One Grave Too Many dffi-1

by Beverly Connor

  “Here it is,” said Whit. “Dad used to dump his carcasses here. He plugged up that narrow end with stumps and branches from where he’d cleared a pasture so the carcasses wouldn’t wash into the big creek. He was a little sloppy about covering them up, but hell, it’s out of the way.”

  “I can see where someone might have thought it would be a good place to hide a body,” said the sheriff. “But weren’t they taking a risk that your father would see a body when he threw more carcasses in?”

  “Sometimes Dad would throw a little dirt over them, especially in the summer. Maybe that’s what they did-if there’s a body here.”

  Diane stepped carefully around the depression, inspecting the ground as the men discussed the relative merits of hiding a body one place or another. Another mass grave. She’d vowed never to dig another one. The side of a deer skull showed partially through the dirt and leaves. Not human. This was not a mass grave for humans. Though she had a hard time understanding how anyone could shoot a beautiful, healthy animal. . On the other hand, she did enjoy fishing. Her brain was hopping from one thing to another-trying to deal with the prospect of excavating a mass grave.

  “What’s your opinion, Doc?” said the sheriff.

  Diane stood and looked over at them, surprised at how she had completely tuned out their conversation. “I’m sorry, what are you asking?”

  “Where do you think is the best place to get rid of a body? Whit thinks this place, Frank votes for the foundation of a building, I say a wood chipper.”

  “In a pigpen,” she said. “Pigs eat everything, including the bones.”

  Chapter 23

  Diane stooped down and took a small crime-scene evidence flag from her pack and stuck it into the ground.

  The three men stood staring at the flag for a moment.

  “Mr. Abercrombie, I believe we need your permission to excavate,” said Diane.

  “You found something?” said the sheriff, surprise in his voice.

  The three of them came walking across the dump site past protruding bones and suspicious lumps beneath the ground to where Diane was crouched. There, about the size of half a golf ball and stained brown like the surrounding dirt, a small, odd-shaped squarish bone lay on the ground next to the flag.

  “That’s a human bone?” asked the sheriff. He glanced around at the other bones peeking through the surface of dirt and leaves. “How can you tell it’s human among all these animal bones?”

  “Every bone is distinctive. It’s a human talus-a bone of the foot.”

  “You’re sure about that?” asked the sheriff.

  “Yes.”

  “OK, what do we need to proceed?” asked Whit.

  “It must be excavated as a crime scene-not dug up by untrained hands.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Yes, but you don’t have to use me,” said Diane, hoping he’d say something like, “My cousin’s a forensic anthropologist-I’ll have her do it.”

  “Why not?” said Whit. “You’re here.”

  “All right. I have an archaeologist at the museum, and I’ll get some experienced excavators from the university’s archaeology department.”

  Diane sat in one of Jonas Briggs’ stuffed chairs studying the chessboard as he called his former archaeology students. He had moved his knight to the king bishop three position-only three moves for each of them. They were still in the beginning of the game, battling for early control of the board. As he hung up the phone, she captured his pawn and stood up.

  “I’ve gotten four of my best excavators. They are very enthusiastic.” He rubbed his hands together. “This is certainly an unexpected turn of events.” As he stood, he looked at the chessboard. “Will you capture your pawn, please?”

  Diane took his black pawn and captured hers. “Shall I pick you up at your house early tomorrow morning?” she said.

  “Yes, please. The crew will meet me there, and they can follow you.” He took his jacket hanging on his coat-rack and followed Diane out the door.

  “You know, the terrain is a little rough. There is a substantial gully to traverse.”

  “I have traversed many a substantial gully in my time. You do not need to worry.”

  “Anyway, Whit Abercrombie said he would see about arranging for a temporary bridge across the creek. He thinks perhaps the county will do it.”

  “A creek-is that all we’re talking about? A creek?”

  “The creek is in a fifteen-foot-deep gully.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “I’m not. But it would look bad for me if I killed one of my curators on a field expedition.”

  “Then I’ll do my best to make you look good.”

  They rode the elevator to the ground floor.

  “Here.” Diane handed him one of the three laptops she had been given by Kenneth Meyers to field test.

  “This looks nice.” He rubbed a hand over the metallic case.

  “I think it is. I haven’t looked at mine yet, but I believe it’s the top of the line and good for field work. It works with a cell phone, so you can send any information to the museum. Let me know how it works.”

  “If the anthropology department knew how many perks this job came with, they’d send someone else over.”

  “That’s what Sylvia Mercer said. I’m going to ask her to work with you on the faunal identification. She’s the zoologist.”

  “Does she get a computer too?”

  “Not one of these. She gets one for her office, like your other one.”

  “I get two computers. Well, this is just dandy.”

  Diane laughed at him and sent him on his way. Jonas Briggs went home to prepare, and Diane went to the faunal lab and Sylvia Mercer’s office. Sylvia was in the lab rearranging the equipment.

  “Dr. Mercer, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Shoot, and call me Sylvia, please. I hope you don’t mind me rearranging the lab a little.”

  “No, whatever works. Remember that clavicle I was looking at the other day?” Diane didn’t wait for an answer, but told her how she’d found the probable place it came from.

