“Not for any amount of money.”
“Oh, we don’t get paid.”
Diane laughed and looked out into the woods. It was getting dark-and late-and she hated the idea of going back to her office to examine what awaited her there. But better to get it over with.
“I think that’s about all I can eat.” She looked over the quantity of leftovers. “How many carts do you fill up when you do your grocery shopping? Why do you always buy so much food?”
“Actually, I don’t keep much in my house-except when Kevin comes over. I’m in Atlanta most of the time, working. Which I’ll be getting back to in a few days.”
Diane thought that getting back to his job would probably be a relief for him. It would be hard enough if he only had to arrange the funerals of his friends, but all the crime scene analysis must be hard for him to handle.
Frank helped pack up the leftover food and pick up the trash. “Have any idea what we can do with the leftovers?” he asked.
“We’ll put it in the refrigerator in the staff lounge. You can take it home with you when you leave.”
In Diane’s office Frank handed her an envelope from his jacket pocket. The autopsy report. She opened the envelope reluctantly and removed the contents slowly, as if there might be the possibility that if she just held off long enough, some intervening event would make it unnecessary for her to look at them. But there they were. Autopsy reports for young Jay and his parents.
Jay was shot once. The bullet went though his spine and lodged in his heart. There was no gunpowder residue on his clothing. Melted plastic was present in the wound. Diane stopped for a moment and thought about the pieces of plastic she had found in the grass. It’s what she had suspected. Attached to Jay’s autopsy report was a mention of other plastic pieces. They lifted a partial fingerprint from one, but the expert was of the opinion that they couldn’t make a match, especially with the new federal court ruling that fingerprinting didn’t meet the U.S. Supreme Court’s standards for scientific evidence.
George and Louise’s were more complicated. Just as the blood spatters showed, they both had been bludgeoned and shot. The bullet entered his upper chest, went through his spleen, traveled downward through the small and large intestines and out his lower back. The presence of gunpowder and smoke on his clothes indicated that it was a close shot.
There were contusions on the left side and front of the scalp, depression fractures in the left parietal and frontal bones. His left zygomatic bone was crushed, and his nasal bone was fractured.
The left parietal bone of Louise’s skull was fractured, and she was shot through the same part of the head at close range. Jay, George and Louise had no alcohol or drugs in their systems. From the drawings by the medical examiner, Diane noted that the fractures were consistent with a baseball bat.
While she read over the autopsy reports, Frank was looking at the computerized 3-D pictures pinned on the corkboard. He held the photo of Jay lying face down in the grass in his hand.
“I’ve talked to Jay’s teachers, his friends, his soccer coach. . I have no idea what he could have been doing out that late.”
“I don’t think he was,” said Diane. “That is, I don’t think he had left their property.”
In her hand she had a stack of index cards which she laid on the table along with the photographs she had taken of the crime scene. She sat down at the table and motioned for Frank to take the seat beside her. He eyed her a moment as he sat.
“You think Detective Warrick’s scenario is wrong?”
“Yes, I do, and so will she when she examines the evidence closely.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Warrick thought Jay was shot last because she believed that George would’ve been awakened and armed himself, and therefore would not have been shot in his bed. I think he was awakened, armed himself with a bat, but simply did not have time to get out of bed.”
Diane laid Jay’s autopsy report on the table. “First of all, Jay had no alcohol or drugs in his system,” she continued. “Though it’s certainly not automatically true, a kid who sneaks out of the house at night often will at least drink a few beers. But the important thing is the plastic. We’ll see when the report comes back on the plastic pieces I found, but I believe it was a silencer.”
“A silencer? Out of plastic?”
“I asked Star’s boyfriend, Dean, if he knew how to make one. He didn’t. He may have been lying, but he did seem puzzled by my question. You can take a plastic liter soft-drink bottle and put it over the muzzle of a gun and have a onetime-use silencer that is moderately effective. Jay had plastic embedded in his skin. I think the killer used a plastic bottle silencer and Jay was killed first.”
Diane took the card with a sketched picture of Jay being shot by someone holding a gun with the silencer and pinned it as the first in the line of pictures.
“Since it doesn’t completely silence the noise, George and possibly Louise may have heard enough to wake up, but it was not loud enough to get them out of bed. They may not have even known why they woke up. But when the intruder came up the stairs to their bedroom, George was roused to action.”
She took her photos of the string reconstruction of the blood spatter trajectory lines and laid them in front of Frank.
“Where the strings cross is the origin of the blood spatters.”
“Amazing,” said Frank.
“Math,” said Diane. “The computer program drew these 3-D depictions. I fed the spatter measurements into the program and it computed the origin of the blood source, just as the trajectory strings do. The pictures are crude because I was rushed, but the math is right. I’ve placed the head of the victims. .”
She glanced briefly at Frank. She hesitated to use their names because it made it too personal, but she hated to call them the victims.
“It’s all right,” he said, putting a hand on her arm and squeezing it.
“The different positions of their heads are the sources of the blood spatters.”
She was glad now that the drawings were of crude artist-doll figures. It helped keep things distant.
