Dead Hunt dffi-5

by Beverly Connor

  putting further strain on his buttons. She could see

  the white T-shirt underneath. ‘‘Would they find anything? I mean’’—Rivers shrugged his shoulders—‘‘if it

  was just that one contaminated needle.’’

  ‘‘Of course,’’ agreed Diane—just to be agreeable,

  ‘‘that was a possibility. But the investigation didn’t

  stop there.’’

  ‘‘Let’s move over here to the table,’’ he said, pointing to a honey-colored maple table with a vase of red

  silk roses. ‘‘Either the chairs are getting smaller or I’m

  getting bigger.’’ He gave a small self-conscious laugh

  and squirmed out.

  They moved to two straight-backed wooden chairs

  with vinyl-covered padded seats. They were better

  than the desk chairs, thought Diane, but not by much. ‘‘I’m sure the prison saves a lot of money on furniture,’’ said Rivers.

  ‘‘And paint,’’ said Diane because she knew it would

  make him laugh.

  Rivers’ laugh was a little more hearty. ‘‘Yes, defi

  nitely on paint.’’ He sighed. ‘‘I’d like to understand

  this,’’ he said, resting an arm on the table.

  Diane nodded. By ‘‘this’’ she understood him to

  mean the evidence against Clymene.

  ‘‘Archer O’Riley was old Rosewood—old money.

  Many of his friends were old Rosewood.’’ Diane had

  actually met him once at a contributors’ party at the

  museum. He had come as a guest of Vanessa Van

  Ross, the museum’s biggest patron and good friend to

  Diane. Clymene hadn’t been with him.

  Vanessa was the first to light the fire under the police when he died. For reasons Vanessa couldn’t explain exactly, she had never liked Clymene. ‘‘There

  was something about her that seemed fake to me,’’

  was all she could tell Diane.

  ‘‘One of Archer O’Riley’s friends, along with his

  son, insisted that the police investigate,’’ said Diane.

  She didn’t say that Vanessa had to convince his son

  at the time.

  ‘‘O’Riley’s infection had spread more rapidly than

  normal, so the ME’s suspicions were already raised.

  Then she found puncture wounds in the bend of his

  arm that could not be accounted for as a result of the

  blood sample taken by his doctor. Two of the punctures were not in his vein, but into the muscle tissue.

  We—the crime scene team—were asked to search the

  house. We started in his bedroom,’’ said Diane. Rivers listened without comment. The intensity of

  his gaze revealed his interest in what Diane had to say. ‘‘It had been several days since Archer O’Riley was

  last in his house, and the room had been cleaned. We

  didn’t expect to find anything. But behind the

  nightstand on his side of the bed, caught between the

  stand and the chair rail, we found a cotton ball. It had

  two distinct creases in it—as from wiping a needleshaped object.’’ Diane made an effort to keep her

  descriptions objective.

  Rivers opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.

  He motioned for Diane to proceed. He probably

  thought the evidence so far was pretty weak, but he

  leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. ‘‘We analyzed the substances on the cotton ball,’’

  said Diane.

  ‘‘And these substances told the story?’’ said Rivers. Diane nodded. ‘‘One crease contained trace amounts

  of corn syrup, cornstarch, carrageenan, L-cysteine, casein hydrolysate, traces of horse manure, and an

  ample supply of Clostridium tetani, tetanus bacteria.

  The most interesting of these being casein hydrolysate

  and the horse manure—and the bacteria. The second

  crease had trace amounts of the same substances but

  also included Archer O’Riley’s blood, rohypnol, and

  epithelials from Clymene and from her horse.’’ Rivers was frowning now. Diane wasn’t sure if it was from trying to understand the string of substances she had just rattled off or from a deep concern about

  Clymene’s guilt.

  ‘‘Can you walk me through what all those things

  mean?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘Corn syrup, cornstarch, carrageenan, L-cysteine,

  and casein hydrolysate are ingredients in a baby formula,’’ said Diane.

  Rivers raised his eyebrows.

  ‘‘Casein hydrolysate is a good medium for growing

  tetanus. Horse manure is a good place to get the tetanus bacterium.’’

