Dead Guilty dffi-2

by Beverly Connor

  ‘‘This is strange.’’

  ‘‘That’s one word to describe it,’’ said Garnett.

  ‘‘Somebody is mighty desperate for something.’’ ‘‘If we can identify the victims,’’ said Braden, ‘‘I can

  close this damn case. Are you any closer to finding

  out who they are?’’ he asked Garnett.

  Garnett looked annoyed, and she guessed that he

  and Braden had had a disagreement. Cobber’s Wood

  was the only one of the crime scenes in Braden’s juris

  diction, and she got the idea he probably didn’t care

  if Garnett solved his cases or not, even if they were

  all related.

  ‘‘I may know who they are. I’ve been trying to call,’’

  said Diane.

  This got Braden’s attention.

  ‘‘The sheriff and I were called back here as soon as

  we got back to our offices,’’ said Garnett. ‘‘They made

  us turn off our cell phones inside the hospital, so we

  didn’t get your call. You know who the victims were?’’ ‘‘Maybe. I told you about the discussion boards and

  lists Neva was checking on the Internet. She got a hit

  from a plastic surgeon in upstate New York. He sent

  photos of two of his patients, and I have to tell you,

  they look a lot like our victims.’’

  ‘‘She get names?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’ Diane related the entire story she got from

  Neva. ‘‘When I couldn’t get you on the phone, I called

  the numbers the doctor gave her for them. Justin

  Hooten’s family wasn’t home. Ashlyn Hooten’s father

  brushed me off. I think that they’ve had some dealings

  with the law before.’’

  If Braden or Garnett were angry at her initiative,

  neither showed it, so she pressed on. ‘‘I’d like to try

  again.’’

  ‘‘Be my guest,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘The sooner this is

  out of my hair, the better.’’ He rose and stalked off

  toward the restrooms.

  ‘‘What’s that about?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘I was pretty hard on Lynn Webber. I was thinking

  that maybe the diamonds were on Chris Edwards’

  person—hiding in his underwear, some place an in

  truder might not look. And then I thought, if not Ed

  wards’ clothes, why not the hanging victims’? She

  seemed to take offense at my tone of voice. She told

  him about it. I tell you, the guy’s hopeless.’’ Diane was only half listening to what Garnett was saying. What had caught her eye was a poster for

  colon cancer screening.

  ‘‘She was saying,’’ continued Garnett, ‘‘that you

  were there when they removed Blue and Green’s

  clothes and you took them with you, and Red’s clothes

  were bagged immediately. It seemed to me like a way

  to connect up Braden’s murders with mine.’’ ‘‘And it was,’’ said Diane, staring at the poster.

  ‘‘There was something Raymond did by himself that

  wasn’t in sight of either me or Lynn Webber.’’ ‘‘What was that?’’

  ‘‘He cleaned the bones.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘Before I do a thorough analysis of bones, they are

  cleaned by a process that dissolves all the flesh and

  cartilage. Raymond is the one who cleaned them.

  When he strained the solution to capture any of the

  small bones that might be trapped in it, that’s where

  he found the diamonds. I’ll bet one of the victims had

  swallowed the diamonds, maybe to smuggle them, like

  they do cocaine.’’

  ‘‘You know, that makes sense. Raymond had never

  been in trouble, even as a teenager. It bothered me

  that he would suddenly turn to something this big. But

  if he found them, he probably counted himself lucky—

  poor fellow.’’

  ‘‘That would also explain why he was targeted.

  Someone out there knew where the diamonds were

  hidden, and with a little asking around about what

  happens to bodies, could have figured out Raymond

  was the one who had them.’’

  Diane felt more comfortable with this explanation

  of how Raymond Waller got the diamonds than she

  did with the idea of his being in league with Edwards and Mayberry. She turned it over in her mind as she

  drove back to the museum.

  If Raymond happened upon diamonds, why not

  Chris Edwards and Steven Mayberry? They were out

  doing their timber cruises all over the woods for days.

  From their explanation of what a timber cruise is, they

  walked over every inch of ground. What if they also

  had the misfortune of stumbling across more of the

  diamonds? But if she were right and Blue, Green and

  Red Doe had swallowed theirs, then where would the

  ones have come from that Edwards and Mayberry

  might have found?