“I don’t have the blood analysis that will help me know which blood belongs to Louise and which to George, and the superimposition of the spattering is difficult to determine at best, so new information may change things slightly. However, this is what I think happened: “George was partially awakened by the muted noise of the gunshot outside. When someone came up the stairs and into their bedroom, he became fully awake, probably put one foot on the floor, grabbed the bat by the bed and swung at the intruder. At the same time, the intruder fired the first shot, hitting George in the chest and traveling downward. George hit the intruder, possibly knocking the gun out of his hand. The intruder grabbed the bat from the injured George and hit him on the left side of his head. This is that first strike.”
Diane pointed to the crossed collection of strings closest to the side of the bed George was on. She then pointed to the picture of the figure partially raised up in bed.
“See this castoff here that hits the chest of drawers? The intruder swung the bat again, hitting Louise before she could get out of bed.”
Diane pointed to the farthest crossed string and matching picture on the storyboard. The picture showed that the figure representing Louise had moved, trying to get out of bed and away.
“Louise fell, probably unconscious, and he swung the bat again. Here’s the castoff going up the wall and across the ceiling. This time he hit George again, fracturing his forehead and nose. He swung again, crushing his cheek-bone. Notice these two points of origin are close together and nearer to the pillow of the bed.
“The last thing the intruder did was shoot Louise in the head where he had struck her. She was probably moaning or was attempting to rise. After that, he left.”
“Warrick’s thinking that because there were two forms of attack, then there were two people involved-Star and her boyfriend,” said Frank.
“It’s possible the
re were two people involved, but I think this is a reasonable scenario that fits the evidence.”
Frank sat back and looked at the storyboard. “Why was Jay outside?”
“That’s the key. He didn’t have alcohol in his system. He didn’t show signs he had been anywhere. He might have just left the house on his way to meet someone. If he were meeting friends, perhaps you can find them.”
“I’ve talked to his friends of record. Jay was a busy kid-soccer, Boy Scouts. He didn’t have much time to get into trouble or have secret friends.”
“Kids that age are good at keeping parts of their lives secret. But someone out there knows. Perhaps Star does.”
“Star? You think he was meeting her? That wouldn’t look good for her,” said Frank.
“Ask her. He might not have been meeting her, but if he was doing things his parents didn’t know, he may have confided in her.”
“It’s hard to get her to talk to me.”
“Get her lawyer to talk to her. Keep in mind too that the intruder did not break in. Warrick thinks that fact points to Star. However, Jay could have inadvertently let the killer in. It could be someone Jay knew and trusted.”
Frank looked back at the storyboard and photographs of the trajectory lines. “You’re pretty sure about this analysis?”
Diane stood up and stretched. “The math, yes. Any explanation will have to fit that geometry.”
“That’s interesting about the silencer. Warrick doesn’t know that.”
“Maybe that’s one thing she’s keeping back. I would have thought she’d have collected the plastic.”
“Izzy would know.”
“Would he have told you?”
“Of course.”
“Is he one of your poker buddies?”
“And fishing.”
Diane looked at her watch-7:42. It was getting to be dusk outside. Time to go home. Lack of rest was catching up with her. She looked at Frank.
“Would you like some coffee at my place?” she asked.
Frank’s face brightened. “Sure. You don’t make it like Vance does, but that’d be great.” He grinned as she made a face at him.
“Let me check my E-mail. By the way, any prints on that letter or the invoice to the Bickford for the dinosaur exhibits?” Diane went to her computer and called up her Internet connection.
“I’m sorry, I meant to tell you. No prints.”
“Not even mine?”
“No, none.”
“Well, that’s interesting. Shouldn’t there have at least been mine?”
She had several messages. One from the archaeologist Jonas Briggs. One line: Pawn to king three. She E-mailed back: Pawn to queen four.
“I would have expected it; however, it doesn’t necessarily mean the letter was wiped clean.”
The next E-mail was from Laura, her psychiatrist friend and friendly board member. It was about Melissa and the bruises Diane saw at the museum party. Laura had talked to Melissa’s parents-discreetly, she said. They told her Melissa was always getting bruises, ever since she was a kid. That didn’t sound particularly good to Diane, but Laura knew her friends and she was a psychiatrist.
Her other E-mails were from department heads and the newly arrived faculty-curators-the botanist thanking her for his lab and office space. She E-mailed him back, but decided to wait until tomorrow on the others.
Diane’s apartment was sparse. She’d directed all her energy into the museum and hadn’t spent any time decorating it. The beige carpet throughout came with the apartment. She’d purchased a large burgundy-and-gray striped stuffed sofa that converted into a bed. She hadn’t even tried to find one that went with the carpet. Instead, she bought an Oriental rug to go in front of the sofa and pretended the carpet under it wasn’t there. In front of the sofa she had a cherry wood coffee table. The only other pieces of living room furniture were a black leather stuffed chair and a stereo. Not an elegant room, but one her mother would have said had potential.
Diane headed for the kitchen to make coffee. Frank followed and began stuffing her refrigerator with Italian food.