  ‘‘I see,’’ said Rivers. He stared down for a moment

  at his hands, clasped in front of him on the table. Diane continued before he could say anything—like,

  How did you connect this to Clymene?

  ‘‘There was baby formula in the house. O’Riley’s

  son and his wife have a baby, but the baby’s mother

  said she didn’t use that particular brand of formula.

  Epithelials—skin cells—in the manure were matched

  to Clymene’s own horse.’’

  Rivers looked up at Diane. He looked tired and

  surprised. ‘‘So what you are saying, if I read the evidence right, is that she cultured some tetanus bacteria,

  gave her husband the date-rape drug rohypnol to

  knock him out and keep him from remembering she

  punctured him with a needle and squirted tetanus in

  him.’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Add that to the fact that she

  fabricated a false family history for herself, she never

  gave us her true identity that could be verified, and

  her previous husband died an untimely death, and you

  can see why she was convicted.’’

  He let out a deep breath. ‘‘I must say, I’m

  disappointed.’’

  Diane could see he was. She felt sorry for him. He

  was a man wanting to believe in people who were

  constantly disappointing him.

  ‘‘So am I,’’ she said. ‘‘Clymene is intelligent and

  gifted. You can’t help but wonder what she might have

  become if she had taken a different path in life.’’ ‘‘We’ll never know,’’ he said. ‘‘She tells people that

  too much was made of her creative scrapbooking.

  She’s never mentioned the cotton ball.’’

  ‘‘You know Clymene loves horses,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘She went to a lot of trouble to make sure that hers

  went to a good home. Yet she never made a scrapbook of her riding or of her horse.’’

  Rivers looked at her, frowning, as if trying to understand what that had to do with anything.

  ‘‘The scrapbooks were just tools of her trade, part

  of the con. Her horse and her riding were true loves

  for her. She kept them out of the lie.’’

  He nodded and stood. ‘‘I’m seeing the picture now.

  Thanks for telling me.’’ He reached out and shook her

  hand as she stood.

  ‘‘Thank you for speaking with me.’’ Diane wanted

  to say she was sorry but felt anything she said might

  be embarrassing to him. Clymene had won him over

  before he had even realized it. Diane was more convinced than ever that Archer O’Riley wasn’t the only

  person Clymene had killed. She was just too good at

  her job to have done it only once.

  Rivers walked her back to the gate, where she was

  again let out of the maximum-securi
ty section. She

  was glad to leave the prison and didn’t want to go

  back anytime soon. She had quit human rights work

  because she was just too sick of mass graves. That’s

  what prisons were like to her—a mass grave of the

  living. It was too depressing.

  Chapter 6

  Diane pulled into her parking space in front of the RiverTrail Museum of Natural History. The building almost always impressed her with its massive granite stones and nineteenth-century gothic architecture, looking like a medieval palace. On any ordinary day she would have paused to appreciate the many cars and tour buses that signaled good attendance at the museum. But not today.

  On her way back from the prison Diane had stopped at a convenience store to get a cold drink when she saw the headlines on the Rosewood newspaper.

  MAJOR SCANDAL AT RIVERTRAIL MUSEUM

  Prominent Board Member Says Assistant Director to be Fired.

  Director Diane Fallon Not Available for Comment.

  Diane grabbed the paper and stood in the store reading it, oblivious to customers squeezing past her to get out the door.

  ‘‘Son of a bitch,’’ she muttered under her breath, then paid for the paper, walked out, and got into her car, slamming the door.

  Carrying the newspaper rolled up like a club, Diane entered the museum. There weren’t any visitors in the lobby at the moment, but a tour was going on just beyond in the Pleistocene room. The voice of the docent telling a group of Japanese visitors about mammoths drifted into the lobby. A blond young woman wearing a white Richard III T-shirt sat at the information desk talking with a lanky, dark-haired young male docent in a matching T. Amber and Hunter, Diane noted mentally. She made it a point to remember the names of all her employees.

  ‘‘Dr. Fallon,’’ Amber called as Diane walked by. Diane stopped. ‘‘Yes.’’

  Amber spotted the paper in Diane’s hand. ‘‘I guess

  you’ve seen that,’’ she said.

  Diane noticed that Amber had a copy of the newspaper just below the desktop. Undoubtedly she and Hunter had been discussing it. Their eyes stayed fixed earnestly on her.

