My Life with Death

Hoover's University of Paleontology, LV, Nevada, April 9, 2008, 07:40 a.m.

 "What's that supposed to mean?" he yelled at me.

He threw this morning's newspaper on the table in front of me. I looked at him with a confused expression on my face. I was too tired to argue with him.

"Did we agree on something?" he pointed out.

"I don't know why you're yelling at me. I didn't say anything to anyone. You have to look elsewhere for the culprit," I defended myself. "Try the newspaper," I added ironically.

He was over the top. I understood it. It was clear to me that this whole thing could seriously complicate the investigation, but on the other hand, he was taking it too personally. It seemed like he was mad at me specifically, maybe for something that happened – or instead didn't happen – last night. Did he expect something more? I don't know. But he was acting strange. And it wasn't pleasant for me at all. I know I wasn't very polite, but he lied to us. I knew it. I felt it. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to hear him. I didn't want to talk to him. I've had enough. I was beginning to question my decision. I stopped being sure it was a good idea to help the FBI with the case. I'd instead go back out there, among the dust and sand to the remains. It's a lonely job, so I liked it so much. I liked being alone. With your thoughts. With a clear head.

2:20 p.m.

I didn't sulk. I've done it often that I ran right here. To clear my head from work and people and be alone. I had hundreds of reasons to be here and to come here. And most of all, I loved the view. The indescribable feeling of having all of Las Vegas in the palm of my hand has never ceased to fascinate me. It was charming and magical, especially at sunset when the city lit up, the stars ran into the sky, and a porcelain moon illuminated the desert.