Dead Hunt dffi-5

by Beverly Connor

  ‘‘It is relevant. That’s how she describes herself and . . . just let me explain. I work in the library and in the chapel. Noel talks to me while I’m working. You know, girl talk. A few months ago she was lamenting the fact that she was rarely asked out on dates. She was asking me things like how she should wear her hair—girl stuff.’’

  Diane was having a hard time visualizing Clymene deep into girl talk and how this was leading to Grace Noel’s being in danger. She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table.

  ‘‘One day,’’ continued Clymene, ‘‘she asked me how I got so many husbands, and she couldn’t even get a date.’’ Clymene paused a moment. ‘‘I told her that I’d only had two husbands. She gave me the knowing smile.’’

  ‘‘The knowing smile?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘Once you’ve been convicted, to the entire world you are guilty of all charges and innuendos against you. No amount of denial changes anyone’s mind, especially not in here.’’ She paused again and smiled. ‘‘Of course everyone in here says they are innocent, which takes the credibility away from those of us who really are. Noel, as kind as she is, believes I am guilty not only of the crime for which I was convicted, but also of the rumors and accusations the DA and others have leveled at me.’’

  ‘‘Rumors and accusations?’’

  ‘‘That I’ve had many more husbands and killed them all. I know that’s what the DA believes—and so does my profiler,’’ she said. ‘‘So that’s what Noel believes. And in my capacity as a serial black-widow murderer I must have many wonderful secrets for capturing a man.’’ Clymene’s mouth turned up in an amused expression.

  ‘‘That’s what she wanted? Secrets to getting a man? What are you worried about? That she’s looking for Mr. Goodbar?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘No. She had already met the man—a new member of her church. She wanted him to notice her, to be drawn to her. So I gave her the benefit of my expertise.’’

  ‘‘Is this an admission?’’ asked Diane. ‘‘You have expertise to give?’’

  ‘‘For my trial I researched the kind of person the DA thought I was. Yes, I’ve become quite the expert.’’ She shrugged. ‘‘I’ve also had two husbands and many boyfriends, so I figured I would give her some pointers and stay in her good graces—so to speak.’’ She smiled at her own pun.

  ‘‘What did you tell her?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘To research the man of interest—find out what he likes and dislikes and become the person he wants.’’ She shrugged again.

  ‘‘Just how did this put her in danger?’’ Diane glanced down at her arm for her watch. Clymene seemed not to notice.

  ‘‘Noel didn’t know how to begin with such a plan and she wanted me to help her. I asked her to tell me all about him. This is what she told me. Eric Tully, that’s his name, is an accountant. He likes camping, hiking, boating—anything outdoors. He likes country music, reality TV, and action movies—but he also likes poetry.’’ Clymene arched a brow as she said the last statement. ‘‘His most recent wife died giving birth to his daughter, now five years old. Before that he lost a wife to leukemia, and both his parents died when he was a teenager. He’s had a very sad life, Grace told me.’’ Clymene leaned forward. ‘‘Too sad, I told her.’’

  ‘‘What are you saying?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘I’m saying that I recognized the kind of person I’d been reading about during my trial.’’

  ‘‘Are you saying he’s a serial murderer?’’ Diane was skeptical.

  Clymene leaned back in her chair. ‘‘I told her I was suspicious of him, but she insisted that he was the man of her dreams.’’

  ‘‘Did you help her with a plan?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘Yes. It was just a basic plan that any girlfriend would come up with. Nothing in it was guaranteed to work.’’

  ‘‘You can guarantee your work?’’

  Clymene eyed Diane for a long moment, then smiled again as if she found the conversation humorous. ‘‘Just a figure of speech. I mean there was nothing fantastic about the plan. But it worked. I was surprised.’’

  ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘Not to put too fine a point on it, he is a handsome man; she isn’t a beautiful woman. Like it or not, handsome men rarely choose plain women to marry... not without some ulterior motive.’’

  This time Diane arched an eyebrow. She was thinking of herself. She had never considered herself beautiful, yet Frank was drop-dead gorgeous.

  Clymene shook her head. ‘‘You’re not plain. Your face is interesting and intelligent. I imagine you attract a lot of good-looking and intelligent men,’’ she said.

  Diane was disconcerted by the way Clymene kept reading her mind. Is my face an open book?

  ‘‘You were thinking that you are an exception, therefore Grace might also be an exception,’’ said Clymene, ‘‘But you’re not an exception.’’

  ‘‘To know that you would have to know who I date or who I’m married to,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘You’re not married and I know who you date. Don’t look so suspicious; I didn’t dig it out, my lawyer did. In preparing my case he researched everyone on the witness list so as not to miss any angle. You have to know that. He was an expensive lawyer.’’

  Diane did, but she still didn’t like the fact that Clymene knew so much about her. ‘‘Grace . . . and . . . Tully got together?’’ she said after a moment.

