He hesitated so long, Diane thought he had hung up, then he spoke in a calm voice. ‘‘An example?’’
‘‘An example of a terrible thing people can do that isn’t against the law.’’
He paused for a long moment. ‘‘Oh, I could give you a hundred examples. Gossip comes to mind—and bullying, to name just two.’’
‘‘There are legal remedies to both of those.’’
‘‘Right. Not when you’re in school. Besides, legal remedies are expensive. For most of us, it’s a choice between a so-called legal remedy and a roof over our head. There’s no legal remedies for normal people.’’
‘‘So sometimes you have to make your own reme dies. Murder seems a harsh remedy for gossip and bullying.’’
‘‘Who said anything about murder?’’
‘‘You did. This conversation started from you ob jecting to my calling all murders evil.’’
He chuckled softly. ‘‘Yes, you’re right. I did. And you’re right that killing is too harsh for my examples, but they were just examples. It’s what you asked for.’’
‘‘Then perhaps I wasn’t specific enough. Give me a good example of a justified killing.’’
‘‘I have to go now. I’ll call again and we’ll talk some more.’’
Diane’s gaze eased around the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary, anyone leaving, some thing out of place. Everything looked right.
Mike returned a minute later, still wide-eyed, but with a serious look on his face. ‘‘That was . . . you were actually talking to the killer?’’
‘‘I don’t know. Were you able to get hold of Chief Garnett?’’
‘‘Yes. He said he’d get on it.’’
Diane wasn’t sure, but unless they were already on it they would miss the opportunity. Surely, they in cluded her cell in the surveillance.
‘‘What did the guy want?’’ asked Mike.
‘‘I think he wanted me to tell him he was right.’’
‘‘See, that’s why I’m attracted to you.’’
‘‘Mike, explain that to me. I confess, I don’t under stand why.’’
‘‘It came as a surprise to me too, I’m not usually attracted to older women. But you’re... interesting.’’
‘‘Interesting?’’
‘‘Yeah. Smart—not just intelligent, but clever. You’re adventurous, you do things, map caves, solve crimes—nothing scares you.’’
‘‘Lots of things scare me.’’
‘‘Maybe, but you have it under control. Like just now when that guy called. You were so calm.’’ He grinned a boyish grin that deepened his dimples. ‘‘You look good, too. So how about it—will you go out with me again?’’
‘‘Again? This is not going out. It’s eating together at the museum. And no, I can’t go out with you. We can go caving together, but we can’t date.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Three reasons. I’m dating someone else, I’m your boss and I’m older than you are—by too many years. Any one of those reasons, for me, is a nonstarter. All three—well, it isn’t going to happen.’’
He put a hand on his chest. ‘‘You’ve broken my heart.’’
‘‘I doubt it. It’s the hunt you like. Besides, the antic ipation is often better than the reality.’’
‘‘You know, for guys that isn’t true.’’
Diane laughed. She had been so tense, all her mus cles were still ready for fight or flight. She relaxed. The release felt good.
The remainder of the meal, Diane asked Mike ques tions about the cave he had arranged for them to visit.
‘‘You say it hasn’t been mapped?’’ That information excited her. She loved cave mapping.
‘‘None of the wild sections have.’’ Mike pushed his plate to the side and tried to talk Diane into dessert.
‘‘You’ve tried to tempt me enough, I think.’’
‘‘We could share.’’
‘‘Definitely not. Who in the caving club has mapping experience?’’ she asked.
‘‘I think most everyone has done a little traversing. If you’re talking serious mapping, you’ve had the most experience. I’ve had some, and there’s Stan. I know several would like to learn.’’
‘‘Maybe that can be one of our goals.’’ Diane pushed her plate back and gave the waitress her credit card as she appeared at the table.
‘‘I’ll get it,’’ said Mike, putting his wallet on the table.
‘‘No. I appreciate the information on the diamonds.’’
‘‘Then let me leave the tip.’’ He fished out several bills and left them under his tea glass. ‘‘If you can get the woman to come in, I’ll have a look at her diamond.’’
‘‘I’m not sure how I’d manage that.’’ Diane signed the receipt the waitress brought back, and stood up, retrieving her purse. ‘‘I do appreciate the information, and I’m sorry about the phone call.’’
Mike’s smile disappeared. ‘‘That was strange. Do you think he’s watching you? I’ll walk you to your car.’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘I’m going to my office first and give Garnett a call. I’ll be fine. I’ve given security a heads-up.’’
They threaded their way through the tables. As they passed the trellis garden, an outdoor part of the res taurant, Diane heard her name called from the dark ness. She turned, peered into the flickering shadows and made out Izzy Wallace. He sat at a small table on the terrace, dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved shirt, across from a woman that Diane guessed was his wife. She tried to recall her name, but she couldn’t remember what Frank said it was.
‘‘Izzy. How are you?’’
He stood and introduced his wife, who nodded and patted her mouth with her napkin.
‘‘We just love this restaurant. Such atmosphere,’’ she said.
