revealed that he may have died of arsenic poisoning. Hairs that were connected to the anthrax mailing several years ago were analyzed with the hope they would implicate a scientist named Bruce Ivins at Fort Detrick in Maryland who was the primary suspect, but they weren’t a match. The scientist then committed suicide, leaving that hair evidence as one of the biggest puzzles in the case.”
    Arnie pauses a second and a twinkle appears in his eye, letting me know the best is yet to come.
    “On a more abstract level there is a rumor that hair samples collected in the Pacific Northwest prove the existence of a Big Foot type creature.”
    Ah yes, my distant relatives.
    “And there are some who believe that redheads are actually alien-human hybrids.”
    Realizing that Arnie has now donned his foil hat, I try to steer him back on track. “I’d love to have you show me how you do hair analysis. I need to learn and it sounds like you really know your stuff.”
    “Sure.” He brightens and stands a little straighter, puffing his narrow chest out so that he resembles a bird. If only Hurley were so easy. Arnie glances at his wristwatch and says, “We probably have time to do a quickie now if you want, before Izzy comes in.”
    As the double entendre hits him, his face turns Day-Glo red and his glasses start to fog over.
    “A quickie it is then,” I say, smiling.
    For once, Arnie is