Diane didn’t say anything until Frank had closed and locked the door. “You called the police when you went to get the aspirin, didn’t you?”
Frank nodded. “That was Izzy Wallace. I knew he was on duty. I called his cell phone so I’d get through quickly and told him to come in about fifteen minutes. I knew the little punk wasn’t going to give himself up.”
“What did I just witness? Your version of good cop, bad cop?”
“Yeah. I told Izzy I want to remain on good terms with the kid if I can.” He smiled and motioned toward the dining room. “I brought some apple turnovers I was saving from that little bio-vac. Now that he’s gone, why don’t we have them with some coffee?
“Sure. Then I have to get back to work.”
They sat down and Frank fished out the apple turnovers and poured two cups of coffee in a couple of Styrofoam cups.
“I wonder how he got in here. I’ll have to look for a key to the back door. The little creep may have pocketed it.”
“He came in through the basement,” said Diane. “Did you see his clothes?”
“Ah, I’ll bet you’re right. I’ll have to secure the windows. Very observant of you.”
“Look for any bones while you’re down there. You might check the garage too. If both Jay and his father got the bone from a pile, Jay might have taken some more he thought were cool. We might get a clue as to where they came from.”
“Good thinking. I’m glad you’re working on all cylinders this late.”
“I was refreshed by the adrenaline rush I got from Dean.”
“How did you find him?”
“He surprised me upstairs. Knocked me on my ass and threatened me with a knife.”
Diane said it so calmly it took Frank a second to respond. When he did, it came out as an explosion.
“What! Why didn’t you say something?”
“I thought he had a lack of resolve.”
“Lack of resolve? Are you crazy? The kid’s probably on or coming off drugs, and he’s desperate. You can’t take chances like that.”
“Like what? We were alone in the house. He had a knife. I talked him down. Was that dangerous? Yes. However, I didn’t really have a choice.”
“You should have said something to me.”
“He was disarmed. I thought we might get some information from him. As it was, he didn’t know anything. Or won’t tell. The knife’s up in the guest room on the dresser, if you would like to have a look, get some prints or something.” Diane took the last bite of her pastry, wiped her hands on a napkin and stood up. “If you clear up our trash, I’ll water these plants. Then I have to get back upstairs.”
Chapter 16
The sun had been up a couple of hours when Diane finished. The last thing she did was to collect blood samples. She had photographed, drawn and diagramed the impact and cast-off spatters. She had measured and located the point of origin of the medium-impact spatters, so that now the trajectory string displayed an eerie blow-by-blow scene of the events that took away George and Louise Boone.
“It looks like a giant cat’s cradle.” Frank stood in the doorway with a box under his arm.
“Do I look as tired as you?” Diane asked.
“Not a bit.”
“Liar.”
Frank surveyed the crisscrossed string from different angles. “What can you tell me?”
“Can you get me the autopsy reports first-and get these samples analyzed at a crime lab?”
“I’ll get you the reports tomorrow. About the samples, that’ll take longer.”
“I’m going to plug my numbers into a computer program.” She gestured toward the bloodstained wall. “It will show us a three-D image of what the string is showing us. Come to my office tomorrow with the report and we’ll talk. What’s in the box?”
“You were right. I found a couple more bones in the garage.”
“Let me see.”
Diane took the box from him, set it on the dresser and opened the flaps. Inside was a deer skull and what she thought was a racoon skull-items Jay probably thought were cool enough to keep. The Boones probably believed the bone they showed Frank belonged to this deer.
“Let me take these back to the museum.”
“Sure. Diane, I know this has been a pretty big favor. I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”
You have no idea, she thought.
Diane stopped by her apartment and took a long shower-as hot as she could stand it. She soaped up and just let the water run over her body. She didn’t realize how long she had stayed until the water started getting cool. She stepped out of the shower, dried off and went to the closet to select clothes, giving the bed a longing glance as she passed by. Damn Frank and his favors. Her dreams would probably recur after this. She selected a maroon pantsuit and pulled it onto her still-weary body.
Out in the hallway, Mrs. Odell came charging out of her apartment. “I want you to know, I took Marvin to the hospital today. Allergies. If you don’t get rid of that cat, I’m going to sue you for every penny you’ve got.”
“Mrs. Odell, I don’t have a cat. Have you talked to the landlady?”
“Humpf, a lot of good that does. She refused to let me search your apartment.”
“Good for her. Do you think maybe someone else here has a cat?”
“There’s the upstairs people, the downstairs people and us. It has to be on this floor, and we are the only ones here.”
“I can’t help you, Mrs. Odell. I don’t have a cat, but I do have to get to work. I hope Mr. Odell gets better soon.”
“Poor man. I got some funeral home brochures for him to look at while he’s there. It was the only thing that cheered him up.”
Diane started to say something, but kept her mouth shut. She didn’t even want to know. She headed for the stairs.
When she arrived at the museum parking lot and got out of her car, she saw two spaces over that Alix Nils seemed to be involved in an argument with Mike Seger, the geology student who supplied the content for the computer animations.