‘‘We’re very proud of it. You should come in the daytime sometime. They have a wonderful salad and fruit buffet and, of course, the museum is open in the daytime.’’
Izzy kept eying Mike, so Diane introduced him. ‘‘This is Mike Seger, one of our geologists here at the museum.’’
‘‘That was a lot of excitement at Dr. Webber’s house,’’ he said. ‘‘Poor guy nearly wet his pants.’’
‘‘Izzy!’’ cautioned his wife.
‘‘This business has everyone in an uproar,’’ said Izzy. ‘‘The chief’s hanging a lot on the forensics.’’
Diane felt Izzy was trying to draw her into a conver sation about the crime scene. Even if it wasn’t inap propriate, Izzy wasn’t someone she confided in.
‘‘Is he? Well, you two enjoy the rest of your dinner. The chocolate cake is to die for.’’
She left them and walked as far as the entrance with Mike. He continued on out the door, and she used her key to enter the primate room and crossed over to the lobby. She waved at the security guard on duty and went back to her office. Before she called Garnett, she wrote down the conversation with John Doe Caller, as she named him, as accurately as she remembered. When she finished, she dialed Garnett’s number.
‘‘There was a little miscommunication with the sur veillance guys. When they tapped your phone, they didn’t make arrangements for your cell. What did he want?’’
‘‘I wrote it down. I’ll fax it to your office tonight.’’
‘‘That’d be good. I’ll have it first thing. We’ve hired a profiler to come and take a look at the evidence. He used to work for the FBI. Supposed to be real good. He’ll want to talk to you.’’
‘‘Sure.’’ It appeared to Diane that Chief Garnett had taken over the sheriff’s case. As she hung up the phone, she wondered how Braden felt about that. He couldn’t mind too much; he’d allowed it.
It wasn’t as late as she feared it might be when she finally left for home. She’d still get a good night’s sleep and have time to get up early and exercise. Sev eral people were working late—not just the security and custodial staff. She saw three of her curators’ cars in the p
arking lot. And of course, the cluster of cars belonging to restaurant patrons. When she unlocked her car and her dome light came on, she automatically checked the seat, expecting to see another gift, but both the front and backseat were empty. She got in the car and drove to her apartment building. As she pulled into her regular parking space at the curb under the limbs of a large overhanging tree and turned off her car lights, her phone rang.
‘‘Hey. It’s Frank. Want some company tonight?’’
‘‘Frank, I’d love...’’
Crack!
At first Diane thought someone had fired a gun. A moment later when she saw the crack in her window, she thought a limb had fallen on the windshield. A split second after that, another crack shattered the windshield. She saw a dark shadow wielding a base ball bat.
Chapter 28
Diane recoiled reflexively from the banging on her car that rang like gunshots inside her head. He was now outside her driver’s side door, flailing with a baseball bat against her window. Guttural sounds—like some moaning, barking, struggling animal—came from his throat. The end of the bat crashed through the shat tered side window. Diane dodged forward in her seat and screamed at Frank to call the police. She still held the car key in her clenched fist. Put the key in the ignition.
She tried repeatedly with her shaking fingers to in sert the key in the slot in the steering column but kept missing it in the dark. He shoved the bat through the hole in the window again, missing her head but strik ing a painful glancing blow off her left shoulder. She saw another thrust coming, ducked low in the seat to avoid it, and dropped the key somewhere in the dark. She ran her hand over the floor searching, trying to hold back the fear inside her. Under the accelerator her fingers touched the plastic remote. She clutched it and pressed the red panic button. The persistent blar ing horn added to the frenzy, and she had to remind herself that it was on her side.
‘‘Where are you?’’ She heard Frank’s voice shouting from the phone that now lay on the passenger’s side floor.
‘‘Home,’’ she yelled, jerking open the glove com partment, looking for anything that might be a weapon. ‘‘Inside my car.’’
A gloved hand reached through the hole in the win dow, feeling for the door handle. She grabbed at his arm. He caught her hand and yanked. Diane stabbed repeatedly at his hand and wrist as hard as she could with the key clenched in her fist, digging for bone and tendon. He cursed and pulled his hand back. More angry than before, he beat at the window furiously with the bat until the entire glass was broken out.
‘‘Get out of there, you stupid bitch!’’ he yelled above the blaring horn. ‘‘Get the fuck out of there now! I’m going to beat your damn fucking head in!’’
‘‘The police are coming,’’ she yelled.
Diane had no weapon in her car. Not a tire iron, not a pocket knife, nothing. She had to start the car. She made for the ignition again, aiming at it with the key just as he reached in and caught the door handle. The key slipped in the slot at the same time the door swung open. Diane turned the key and the car roared to a start. He cursed her and grabbed her jacket in the grip of his right hand. She jerked the car in gear and pressed the accelerator. The car moved forward, pulling him with it. He ran alongside, holding on to her clothes through the open door, breathing hard. Thank God her seat belt was still buckled.