  ‘‘Yes. They had a fast courtship and marriage. Another bad sign,’’ said Clymene.

  ‘‘You warned her?’’

  ‘‘Of course. Many times. She blew me off. When it became imminent, I told her not to take a honeymoon that involved being over water or near a cliff. She thought that was terribly funny.’’

  ‘‘When was this?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘She got married three weeks ago,’’ responded Clymene.

  ‘‘So why did you call me now?’’ asked Diane.

  Clymene leaned forward again. ‘‘Because I overheard one of the guards say she’s overdue and they haven’t heard from her.’’

  Chapter 3

  ‘‘Why didn’t you just ask the guards to check on Grace?’’ said Diane.

  Clymene shook her head. ‘‘Not all guards are friendly. I was afraid they might see my warning as a threat against Grace instead of a concern for her.’’

  They probably would, thought Diane. I did. ‘‘There are a legion of people you could have asked instead of me—what about your lawyer?’’

  ‘‘I’m between lawyers right now. The few friends I still have who visit me wouldn’t have a clue about how to investigate. Of course there’s Kingsley, my profiler . . .’’ She shrugged. ‘‘But all he’s interested in is the book he’s going to write about me. I thought about asking the minister here at the prison, but I don’t believe he would take it seriously. He’s a nice guy, but like many others, he thinks I’m a guilty sociopath. You seemed the best bet.’’

  ‘‘And you believe I don’t think you’re a guilty sociopath?’’ Diane raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  Clymene grinned. ‘‘I thought it possible your view would be that I can recognize my own kind and that perhaps I really do take the danger seriously.’’

  As Clymene spoke she never took her eyes off Diane. Ross Kingsley was right—she had no tells—at least none that Diane could see. Clymene was right about another thing. Diane did believe that she could recognize her own kind and, for whatever reason, she was indeed concerned about Grace Noel.

  ‘‘All right, so I check on her. Then what? I can’t watch after her,’’ said Diane. She folded her arms as if emphasizing the point and realized how her own body language was so easy to read.

  ‘‘I know you can’t look after her. I am just asking that you see that she is all right now. Maybe you can get through to her where I couldn’t.’’

  Diane was shaking her head even before Clymene had finished. ‘‘No. I’m not going to interfere in her life. I’ll only
make sure she got back from her honeymoon safely.’’

  Clymene nodded. ‘‘I understand. You might make sure the daughter is okay as well. She’s not safe either. Despite what my profiler thinks, I’m not a sociopath, but Eric Tully is.’’

  Diane unfolded her arms and leaned forward. ‘‘How do you know he is?’’

  Clymene shrugged and smiled slyly. ‘‘I read a book on sociopaths.’’

  Diane knew that was true. Ross Kingsley’s report said that Clymene was well versed on sociopaths and murderers. And it wouldn’t surprise Diane that Kingsley wanted to write a book about her. He considered Clymene a more interesting form of black-widow killer—one entirely motivated by profit, not the usual type with a hyperbolic sense of romance addicted to finding the perfect Prince Charming.

  Diane didn’t know what category Clymene fit into and didn’t really care. She did know—or rather strongly suspected—that Clymene had many more kills to her credit. Why she thought that was not easily explained. Perhaps it was the polished way she had killed her husband. She had come close to getting away with it.

  As Clymene spoke, Diane listened to her speech patterns, trying to discover any clue to her origin. Not that Diane was any good whatsoever at linguistic analysis. But it was a mystery that Diane would like to have solved. Clymene told her husband that she had been on staff at the American University of Paris. But there was no record of her. She did speak fluent French, but her accent here and at her trial was southern United States, even though she said she was raised in various places in Europe. Rosewood detectives and the DA felt they had enough evidence against her without spending the money to track down her past. Clymene was an enigma.

  Diane listened to the ways she pronounced her vowels and consonants, her syntax, the tonal quality of her pronunciations, hoping for a clue. Clymene did sound southern and Ross Kingsley said her French was flawless. He said he carried out one of his interviews with her entirely in French. He said he suspected she spoke other languages as well.

  Language. It made her think of her daughter. Ariel had picked up languages with the same ease that she had learned how to swim. A bright light gone from the world—and Diane’s life. Her hate for murder swept over her like a wave. Her face must have changed, for Clymene looked puzzled. It was the first time Diane saw an expression that she believed was honest. Clymene had been good at reading Diane, but she couldn’t possibly follow the

  thoughts translated into body

  stream-of-consciousness language. Diane sensed that Clymene felt she had just lost her. ‘‘What’s your real name?’’ said Diane suddenly. ‘‘Clymene O’Riley,’’ Clymene responded.

  Diane started to say they both knew that it was not, that truthfulness would go a long way toward generating some goodwill, but then wondered why she was even considering arguing with her. Diane’s role was over the minute she stepped down from the witness stand. She was wary about following through on the request regarding Grace Noel.

  something, but Diane couldn’t

  ever it was, Diane didn’t plan

  Clymene was up to imagine what. Whatto get pulled into it. She wished she hadn’t gone so far as to ask for her real name. She’d known Clymene wouldn’t tell her.

