Free Tyrannosaur Canyon by Douglas Preston

belly and legs. When she was done, she led the horse to a corral and turned it loose, threw a few flakes of alfafa into a feeder, and then headed toward the house, slapping bits of alfalfa off her thighs and butt. Was there another lesson in the works? Not likely-not at
four o'clock
.
    She went in the back door to the kitchen, letting the screen door bang. A moment later he saw her pass by the picture window, go to the stove, and start making coffee.
    It was time.
    He took one last look at the sketch before shoving it into his rucksack. Then he began pulling out his equipment. First he slipped the green surgical booties over his shoes, the hair net over his hair, then the shower cap. Over that he slid a stocking. After that he put on the plastic Wal-Mart raincoat, the kind that came in a small packet and cost four dollars. He slid on a pair of latex gloves and took out his Clock 29, 10mm Auto, 935 grams fully loaded with ten rounds in the magazine-a very slick firearm. He wiped it down and shoved it in his pants pocket. Finally he took out an accordion of condoms, tore off two, and tucked them into his shirt pocket.
    He'd leave no DNA at this crime scene.
     
     
     
     
     
    14
     
    DETECTIVE LIEUTENANT WILLER slid out of the cruiser and tossed his cigarette butt onto the asphalt in front of him. Walking over it with a twist of his toe, he entered the back entrance to headquarters, passing through a slate-and-Plexiglas lobby. He swung through the glass doors of homicide, walked down the hall past a potted ficus and into the briefing room.
    His timing was good. Everyone had arrived, and the murmur of voices fell as he entered. Wilier hated meetings but in his line of work they were unavoidable. He nodded to his deputy, Hernandez, a couple of others, pulled a foam cup out of the stack and filled up on coffee, laid his briefcase on the table, sat down. For a moment he focused on only his coffee, took a sip-freshly made for a change-then set down the cup. He opened the briefcase, took out a sheaf of papers marked MAZE, and slapped them on the table with just enough vigor to get everyone's attention.
    He opened the folder, laid a heavy hand on it, looked around. "We all here?"
    "Think so," said Hernandez.
    Nods, murmurs all around.
    Wilier took a noisy sip, set the cup down. "As you know, ladies and gentlemen, we got a killing up in the Chama wilderness, in the Maze, that's attracted a lot of press attention. I want to know where we stand and where we're going. If anyone's got any bright ideas I want to hear them."
    He looked around the room.
    "First, let's have the M.E.'s report. Dr. Feininger?"
    The police pathologist, an elegant-looking, gray-haired woman in a suit who looked out of place in the dingy briefing room, opened a slim leather folder. She did not rise to speak, and her voice was quiet, dry, just a touch ironic.
    "Ten and a half quarts of blood-soaked sand containing most of the five point five quarts of blood found in a typical human body were recovered from the site.
    No other human remains have been found. We did what tests we couldblood
    type, presence of drugs, and so forth."
    "And?"
    "Blood group O positive, no drugs or alcohol detected, white blood cell count apparently normal, blood serum proteins, insulin, all normal. The victim was a male in good health."
    "Male?"
    "Yes. Presence of the Y chromosome."
    "You do any DNA testing?"
    "Yes."
    "And?"
    "We ran it against all the databases, no matches."
    "What do you mean, no matches?" broke in the D.A.
    "We have no national DNA database," the M.E. said patiently, as if talking to an idiot-which, Wilier figured, she probably was. "There's usually no way to identify a person from his DNA, at least not yet. It's useful only in comparisons. Until we find a corpse, a relative, or a spot of blood on a suspect's clothing, it's useless."
    "Right."
    Wilier took a swig of coffee. "That all?"
    "Give me a body and I'll tell you more."
    "We're working on it. K-9?"
    A nervous,