‘‘You can’t get away. I’m goin’ to kill you, you bitch,’’ he said in as menacing a voice as she had ever heard.
She grabbed at the stocking he wore over his face, pulling it until it stretched. He punched blindly at her with the bat. Diane ducked and hit the accelerator and the car sped forward, and then she slammed on the brakes. The door swung wide open. She put the car quickly into reverse and stomped the accelerator. The suddenness of the move caught him running for ward, hit him with the open door and knocked him to the ground. Diane wanted to run him over as she backed up her car and saw him lying in front of her. The temptation was almost too much to resist. While she hesitated for a second, he scrambled up off the road, ran toward a Crown Victoria across the street and jerked open the door. She turned the steering wheel in the direction of his car and floored the accel erator. But her car responded sluggishly, haltingly, and his car sped off in the opposite direction before she reached it.
Diane managed to turn her car half around and started to pursue. She pressed the brake instead. He was going too fast, and she had no business becoming involved in a high-speed chase. She sat in her car crossways in the middle of the road, breathing hard.
‘‘Diane, are you still there? The police are on their way. Diane.’’
She found the phone on the floor half under the passenger’s seat. ‘‘Frank. I’m here. He’s gone.’’
‘‘Diane, are you all right? I’m almost to your apart ment. Are you all right?’’
‘‘Yes. I’m fine. I’m going to have to get some new windows for my car, though.’’
At that moment an unmarked police car came over the rise, lights flashing, but no siren, and stopped op posite her in the road. Two policemen jumped out, drew their guns and pointed them at her car. ‘‘Get out of the car. Put your hands on your head.’’
‘‘Frank, the police are here. Apparently, they are going to shoot me. I have to go.’’
Diane dropped the phone on the seat, unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car with her hands on her head. She recognized the two policemen, and tried to recall their names as they walked slowly toward her.
‘‘You’re Dr. Fallon,’’ said one of the policemen. Both of them lowered their guns. Diane dropped her hands to her sides.
‘‘Yes, I am. I was attacked in my car. The man left, driving west in a light-colored Crown Vic. I couldn’t get his tag number. You probably just passed him.’’
Frank’s car came to a screeching halt at the curb.
‘‘That’s Frank Duncan. He’s an Atlanta detective and a friend,’’ she told them. ‘‘He’s the one who called you.’’
She was the one shaking inside, and she felt that they were the ones who needed calming.
Frank walked up and showed his badge. ‘‘You okay?’’ he asked, pulling her into a hug.
‘‘Scared witless, but other than that . . .’’ She leaned against him. ‘‘I need to move my car out of the street.’’
‘‘Sure,’’ said one of the policemen. ‘‘Go ahead. We’ll call an APB on the Crown Vic.’’
‘‘I’ll move your car,’’ said Frank. ‘‘You get out of the street.’’
As Diane watched Frank get in her car, she saw that both tires on the driver’s side were flat. Sometime during his frenzied attack, the perp had managed to slash her tires. Her car looked totaled, the windshield was caved in, the driver’s side window was nearly gone. The front headlights had been smashed. The dents in the body were too numerous to count. The attack seemed so quick to have done all that damage.
Frank parked her battered Taurus against the curb just as Chief Garnett drove up in his car. He jumped out and hurried over to Diane and the policemen, scowling. Diane noticed her landlady and some of her neighbors gathered in front of the apartment building. The apartment house stood mainly by itself on the small street. Good thing. She’d have hated having the whole neighborhood out looking at her.
‘‘You were supposed to be watching the house,’’ Garnett said to the policemen.
Diane understood now why the two policemen looked nervous. They hadn’t been where they were supposed to be.
‘‘We got a call . . .’’ began one of the policemen.
‘‘You got a call? We’ll discuss this down at the sta tion. In the meantime, I want you parked out here all night. Is that understood?’’
‘‘Yes, sir.’’
He turned to Diane. ‘‘Are you injured?’’
‘‘No, I’m fine. I’d like just to go up to my apartment and get some sleep.’’
‘‘Of course. Do you think it was the guy who’s been calling?’’
&nb
sp; ‘‘I don’t know for sure. But I got a sense that the caller was frustrated with the way our conversations have been going.’’
‘‘Did you give his description to the officers?’’
Diane nodded. ‘‘I described his vehicle. He was dressed in dark clothes and had a stocking over his head, distorting his features. He had dark hair, about six feet tall, well built.’’
‘‘You call it in?’’ Garnett snapped at his officers. Both of the policemen nodded.
‘‘I tried to get his tag number. I couldn’t see it.’’ ‘‘We’ll find him.’’
Diane turned and took a step toward her apartment. ‘‘Oh, I met Kacie Beck as she was leaving the police station and gave her a lift home. I noticed that she had an engagement ring with what looked to me like a pretty large diamond. If it was real and of good quality, my geologist said it could be worth upwards of ten thousand dollars. It might be worth checking out.’’
Dead Guilty dffi-2 Page 22
