Wes sauntered up wearing pressed jeans, a maroon plaid shirt, and tan oxfords. This time he hadn’t bothered to slip on blue nitrile gloves. I didn’t know if that irritated me more or less. “What are you doing here?” Dave frowned at the man. Wes moved to where he could clearly see the woman. “Investigating.” I waited for him to blanch and vomit, but he seemed frozen, staring at the body. Interesting. I was pretty sure this was his first ripe-smelling death scene beyond the bodies in the grave, which had only been bones. “Investigating?” I asked him. He didn’t respond. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead, and he shuffled closer to the corpse. “Wes?” He blinked as if waking up. “Huh?” “I’m curious,” I said. “Investigating isn’t usually the role of a forensic artist.” “Missoula police and the state crime lab see me in a larger role.” I winced. Why didn’t I ask for a contract to do their forensic art when I had the chance? Dave caught my reaction.
What do You think about The Bones Will Speak (2015)?
