The Naturalist (The Naturalist #1)(76)

Four hours later I’m being led down a hall by a petite, gray-haired woman who doesn’t bother to contain her disdain for me.

For some reason, I like her. Maybe my spirits have been lifted—because a tryst with a beautiful woman on the side of the road like a horny teenager will do that to you.

“So, uh, what’s this about?” I ask.

“It’s about me retiring from the university only to find myself ‘appointed’”—she makes air quotes as she says this—“by the governor as state medical examiner. Apparently I’m the only one in the state qualified after the last asshole left. Total disarray. They were sending bodies to Seattle. Seattle? Jeez.”

“State medical examiner? Wait, there’s only one in the whole state?”

“Yes. We have plenty of coroners. Any quack that can pass the test can be a coroner. But to do an official autopsy, one that a court will recognize, that has to be done by someone who knows their ass from their elbow or a bear claw from a knife.”

“So you know that they were killed by a man?”

She stops at a door and gives me a dumb look. “Yes, Professor Genius. You’re not the only one capable of calling a spade a spade.”

“So why hasn’t that been announced?”

She waves the question away and motions for me to sit in a chair. “Have a seat and take your shirt off.”

“My shirt?”

“I’m taking blood, skin, body hairs, and anything else I damn well feel like.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You teach?”

“We went over that.”

“Right. Well, I’ve got a room full of bodies in there that I’m going to be examining. If I find any DNA other than the victims’, I’d like to know if it’s yours. Maybe it’s all yours. I’ll want semen, too.”

“Semen?”

“You teach biology?” She shakes her head. “God help us.”

“I’m confused.”

“Obviously. Let me explain it to you simply. If I find any DNA, I need to know that’s it’s not yours. I’d rather not have to wait to find out. I’m not a patient woman.”

“Clearly.”

She gives me a sharp look. “Listen, smart-ass, I can either have you do this voluntarily or I can get a judge to force you. You don’t want to know how we force a semen sample.”

“Actually, I do. Is it something you assist with?”

“Yes. I shove an eight-inch needle into your scrotum and drain it like a grape.”

I break out into a laugh. “Has anyone ever pointed out that’s physically impossible?”

“Do you think the normal dumb asses we see here even know how to spell scrotum? So what will it be?”

“Resistance is pointless, isn’t it?”



After she gets blood and follicle and skin scrapings, she leaves me to provide the final sample. It’s much easier than I would have expected, but I’m not surprised, given the recent memory to think about.

When I open the door, she’s standing on the other side of the hallway.

“Forget how to work your zipper?”

“I’m done.”

“Goddamn jackrabbit. You must be a real treat for the ladies.” She holds out her hand for the specimen cup. “Let me put your excretions on ice, then we’ll suit up.”

“Suit up?”

“Yes. Your notes weren’t exactly as specific as you might have thought they were. I have some questions about how you found the bodies.”

“Bodies . . . I only told the police I found Chelsea Buchorn. Oh, and then there was Summer Osbourne.” I’m honestly starting to lose track.

Mead watches my confused response, then replies, “Right. That was in the notes. We have a bunch of other bodies sent to us by a Mr. Anonymous. Do you think there are any other aspiring forensic examiners out there digging up dead girls I should know about?”

“Well . . .”

She waves my hesitation away. “If you’re worried about the legal implications, talk to a lawyer. In the meantime, let’s play a game of tell me how this other guy might have found the bodies and in what conditions, okay? The sooner we clear that up, the sooner we can find out who really did this and the FBI will move on to asking questions about him instead of you.”

“The FBI?”

Mead shrugs. “I didn’t say anything.”

Oh, crap. That might have been who followed Jillian and me last night. Mead’s little hint makes it seem that I might be the target of their investigation. Christ.

If that’s the case, I’ll need whatever help I can get to convince them that I’m on their side. That means doing whatever Mead asks.



I spend the rest of the day explaining to her about each body and how I found them. She asks specific questions about smells, depth of soil, and vegetation.

Although the medical technicians who removed the bodies made detailed notes, Mead is very curious about what my observations were when I discovered them. She was acutely interested in skin coloration.

“Any word on the samples from the hot spring?” I ask after we finish going over the last body.

“Hot spring?”

“I found a rib cage in a hot spring near Red Hook.”