“It’ll just spoil in mine,” he said. “And I’ll have to clean it out, and I hate cleaning out the refrigerator.”
She filled the coffeemaker with water and turned around into Frank’s arms. She had forgotten what a good kisser he was.
Chapter 19
“I missed you,” said Frank. “I should have mailed you all those letters I wrote. I should have come to find you in the jungle.”
Diane looked into his eyes; they were more blue than green at the moment. “It’s good to be back. It’s good to be standing right here, right now,” she said and kissed him again.
“Can I stay the night?” he whispered against her ear.
“I told myself if we ever got together again, I was going to go slower this time,” said Diane. “Go places with you, get to know you. .”
“So can I stay the night?”
She giggled as the kitchen filled with the aroma of coffee. How long had it been since she actually giggled?
“What the hell? Maybe we’ll get tired of each other-then we can go on dates and get to know each other.”
“I can tell you my deepest, darkest secret right now-you know that and you’d know the worst about me.” He rubbed her back under her shirt and his touch both chilled and warmed her skin.
“What’s that? What’s the worst thing to know about you?”
He pulled her closer and nuzzled her ear. “I know how to play the accordion.”
Diane pulled back and looked him in the eye. “No, you’re kidding. That’s not true.”
“It is.” He put his forehead against hers.
“I’m not sure I can handle that,” she said. “What if some evening I find you playing a polka under my window?”
“You don’t have to worry. I have it under control.”
He kissed her again, and Diane felt the strains of “Ode to Joy” vibrating against her breasts.
Frank stepped away, pulled out his phone and looked at the display. “Cindy,” he said, pushing the ANSWER button.
“Hey,” he said. “How’s Kevin?”
While he was talking, Diane filled two cups with fresh coffee and took them into the living room on a tray with cream and sugar.
Frank came out of the kitchen holding his hand over the phone. “She wants us to come over for dinner this Saturday.” He raised his eyebrows and shrugged as he said it, smiling, perhaps at Cindy’s bad timing.
Diane felt the hand of Mark Grayson at work. “Tell her I’d love to and I’ve got a bottle of wine I’ve been dying to open, but it’ll have to wait until I get some museum business resolved that’s hanging over my head.”
Frank put the phone back up to his ear and repeated almost verbatim what Diane had said. He listened for several seconds. “I’ll give her that argument, but this thing at the museum really has her tied up right now. She’s not been able to go anywhere.” He paused. “I’ll do that and get back to you. Can I speak with Kevin?” The pause was shorter. “Homework, in the summer?” Pause. “Yeah, I’d forgotten about that. I’ll give you a call later.” He pushed the END button and put the phone back in his pocket.
“I suppose you heard that. It looks like you’re right-David must want to pressure you. She was pretty insistent we come for dinner.”
“She was asking you to convince me?”
“Yes.”
“Not being able to talk to Kevin wasn’t a part of it, was it?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.” Frank was pensive for a long moment. “That wouldn’t be like Cindy-unless she’s under a lot of pressure from David. I can tell her no. It’s not a problem.”
“I don’t mind going. But let’s wait a few days and see how much pressure comes our way over it. You know, it could just be her way of letting you know that it’s OK with her if you and I are together.”
“That wouldn’t be like Cindy either. So where were we?”
“Drinking our coffee?” Diane handed him a cup she had dressed with cream and sugar.
“Was that it? I thought we were going to drink it in the bedroom.”
He took Diane’s hand, backed away and led her into the bedroom.
A long while later, Diane lay her head on Frank’s chest, and gently stroked his skin with her fingertips. “Why didn’t you mail the letters?” she asked.
“I wanted to-I wanted to a little too much, and it scared me. I’d been divorced from Cindy for less than two years. I’d been through some rough times. I didn’t trust myself anymore. I didn’t know what I was feeling. Why did you stay gone for so long?” he asked.
Diane didn’t say anything for a long time. Instead of answering, she kissed his chest, then his lips.
“If this is a way of getting out of telling me, it’s very charming.” He slid both arms around her and pulled her on top of him. “And it will work.” He kissed her again.
It was dark in the jungle. One bright spotlight illuminated a circle of the dark gray-green foliage, then another, darting around like the eye of a predator. The music crept in from the distance. Diane heard it and ran toward it. She kept running, and it grew louder and louder until she was surrounded by the engulfing, deafening strains of “In the Hall of the Mountain King.” Where was it? She had to find it. She stopped, looking around her everywhere for the source of the music. The ground; it was coming from the ground. She knelt and dug in the hard jungle soil with her hands until they were bleeding. Fingers dug into her shoulders, dragging her back. No, she screamed. No!
“Diane, Diane. Are you all right? Diane.”
It was still dark, but she could see the bright moon shining through an opening. She sat up, confused for a moment before realizing she was in her bed-with Frank.
Frank reached over and switched on the lamp at her side of the bed. “Are you all right? You were crying in your sleep.”
“I’m fine.” She was cold and shivering. She hugged the bedcovers around her body. “It was just a nightmare.”
He cleared his throat to get the sleep out of his voice. “You want to talk about it?”
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