girl and lots of people liked her. You could go up and down this street and find a lot of older folks who liked her. She was good to them. Took them shopping if they needed to go. Stacy was a decent girl, not what he tried to make her out to be.”
“Mr. Dance,” said Kingsley, “we would like your permission to have her exhumed. I know that’s painful to think about, but we need to have someone else look at her.”
Dance was nodding his head as Ross spoke. “You do that. I want everybody to know that Stacy was a good girl.”
“Mr. Dance,” said Diane, “I would like to take a look at her room. Dr. Kingsley here said you left it as it was?”
He nodded. “I haven’t touched it.”
“I need to take a look,” Diane said.
Harmon Dance nodded his head. “Do what you have to do.”
“Examining her room can be a little destructive,” said Diane. “I have fingerprint powders and—”
“Do whatever you have to do,” he said again. “Whatever it takes.” His chair creaked as he rocked in it.
Chapter 16
Diane opened the door to the garage apartment with the key Mr. Dance had given them. She reached around to the light switch on the inside wall and turned on the lights without stepping inside.
“Wow,” said Kingsley softly. “The crime scene photo doesn’t do this room justice.”
“No,” said Diane, “it doesn’t.”
Stacy’s apartment was charming. There was an efficiency kitchenette in one corner with a small round oak table and four chairs. The living room held a love seat sofa, two stuffed chairs, and a coffee table. Her bedroom area was half hidden by curtains. The small bathroom was across from the bed. The walls were painted a light dusty rose. One wall was covered in matching shades of striped wallpaper. The curtains were a complementary pink, as were the pillows on the cream-colored sofa and chairs. She had découpaged her chest of drawers with prints from a book of rococo art. A vase of flowers in the middle of the dining table had dried out, the water evaporated.
Stacy had enj oyed her life. Diane saw it in the room. Everything was carefully chosen, pretty, much of it handmade.
Kingsley started to walk in, but Diane stopped him.
“Wait until I examine the floor,” she said. Diane slipped covers over her shoes. “I’m closing the door. I’m afraid you’ll have to stand out here until I clear you a place to stand. It’ll take a while.”
Kingsley nodded. “As Mr. Dance said, whatever it takes. I’ll make some phone calls.”
Diane left most of the crime scene kit outside and stepped in, closed the door, and turned off the light. The room smelled like death. She set her crime lamp on the floor, turned it on, and squatted so she could see what it illuminated. She began systematically looking for shoe prints the low-angle light would show up. There were many. She began the painstaking process of lifting the prints from the floor with electrostatic film. Most of the prints would be from the police and the coroner’s people who carried Stacy out, and most would be overlapping. But she might get lucky.
She cleared the floor around the door and let Kingsley come in out of the chilly air to stand inside in the dark.
“You’ll get used to the smell,” she said.
He made light conversation as she went from print to print, placing the Mylar-coated silver foil over each print, lifting it using static electricity, rolling up the film, and putting it in a tube.
Most of the shoe prints were on the hardwood floor around the bed where Stacy was found. But there were a few in other locations on the floor.
“I didn’t realize this is such time-consuming work,” said Kingsley.
“And we’re still on the floor,” said Diane. “We’ve got the furniture and ceiling to do.”
“Ceiling? You expect to find something on the ceiling?” asked Kingsley.
“Expect it? No, but it’s standard protocol to look. Could find some kind of spatter, for instance, that might give us critical information.”
When Diane finished, she took the tubes of rolled-up film and put them in a carrying case beside the door. There was a gentle knock from outside.
“It’s me, Boss. Can I come in?”
“Come on in, Jin,” said Diane. “Carefully.”
The door opened slowly and Jin stepped inside. He was holding his digital SLR camera, his newest toy.
“Hey, Boss, I finished outside. How’s it going here?” he said.
“I’m starting with the black light,” she told him.