  They stared at each other for several moments before Diane spoke. ‘‘What makes you so sure about Tully?’’

  Clymene had regained her composure—not that she had actually lost it; she was just momentarily puzzled. How she must have been concentrating on me and my body language, thought Diane.

  ‘‘His story is too tragic and he is too willing to tell it,’’ said Clymene. ‘‘He is overly charming. He patterns himself after a hero in a romance novel. His pursuit of outdoor activities provides the opportunity to get his victims in dangerous situations. His interest in poetry is designed to make people think he is sensitive. His interest in accounting is his excuse to handle the money in the relationship.’’

  Clymene leaned forward again, supported by her forearms. The expression on her face was that of one imparting great knowledge.

  ‘‘He’s self-centered,’’ she continued. ‘‘Grace would tell me about their dates. He would start out asking her what restaurant she wanted to go to, or what movie she wanted to see. Even as she told me about them, she didn’t notice that one way or another they always ended up seeing what he wanted or going to his favorite restaurant. From her description I saw that he is indifferent to his daughter. Grace didn’t notice because he keeps Julie well fed, well dressed, and pats her on the head occasionally.’’

  Clymene paused a moment and looked down at her hands, then back up at Diane.

  ‘‘His daughter is only five, but she knows how to clean house, wash dishes, and fetch and carry for her father. Grace sees it as playing house. But it isn’t.’’

  Clymene said the last with such gravity, Diane wondered if she’d had a similar personal experience and was projecting. On the other hand, Clymene had made a compelling argument.

  ‘‘He never reads to his daughter and he never tucks her into bed. Grace sees this as something she can help him with—like he’s just a guy simply out of his depth as a single father, not as someone with a serious character flaw.’’

  ‘‘Why do you think he will hurt his daughter now?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘I don’t know that he will do anything now, but it’s a time of big changes for them, when anything might happen. It’s an ominous sign that no one has heard from Grace.’’

  ‘‘All right. I’ll check on them,’’ said Diane.

  Clymene relaxed back in her chair. ‘‘Thank you.’’

  Diane sat for a long moment studying Clymene through the wire. For the life of her she couldn’t think of what angle Clymene might be playing. And she definitely believed that there was an angle. Clymene had an agenda besides saving a prison guard from harm.

  As she listened to her speak, Diane thought that Clymene’s personality felt slippery. She was someone you could never get to know. Diane couldn’t put into words why she felt that way. It wasn’t anything that Clymene did or said—it was like she was too polished. Had she rehearsed her meeting with Diane in front of a mirror? Or mentally, at night when the lights were out and everything was quiet?

  ‘‘You’re a good actress,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Why didn’t you take that up instead of murder?’’

  ‘‘You think I’ve been acting?’’

  She spoke without malice, but Diane could see she was puzzled. Puzzled, not angry. She never showed anger. That was one of the things Diane found suspicious in her behavior.

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Diane.

  Clymene raised her eyebrows. ‘‘Then...what? Why do you think I’m a good actress?’’

  ‘‘I saw you in court and you were an entirely different person than you are here. I don’t know if you were acting then, now, or if neither of these personalities is the real you.’’

  In court Clymene had been demure. The shine in her eyes looked as if she was always holding back tears. There was little of the confident personality that sat in front of Diane now. It was only when she took the stand that any self-assurance showed through from the woman that looked more victim than perpetrator.

  Clymene closed her eyes and opened them again. ‘‘I see your point. I confess, I was playing to the jury at my trial. Surely you can’t blame me. I was fighting for my freedom. Don’t tell me you weren’t playing to the jury when you and your team came across like CSI television. Isn’t that what the DA told you juries expected these days—to be dazzled with fantastic forensic analysis?’’

  Diane gave a small shrug, not willing to concede the point. But she was right. That’s what juries expect these days. They want the fancy forensics, and that’s what the DA had told her and her team.

  ‘‘I wouldn’t call the forensics we had dazzling. They were compelling,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘You made it sound dazzling. It’s not a criticism— a compliment really. How you took a dirty cotton ball a
nd turned it into’’—she gestured with a wave of her right hand—‘‘into murder.’’

  ‘‘We had more than a cotton ball laced with Clostridium tetani.’’

  Clymene smiled. ‘‘Yes, you did,’’ she said. ‘‘Scrapbooking.’’

  Diane smiled back. That was the weakest link in their chain of evidence.

  ‘‘How many ladies are going to think twice before they crop their family photos?’’ said Clymene. She actually looked like she was going to laugh.

  ‘‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’’ asked Diane.

  Clymene shook her head. ‘‘I appreciate your coming and being willing to check on Grace for me. She truly is a nice person who just wants a little romance and companionship in her life. She doesn’t deserve what I believe Eric Tully has in store for her.’’