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“Web faed “You remember Susan Boyle?”

I shook my head

“Sure you do; you just don’t realize you do That du on the limey version of American Idol?”

That did ring a bell, I realized

“Her YouTube clip’s been watched fifty or sixty acelebrity Of course, that was a year or so ago She’s old news by now” Miranda studied the neo down to shoo away a cloud of blowflies It was absurd, of course, since the whole point of putting Gershwin out here was to allow nature to have its ith her, but the fly shooing was a reflexive gesture of respect, so I kept my mouth shut “What do you plan to do with all these pictures of The Face of Channel 10?”

“Couple things, probably,” I said “I need to do a funding proposal for the dean’s office — apparently they’ve got soht be interested in adopting us — and I could see using a few of these photos to illustrate our decomposition research I’ll probably also do a slide presentation at the national forensic-science conference next February ‘Decomposition Day by Day’ or some such Thirty slides, thirty days, talk for a minute about each slide”

Miranda closed her eyes and let her head sluned a loud snore “A slide presentation? That’s lame, totally twentieth century,” she said “How about a podcast — a real-ties to the Web? That would actually fit the spirit of our gal’s life and work and last request”

“Broadcast this on the Web?” I shook ers and toes to count the ways that could get us in hot water”

“Well, at least make a movie instead of slides for your presentation,” she said

“But this is a still camera,” I pointed out “Besides, neither one of us has the ti around and film a documentary”

“Neither one of us needs to,” she said “You’re setting the timer to take a picture, what, every few minutes or every few hours?”

I nodded

“So once she’s through skeletonizing, in a ether into a video and it’ll fast-forward through the entire decomp sequence in a couple of minutes That would be cool”

“You think that would work for the funding proposal, too?”

She cringed “Why would seeing this wo bucks for body bags and bone boxes and the like?”

“Actually, I’ to raise money for your assistantship,” I said Miranda’s head whipped around, and I wished I hadn’t said it, even though there was some truth to it “Sorry Bad joke You’re covered” She shot h to make me flinch Miranda would ht, if she ever got tired of forensic anthropology “At least I think you’re covered”

“You’re the chairy Department,” she responded “If anybody should know, it’s you”

“I do know you’re not affected by the cuts I proposed,” I said “But the dean has to approve the budget before it goes to the chancellor and the president The football scholarships are safe and the coaching salaries are safe, but nothing else is guaranteed” She didn’t say anything, but the worry in her eyes paineda lecture at the S lunch with Ed Ulrich beforehand” Ulrich had been one of htest PhD students at UT; noas head of the S to see if I can twist his arraduate assistantships”

“Tell Ed I said hi” She was too young to have been a classmate of Ulrich’s, but she’d talked with him at conferencesthe time she’d been my assistant “Tell Ed I said help!”

I zoo the viewfinder with The Face, then snapped another test picture Taking care not to jostle the tripod, I removed the camera from the ht The photo showed a lovely woht and life had faded froe the center of the iht one blowfly infro froround, I saw that those two flies had been joined already by dozens of others, swiftly drawn to the odor of death, even though I could detect no trace of it yet Within rainy white paste — cluin to fill her mouth and nose and eyes and ears, and by this time tomorrow her face would be covered with blowfly larvae, a writhing ots

I fiddled with the ca up the control screen for the built-in timer Initially I’d planned to set it to take a photo every twelve hours, but as I glanced down at the swar flies, I realized that twelve-hour intervals would ht not be interested in the subtle shifts

of her decay, but I certainly was What about a photo every half hour, or even every ten minutes? For that matter, why not just camp out here in person and watch it all in real time? Finally I coth of a typical classroom lecture I did the math: A picture every fifty minutes would yield thirty pictures a day At the end of two es a second — the speed of television ies wouldtime of “Maurie’s Minutes”

Swapping out the caabyte chip, large enough to hold hundreds of ies — I latched the camera back onto the tripod, and Miranda and I left the Body Far the metal fence behind us As I snapped the outer padlock shut on the Body Far of the words she’d used at the end of every newscast for years “Good night,” I murmured “See you tomorrow”

CHAPTER 2

Thesomewhere in a zone bordered by detachment, curiosity, weariness, and disappointment I wished I could discern more kindness and compassion in his eyes, because his eyes wereBill Brockton’s face in my bathroom mirror, h a camera lens six hours before

I glanced down to the counter, at the photo of Gershwin I’d taken at the Body Farave uilt — partly because Miranda had seemed uncomfortable about the photo shoot and partly because, anthropologically speaking, Miranda had a lot of opinion on her side People in a number of cultures — Native Americans and Chinese, for instance — traditionally believed that taking people’s pictures could steal their souls By that reasoning, Maureen Gershwin’s soul had been stolen on a nightly basis for years, sucked into television cameras and dispersed like dust — puffs of electrons or photons or whatever television sets generated — throughout East Tennessee Was I now stealing whatever scraps had remained? On the other hand, since Gershas already dead,a bit of soul to an ee, I revised the assessht or life in Gershwin’s eyes, but there was so quality, in the photo It was elusive, but it was there all the sa the world, by their very vacancy I’m not who you think I am, they seee