  Her head was beginning to ache. When she got back

  to the museum, she changed into the running clothes

  she kept in her museum office. If she was going caving

  on the weekend, she needed to start exercising again.

  She hadn’t done anything in a week.

  ‘‘Andie, I’m going for a run on the nature trail. Go

  ahead and lock the offices when you leave. I have

  a key.’’

  ‘‘Sure. See you tomorrow.’’

  The nature trail made a tangled loop a little over

  half a mile long around the back of the museum. It

  was an exhibit in itself and Diane considered it an

  important part of a museum of natural history. It was

  a wooded trail, full of more species of trees than

  Diane could name. When the leaves turned in the fall,

  it was dazzling. In the spring and summer, it was the

  flowers and shrubs that shined: rhododendrons, aza

  leas, bluet, violets, trilliums. She tried to remember

  the names as she passed the plants. Late summer, the

  museum staff liked to pick blackberries that grew

  along the trail, and Diane was thinking about having

  a staff blackberry picnic in July. The crowning jewel

  of the nature trail was the swan pond in the center— a small, quiet lake that could have come from a

  fairy tale.

  She never tired of running the nature trail and she

  always saw something she hadn’t seen before. Nor

  mally, there were many people running in the evening,

  but it had been so hot that a lot of people headed for

  the treadmills in an air-conditioned gym. She was

  mainly alone, only occasionally spotting a runner

  through the trees.

  She wanted to run five miles. That usually took her

  anywhere from thirty-five to forty minutes, depending

  on how leisurely she wanted to make it. She looked

  at her watch. It wasn’t too late.

  Today, she felt like running fast. She sprinted

  through the trail. Her heart beat fast. It felt good. She

  thought she heard the steady rhythm of footfalls be

  hind her. Another runner, she thought. It sounded like

  a runner. She barely heard it, but she felt the rhythm.

  She speeded up her pace. The rhythm was still there.

  She glanced back, but she’d just passed a turn and the

  trail behind her was hidden by rhodod
endrons. Recent events had made her paranoid, and she was

  starting to become a little worried. She rounded an

  other turn, stopped and stepped behind a cluster of

  forsythia bushes and waited for several seconds. She

  heard the footfalls coming. She stepped back farther

  in the bushes, ready to run. Around the turn, passing

  her, ran Mike Seger.

  ‘‘Mike,’’ she called.

  He stopped and turned, breathing hard.

  ‘‘Dr. Fallon. Damn. You are hard to catch up with.

  You run fast for an old lady. Andie told me you came

  for a run. I run here every day too, but usually in

  the morning.’’

  Diane walked back onto the trail and started run ning again, but at a slower pace. He caught up with

  her.

  ‘‘So, is this your second run today?’’ she asked. ‘‘No, not today. I had to proctor a makeup exam at

  the university this morning. What are you doing out

  here by yourself anyway?’’

  ‘‘The guy who attacked me is dead.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’

  They ran almost a half-mile loop without talking.

  While she ran, Diane’s mind kept turning over the

  diamonds—cut and uncut.

  ‘‘Tell me,’’ Diane asked, ‘‘where’s the closest place

  to have a diamond cut?’’

  ‘‘I’d say New York. No. There’s a guy who teaches

  at the tech school. They have courses in diamond cut

  ting. Just started last year, one of the very few places

  you can learn in the United States.’’

  ‘‘What’s his name?’’ asked Diane.

  Mike thought a moment. ‘‘Joseph something. Jo

  seph Isaacson. I think he’s from Belgium.’’ ‘‘Thanks.’’

  ‘‘In my car I have a map of the cave we are going

  to visit. I brought you a copy. I thought you might

  like to see it. It’s just the easy section, but that’s all

  we are doing this time. Maybe later we can map the

  wild sections. Like you said, that would be a good

  project for the club.’’

  ‘‘Great. How far do you usually run?’’

  ‘‘I usually make about twenty laps.’’

  ‘‘Then why are you breathing so hard?’’

  ‘‘I told you, trying to catch up with you. I have a

  friend opening up a new gym in town. It has a great

  rock-climbing wall. You might check it out.’’ ‘‘I might do that. I’ve let my weight training go

  this week.’’

  ‘‘I wouldn’t worry. You still have some pretty hard

  deltoids.’’ He reached over and touched her bare

  shoulder.