She heard Mike say, “Why don’t you get a life, Alix-or help-and leave us alone?”
Alix fixed a stare on Mike that would have killed him had it been bullets. “Don’t. .”
“Is there a problem, Alix?” said Diane, stopping next to the car.
Both of them turned abruptly and stared at her.
“Problem?” said Alix, recovering her composure. “No. Just having a word with Melissa’s boyfriend.”
Melissa’s boyfriend. Diane looked over at him sharply. He must have noticed her expression, for he narrowed his eyes very slightly. It was then she noticed that both he and Alix were wearing museum tee shirts.
“Are you working here?”
“Part-time,” he answered. “Dr. Lymon is my major professor, and she asked me to assist her here.”
Alix and her boyfriend-and his father, and now Melissa and her boyfriend. This was getting to be one big family affair.
“I guess I’ll be seeing more of you around, then,” said Diane.
“I guess so.”
“Are the two of you coming or going?”
“We just arrived,” said Alix.
Alix and Mike avoided looking at each other as they walked into the museum with Diane. Alix stepped into the elevator to go to the third floor where the docents’ office was located. Mike watched the closed elevator doors for a moment, then turned to Diane.
“Dr. Fallon, Dr. Lymon wanted me to ask you about the office space.”
“What do you think of the office space?”
“Me? I, uh, I like it. It’s near the rock lab and the exhibits.”
“Good. Then perhaps you can persuade her of its good qualities.”
Mike made a pained face. “She was thinking maybe a larger office is available.”
“No, one isn’t.”
“All right, I’ll try to sell her on the one we have.”
“I would appreciate it.”
Mike took the
stairs to the second floor, and Diane headed down the hallway to her office. Instead of using her private entry, she went to Andie’s office.
“Andie, how is everything this morning?”
“Great. Some more of the Bartrum faculty curators are moving in today. So far, most of them like the facilities, especially the lab space. So did you and Frank go out last night?” Andie sat behind her desk, grinning, her hypercurly hair held on top of her head with Japanese hairpins.
“In a manner of speaking. He asked me to examine the house where his friends were murdered.”
“Oh, great. Dinner and a crime scene. I’m going to have to give him lessons on romantic evenings. He did at least feed you, didn’t he?”
“We had takeout from Krystal.”
“Lessons, definitely needs lessons.”
Korey burst into Andie’s office looking winded. “Dr. Fallon, we had a break-in in the lab.”
“A break-in? What was stolen?”
“Nothing-that I can find. The drawers are pulled out, things scattered. It looks more like a vandal, or someone looking for something.”
“Have you called security?”
“I thought I’d call you first.”
Diane had a pang of guilt for having not yet hired a chief of security. It was time she did that. She and Korey walked up the stairs to the second-floor conservation lab. On the way, Diane stopped at the security office and asked the guard on duty, Chanell Napier, a slender, round-faced black woman, to come with her.
“Do you know who was on duty last night?”
“Leonard and that new kid, the skinny one with the red hair.”
“Bernie,” said Korey. “He’s the one scared of the skeletons in the primate room.”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Oh, great, thought Diane.
Diane examined the lock on the second-floor lab door. It indeed had tool marks all over the brass plating. However, any tool the size of a screwdriver or larger would have gotten them into the room. Her guess was that they got in with a key.
Inside she was greeted by a sullen group of Korey’s assistants, who stood in the middle of the room with their arms folded, angry that someone had violated their space and was now keeping them from their work. The room was in disarray-mostly open drawers and cabinets, supplies pulled out and dumped on the floor, equipment moved. A box of latex gloves lay with its contents scattered across the floor, along with packages of photographic paper, pens, exhibit forms. It looked to be mostly a mess, with no real destruction.
“Any damage?” she asked.
“I haven’t tested all the equipment, but I think it’s all right,” said Korey.
“What about the vault?” Diane walked to the back of the room to the environmentally-controlled storage vault. Someone had pried at the handle, marked up the door jam, but it appeared that they were unsuccessful in gaining entry. Only she and Korey had a key to the vault.
“Someone was looking for something.” Diane glanced around the room.
“It doesn’t look like they found it. I checked the vault,” said Korey. “They didn’t get in.”
As she walked around the room looking at what the intruder had done, her gaze stopped on one of the worktables. A handprint was visible on its polished surface-or rather the terminal and intermediate phalanges of four fingers, as if someone had gripped the tabletop and squatted down to pull out the drawer.
“Does this belong to any of you?”
They all came over to look, but all shook their heads.
“I doubt it,” said one of the assistants. “The last thing we all do is clean the surfaces before we leave.”
Korey nodded in agreement.
“Don’t we have a fingerprint kit in the security office? Would you mind getting it for me?”
The security guard nodded and left. Diane turned to Korey.
“I wonder what they were after.”
“I’ve no idea. Most of the really valuable stuff is in the exhibits.”
“Was anyone working late last night?”
“Barbara and I were here until nine. Nothing strange happened, no strangers hanging around.”