  “The site is filled with animal bones. I was thinking that if I could match the taxidermist’s records with the animal bones above and below the human remains, it might help establish the approximate time of death. I’d like you to identify some of the animal bones.”

  “Sure. If you’ve found a clavicle and astragalus, aren’t the bones probably pretty much comingled?”

  “I’m sure there’s a lot of mixing, but I’m hoping enough stayed in place to give me a lead.”

  “Do you need me to come to your site?”

  “It would help, but I don’t want to take you away from your research.”

  “I can manage a few days. This sounds rather interesting.”

  Interesting, Diane thought to herself. Jonas Briggs, his students and now Sylvia Mercer all thought this was interesting. They saw the science, the puzzle. They wouldn’t be so fascinated if they had seen it through her eyes, the dreadful tragedy of it. If they’d dug grave after grave after grave filled with the bodies of people who once had life and who had loved ones who still mourned them.

  Diane thanked Sylvia and left for her own office. In the hallway outside Andie’s office, she was surprised to run into Frank’s ex-wife. Cindy had her blond hair pulled back into a loose twist and was dressed casually, with little makeup.

  “Hi. I was just looking for your office.”

  “Good to see you again. I hope you and your husband had a good time at the reception.”

  “It was great. We really appreciated your invitation.”

  Diane directed her through Andie’s office into hers and offered her a seat. “What brings you to the museum today?” She wondered if she sounded too harsh. She hadn’t meant to, but she thought she knew why Cindy was there, and she was growing weary of the pressure.

  “I thought it would be more polite to invite you to dinner in person than through Fra
nk. Men often get things muddled.”

  “Thank you for your offer. I would like to come, but I’ve had something come up that’s going to take me away from the museum most of the time for a while, so I’m not making any plans.”

  Cindy shifted in her seat and gave Diane a wan smile. “I understand. But you have to eat.”

  It occurred to Diane that Cindy herself must be under a lot of pressure from her husband for her to be here doing something that so obviously made her uncomfortable.

  “I’ll probably be eating here at the museum in the evenings. I’ll be putting in overtime, since I’ll be gone during the day.”

  “Of course. Perhaps next week, then.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m doing something that will take quite a while.”

  She hated to sound so cryptic, especially since it made her sound like she was lying.

  “Something rather important has come up and I have to attend to it.” She got out her calendar. “How about next month? Saturdays are usually good for me.”

  Cindy’s face hardened. “That will be too late.”

  Diane cocked an eyebrow. “Too late?”

  “Look, Diane, I’m really no good at this, so I’ll be blunt. I’m sure you’ve guessed anyway. David wants to talk to you about the museum. This. . this. . ”-she searched for words-“opportunity has come his way. It means quite a sum of money. It could pay for Kevin’s college education and then some.”

  “He’s been approached by Mark Grayson.”

  “More likely, he approached Mark Grayson.” There was such bitterness in her voice that Diane suspected they had had harsh words over it. “He tells me there are plenty of great places for the museum other than this building. I’ve been in the rooms here. None are filled. You could house the entire contents in a much smaller, more modern building.”

  “I know what the argument is. It’s the one Mark’s been telling everyone, and it’s wrong. Do you know why Mark is so keen on this?”

  Cindy shrugged her thin shoulders. “Something to do with Japan-hotels and golf courses. Mark wants to purchase the building and land through another company and sell it. That’s about all I know. He promised David a substantial commission if he could influence you.”

  Through Frank, thought Diane. And through his son? Surely, Cindy wouldn’t allow that. “Unless the numbers add up to something fantastic for the museum-and right now they don’t-it isn’t going to happen.”

  Cindy looked away. Her eyes rested on a photograph of a stalagmite-and-stalactite formation, but Diane doubted she was seeing it. When she brought her head around again, her soft brown eyes were now as hard as flint.

  “This is just a job for you. There’s nothing you lose by agreeing to sell, and there is everything to be gained for other people-for us, for Kevin. If you had children, you would understand. You do things for your children. If you care about Frank, you should care about his child.”

  Cindy Reynolds’ face suddenly transformed from hard and angry to startled and frightened. Diane realized her own anger must have taken over her face as well as her pounding heart.

  “Mrs. Reynolds, I did have a child.” She clutched the locket around her neck. “She’s now dead. Murdered by a man who was willing to kill thousands just to get what he wanted. I am weary and sick of men who think that what they want is more important than anything else in the world. I am singularly unsympathetic to people who are collaborators with that kind of man. If you indeed are a good mother, you won’t use your son to get what your husband and Mark Grayson want.”

  Cindy gripped the arms of the chair and stood on shaky legs. “I. . didn’t know. Frank never said anything.” She paused, apparently searching for words. “David doesn’t know I came here. I hope you will not mention it to him, please.”

  “I don’t have any reason to ever speak with your husband.”

  “Thanks. . I. . I can see my way out.” Cindy left through Andie’s office, looking defeated. Diane followed, watching her go out the door.

  Andie sat, wide-eyed, at her desk. “Diane, are you all right?”

  “I suppose you heard our conversation.”

