They should really call it quasi-fiction. For something I’m supposedly making up, I spend an awful lot of my work day checking facts. And a lot of them are gross.

I recently wrote to one of my forensic anthropologist buddies and asked, “If I left a dead dog in a sealed plastic container for three hot summer days, what would you expect that dog to look like?”

His answer: “I would expect it to look like a bloated dead dog.”

Forensic anthropologist humor – it’s a little deadpan. (Ba-dum-dum. Oh, thank you folks. I’m here all week.)

But it just goes to show, I also spend a fair bit of time taking a ribbing from serious professionals about my silly questions. And I couldn’t possibly mind less. I would be willingly tarred and feathered for a quarter of the help these guys give me.

To make myself feel better, I tell myself that what I do helps them, too. The more popular reading and watching about the real nuts and bolts of forensics and police work gets, I reason, the more appreciated they will be. The more appreciated they are, the more funds/equipment/personnel their departments will get. But the truth of the matter is most of these unsung heros work under such a caseload that it would take a backhoe and Bill Gates’ personal checkbook to get them out. So really, they help me because they’re great guys, because they love their jobs and they like talking about them.

Just yesterday, a retired L.A. Sheriff’s Department homicide detective, Danny Smith, spent two hours on the phone with me patiently explaining the intricacies of departmental scheduling, politics and pancake holsters. Seven years he spends in the most elite of units before being injured in the line of duty, and he still takes time out of running his own consulting and investigation business to talk to me about desk layout in the squad room. And then there was the other retired sergeant who sent me half a dozen e-mails setting up my introduction to Danny. Then Danny suggests his old partner who might have a few answers, then the guy in the coroner’s office who everyone knows is the best, maybe we can get him to talk to you, too. And have you tried... And can we get you...

God, I love these guys.

So please, the next time you pick up a mystery novel, don’t skip the acknowledgments section. That’s the altar on which we praise all of these men and women who went out of their way. They don’t get paid. They don’t get famous. They’re just helping because they can.

And if you happen to find yourself in need of one heck of an investigator, Danny runs a nice show. http://www.drsinvestigations.com/

And if you want to know why I’m putting dead dogs in plastic containers, well, you’ll just have to wait for the next book...