To Solve Gruesome Desert Mysteries, Scientists Become Body Collectors

Before she confronts death straight on, Melissa Connor always puts on a pair of rubber boots. The shelf she takes the shoes from includes a bottle of hand sanitizer, a sign warning people to check their shoes for scorpions and a bundle of wooden stakes, each of which will eventually be marked with the abbreviation "Mr." or "Ms." followed by a number.

Then Connor opens the back door of her lab, located just outside Grand Junction, Colo., and steps onto a gravel path. It's squint-your-eyes bright out here, and everything is dry — the air, the crumbly dirt, the scrubby plants. The only movement comes from the wind, an occasional car on the nearby highway and the prairie dogs that come out of their dens to chatter at intruders.

"I think we have the most scenic of the decomposition facilities, myself," says Connor, a forensic scientist at