  “I didn’t mean to, but yes. I didn’t know. . ”

  Diane took off her locket and opened it. On one side there was a miniature of the photograph of her and her daughter. On the other was a small picture of Ariel’s dimpled pixie face. She handed it to Andie.

  “This is my daughter, Ariel. She died a little over a year ago.”

  Andie looked at the photograph with tears in her eyes. “She was a pretty little girl. Look at all that black hair.”

  “Yes, she was.” Diane took the locket and put it back around her neck. “I would have told you about her, but it’s been hard to talk about.”

  “I can understand that. I’m so sorry.” Andie took a Kleenex from her drawer and blew her nose. “I don’t understand why Grayson is so set on selling the museum. What’s that about?”

  “Money, apparently.” Diane shrugged. “I have a feeling something else is going on, but I have no idea what it is.” She started for her office, but turned back to Andie. “Do you remember me asking you at the party if you knew who asked for the ‘Hall of the Mountain King’?”

  Andie thought for a second. “Yeah, I remember. . It wasn’t on the playlist, you said.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Someone left a note for the quartet and signed my name. That piece of music was Ariel’s favorite. She played it all the time on a CD player I gave her.”

  Andie’s eyes widened again. “Oh, no. You think someone. .? That’s mean.”

  “Yes, it is. It could’ve been a coincidence.”

  “But what a coincidence. You want me to try and find out who did it?”

  “How?”

  “I can kind of ask around. See if anybody saw someone leave a note. I can be discreet.”

  “Don’t go out of your way, but if there is an opportunity. .”

  “Sure. I’m really sorry about your daughter. That’s so sad.”

  “I was hoping to raise her here, occasionally bring her to the museum. I was thinking about asking Milo if we could put in a staff day-care center.” She forced her mind away from that lost possibility. “It’s why I quit forensic work. I couldn’t face the work anymore. But now I find that I need to use my skills to help Frank and his friend’s daughter.” She told Andie about the pit of animal bones and the human talus.

  “You’re kidding. You found where that collarbone came from-a clavicle?” She said clavicle carefully, as if she were trying to learn a new word. “What was the other bone you said. A talus?”

  “Yes. It’s a bone in the foot. The tibia-the shinbone-sits on top of it. It has a pulleylike structure where the tibia rests that allows you to move your foot back and forth. It’s also called an astragalus.”

  Andie swiveled her chair around to look at her feet and moved her foot up and down. “So, wow, you think you’ve found the guy?”

  “It seems likely. I’m going to be excavating. Jonas Briggs and Sylvia Mercer will be joining me.”

  “Didn’t I tell you he’s a nice guy?”

  “Yes, you did, and you were right. I’m going to be in and out for the next few days or weeks, depending. You’ll be able to reach me on the cell phone if you need to.”

  “OK. Maybe I could go some time and watch?”

  “The process is very slow. It could be boring watching.”

  “I’d like to see it anyway.”

  “Sure. When we get a substantial portion uncovered, you can come take a look. In the meantime, would you have a table put in. .” Diane thought for a moment. “The room across from the docents’ offices. That’s still empty, isn’t it?”

  Andie nodded. “We may have a few things stored there, but not much. You need a place to work?”

  “Yes. Better yet, you know that corner room on the third floor, west wing? That’s completely out of the way. Set up something there. And don’t mention this to anyone. I won’t be in tomorrow morning.
I’ll be at the Abercrombie farm, excavating the dump site.”

  Chapter 24

  Whit Abercrombie, with the help of the county road crew under the direction of the sheriff, had constructed a small footbridge across the creek at the point of easiest access in the gully. They’d widened the narrow path that led down one side of the gully and up the other, anchoring stepping-stones every few feet. It was serviceable enough to carry equipment from vehicles parked along the roadway that led to Luther Abercrombie’s cow pasture. Whit had also brought in his farm tractor with a brush hog and mowed a better path from the road to the creek crossing.

  It was still relatively early when Diane and her crew finished setting up a tent to serve as a field office and had inventoried the cameras, mapping equipment, digging tools and other assorted equipment. But the early-morning Georgia sun had already heated the air to over ninety degrees. It would only get hotter as the day progressed, and the section they were working in had only saplings for shade.

  To Diane’s relief, Jonas’ former students were experienced archaeological field crew, just as he’d promised. They’d brought three more people than the promised four-a total of four men and three women, dressed in cutoffs, tee shirts and sneakers. One of the women was interested in examining a model for taphonomic processes-the study of what happens to human and animal remains after death. For archaeologists, the knowledge means finding cultural clues to people’s lives; for forensic anthropologists, understanding the fate of human remains can mean uncovering clues to their death.

  In particular, the student was interested in looking at the differences in bone damage from butchering and from wild-animal scavenging. In the archaeological context, her project translated into the ability to tell human activity from natural phenomena. Diane didn’t mind allowing the archaeologists to conduct research on the animal pit. Whatever information they discovered would be useful to her field too.

  “We’ll start by making lanes in the search area. The pit will be the center of the area, but we’ll search all around it first, using a line search pattern. Are you familiar with that?” They all nodded, giving her their full attention.