  Diane ran faster.

  Chapter 42

  While she waited for a decent time to call the Hooten household again, Diane sat at her desk, studying the map Mike had given her of the cave they were going to explore. It was not a particularly well-done map. In fact, it was amateurish. She should have suspected by his grin when he showed it to her. It had its own way of describing features, drops, slopes and escarp ments, instead of using any of the normal mapping conventions. But it also had its own charm. It was sort of like an old-fashioned treasure map. Diane had to fight the urge to copy it off on parchment paper. But it did have entrances and branches clearly labeled, and it showed tunnels and passages in ways that were probably recognizable—with names such as Fish Scale Way, the Silo, Crawl-Belly Tunnel.

  The section they were going to traverse included a half mile of easy cave. Neva was a novice, and Diane wanted it to be easy. But the easy part was still inter esting. It included several turns and several different elevations. The mapper had clearly marked the branches that led to the wild parts—Abandon All Hope and There Be Dragons passages.

  She looked at her watch—a little after 9:00 P.M. She picked up the phone to call, but instead of dialing the Hooten residence, she thought better of it and got the number for the Buffalo police. She called and intro duced herself and explained that she was trying to identify three bodies that she had reason to believe originally resided in Buffalo. The person on the other end listened patiently.

  ‘‘Is there anyone there familiar with an Ashlyn or

  Justin Hooten?’’ she said finally.

  ‘‘Hold the phone, ma’am.’’

  She held the line for a full ten minutes. Finally,

  someone picked up. ‘‘Detective James LaSalle here. How can I help you?’’

  Detective LaSalle had a very friendly voice. Diane hoped that also meant he would be helpful. She ex plained again what she was after.

  ‘‘I’m very familiar with little Ashlyn and Justin Hooten. Stereotypical ignored rich kids who get into trouble and their parents get them out, but other than that, don’t pay any attention to them. They have the reputation of being bullies. You say you think they are dead?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know. I’m trying to identify the remains of three individuals. Two of them fit their description. The bodies were badly decomposed and we did an artist’s reconstruction of their faces. One had plastic surgery. That’s how we got a lead.’’

  ‘‘Nose job on Ashlyn, right?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Damn, this doesn’t look good.’’

  Diane went on to describe the other characteristics

  they had discovered—tattoos, heart condition. She also described Red Doe, her tattoos, ballet, back prob lems and the fact she was probably half Asian. ‘‘I realize I’m grabbing at straws here,’’ she said. ‘‘No, I don’t think you are. They have a friend.

  Cathy Chu. She wore a back brace for a while. And you say the parents don’t know they’re missing. That’s not surprising.’’

  ‘‘I need some X-rays to make a positive identifica tion. The plastic surgeon was very forthcoming, but as you can understand, he was reluctant to send X-rays without permission.’’

  ‘‘I’ll see that you get what you need. Jeez, what goes around comes around.’’

  ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘‘The father probably thought you were calling about an incident that happened a couple of years ago. I don’t know exactly what happened—it was hushed up—but I can give you some good bits and pieces.’’

  ‘‘Please do. We’ve had other murders that may be connected. Do you know if they were involved with uncut diamonds?’’

  ‘‘Oh, Jesus, they did get in over their heads. I knew it would happen. The three of them went to the Uni versity of Pennsylvania. Thought they were really slick customers. Got involved in smuggling contraband out of Canada. Small stuff at first—cigarettes, clothes. They thought they were really into a sophisticated racket. Had a few close calls with customs, but nothing their parents couldn’t take care of.

  ‘‘They started getting a little more daring and got involved with some dangerous people. This is where it gets a little murky. They got involved with something. Maybe it’s diamonds. You have diamonds, then?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘Well, damn. I thought it was tobacco. You know about Canadian diamonds?’’

  ‘‘Not really.’’

  ‘‘There’s a big diamond mine in Canada, the Ekati mine. Produces nice white diamonds, and the Cana dian authorities work hard to keep organized crime out of the rough-diamond trade. But you never can completely. Rough diamonds are harder to identify and they are easy to smuggle. On top of that, they have a high profit-to-size ratio. A dream for orga nized crime.’’

  ‘‘This is what they got into?’’ asked Diane.