“How about people who weren’t strangers?”
“No. It was pretty quiet. Bernie came in and looked around on his rounds, but that’s all. That was a little after eight, I guess.”
Chanell Napier came back with a black carrying case about the size of a small suitcase. “I called the police while I was down there.”
“Good.” Diane set the case on a stool, opened it, and began searching through the materials for the things she needed.
“Shouldn’t the police be doing that?” asked one of Korey’s assistants.
“They won’t,” answered another assistant, before Diane could say anything. “My dad’s house was robbed a year ago. They took the television, Mom’s jewelry, and my brother’s computer. The police told them they probably wouldn’t get any of their stuff back. They didn’t even look for fingerprints or canvas the neighborhood.”
“I thought they always tested for fingerprints,” said the first assistant.
“No. And Dad was really pissed. When this fracas with the city council and the mayor started, he wrote letters to the editor about how sloppy the police were. If they won’t take fingerprints for a burglary, they sure won’t when nothing was stolen.”
As they spoke with each other, Diane examined the print on the table, determining which of the various methods of obtaining a good impression would be best. She closed the case and asked Korey to bring her a camera.
“You’re not going to take it after all?” The guard sounded disappointed.
“I think the best method will be to photograph it and enhance the photo. Check the trash for any latex gloves that might have been thrown away. Whoever made this had on gloves.”
“Then you can’t get a print anyway,” said an assistant.
“For any of you contemplating a life of crime,” said Diane, taking the camera and tripod Korey handed her, “I’ll tell you a little secret. Surgical gloves fit like a second skin. Fingerprints can show through them.”
Diane mounted the camera on the tripod Korey set up, set it for greatest depth of field and took several shots. “Korey, can you get that light and shine it under this ledge? If I’m not mistaken, there should be a thumbprint.”
She and Korey looked under the edge of the table, but saw nothing.
“Nothing visible,” said Diane. “You have a UV light, don’t you?”
“Yeah, for detecting microorganisms,” answered Korey.
“There’s one in the fingerprint kit,” said the security guard. “In the leather pouch.” She pulled out the pouch and retrieved the light. “Battery operated.” Diane looked at her. “I went through the kit.”
Diane laughed as she reached for the orange goggles. “Okay, you guys without goggles step back.” She turned on the light and looked under the table. There it was: a large thumbprint-faint, but she could enhance it.
“We don’t have any of that superglue stuff,” said Chanell.
“Cyanoacrylate. I guess we’re going to have to make sure we have a better supplied security office.” Diane grinned at her. “I’ll use powder. I think that should do.”
“Were you a crime-scene expert in another life?” asked one of Korey’s assistants.
“Forensic anthropologist,” Korey answered for her.
“Cool.”
“Where I worked, it was a good idea to learn everything,” Diane said.
She chose a magnetic powder and brush from the case. Holding a piece of paper under the table edge to catch the powder that fell, she dusted the print and removed the excess with a magnet. It was faint, but usable. Diane lifted it with tape, which she placed on a backing card.
Just as she finished, the door to the conservation lab opened and Andie came in with two policemen and another man in a gray suit, matching hair and a sour expression.
The mayor, Diane thought. She wondered
why a little break-in at the museum rated the mayor’s assistance.
Chapter 17
One of the policemen was Izzy Wallace, whom she’d met the evening before. The other one she had caught a glimpse of on the porch when he came with Izzy to the Boone house.
Diane had an uneasy feeling in her gut, but didn’t know why. Something about Izzy’s demeanor the previous evening and the mayor’s expression now.
“Will you develop this, Korey?” Diane handed him the camera and slipped the fingerprint card in the pocket of her blazer. “Chanell, take the fingerprint kit back to the office, please.”
“Sure, Dr. Fallon.”
Diane washed her hands at the sink and turned to greet the police. “Thanks for coming.” She held out her hand.
“Nice to see you again,” said Izzy, giving her hand a firm shake.
“How’s your guest?” asked Diane.
“Not a happy camper, but at least he’s tucked away safe and sound.”
Izzy was courteous, but not friendly. She turned to the mayor.
“Mayor Sutton, nice of you to come visit the museum,” she said, taking his offered hand. His handshake was a little too hard to be polite. He’d have to work on it if he wanted to campaign for governor.
“I thought it would be a good time to meet you,” the mayor said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be at your. . event the other evening. Pressing matters. But perhaps we can talk now, privately.”
“Of course. Korey, fill the policemen in on the break-in.”
She started to escort the mayor to Korey’s office, but it had a large window open to the lab.
“This way,” she said, and they stepped out into the hallway.
As they emerged into the hallway, an older man, about five foot seven, if he weren’t slightly stooped in the shoulders, stopped to greet her. “Dr. Fallon. I wanted to thank you for the opportunity to work here.” With his white hair, bushy eyebrows, toothbrush moustache and crystal blue eyes he might have been a wizard dressed up in modern, albeit well-worn clothes.
“Jonas Briggs.” Diane clasped his outstretched hands in hers. “My pleasure. This is-”
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