  ‘‘Yes, I’ve seen it,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘It’s not—’’ Amber began.

  ‘‘No,’’ said Diane, ‘‘it’s not true.’’

  ‘‘I told you,’’ she said to Hunter before turning back

  to Diane. ‘‘There’s a man from the FBI looking for you. I directed him to your office. I didn’t know what else to do with him.’’

  Diane could see the worry in both their faces. ‘‘What is his name?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘Kingsley. Ross Kingsley.’’ Amber enunciated his

  name carefully. ‘‘He doesn’t look like he is from the FBI. Don’t they always have short hair?’’

  ‘‘He had a beard too,’’ offered Hunter, as if maybe the guy claiming to be from the FBI was an imposter, possibly a reporter.

  ‘‘It’s not about the museum,’’ said Diane.

  She watched them both relax as they realized it had something to do with the crime lab on the upper floor of the west wing. The museum staff called that part of the building the dark side and they called all things relating to the crime lab dark matters. She could see they had just mentally filed Ross Kingsley under dark matter.

  ‘‘If any reporters come by, call Andie. Don’t send them into the office,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Oh, we wouldn’t do that,’’ said Amber. The two shook their heads in unison.

  Diane walked to her museum office. Her heels clicked on the shiny granite floor, almost keeping time with her rapid heart rate. The brief interaction with her employees hadn’t mediated any of her anger and she was glad. Right now she wanted to be angry. She went through the large double doors and down the hall to her office.

  Mike Seeger, the geology curator, was there entertaining Andie and Ross Kingsley with tales of his latest adventures in searching out extremophiles. Mike and Andie were wearing the same style T-shirts as Amber and Hunter. Mike greeted her with a wide grin. Andie was frowning.

  Kingsley stood and nodded a greeting to Diane. He looked more like a history professor than an FBI profiler in his vest and suit. He started to speak but Andie got there first.

  ‘‘Dr. Fallon,’’ said Andie and paused as she saw the rolled-up newspaper in Diane’s hand. ‘‘You’ve seen the article.’’

  Diane nodded.

  ‘‘Diane. I was hoping you could spare me a few minutes,’’ said Kingsley quickly.

  ‘‘I’m sorry, Ross. I have a board meeting in a few minutes. It will have to wait until after that.’’ Diane turned to Mike. ‘‘If you have time, will you show Agent Kingsley around the museum?’’

  ‘‘Sure...’’ began Mike.

  The telephone rang. Diane imagined that all Andie had been able to do all day was answer the telephone.

  ‘‘Excuse me, Dr. Fallon,’’ said Andie. ‘‘It’s the DA.

  insists on speaking He’s called several times. He

  with you.’’

  ‘‘He insists? Tell him unless

  his arm out of its socket and beat him with the bloody

  end of it, he’ll wait until I have time to call him.’’ ‘‘Ooookay,’’ said Andie. She took the DA off hold.

  ‘‘Sir, Dr. Fallon can’t be disturbed. She’ll call you just

  as soon as she has a chance.’’ Andie doodled with her

  pen as she listened. Her springy auburn hair bounced

  as she nodded into the phone. ‘‘I know, sir, but she is

  in a board meeting. It’s likely to last a while, but she

  will return your call.’’

  There was another pause and Diane could hear the

  DA’s voice but not his words. Just as well, she thought. ‘‘No, I’m sorry. I can’t pass a note to her. That

  would disturb the meeting and I can’t do that. She

  will call. I prom— He hung up on me,’’ she said, holding the receiver out for all to see.

  ‘‘Andie, ask Kendel to come to my office,’’ said

  Diane.

  ‘‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen this side of you,’’ said

  Kingsley. ‘‘I’ll be glad to wait until after your meeting.’’ He grinned at her, rubbing his shoulder. ‘‘But

  can you give me a hint about what Clymene wanted?’’ Diane had started into her office, but she turned to he wants me to jerk him. ‘‘Clymene is afraid that one of her guards has married someone like herself.’’ Diane turned to her

  office without looking back.

  ‘‘Okay, now, you can’t drop a bomb like that and

  leave,’’ he shouted after her.

  Diane was already in her office and closing her

  door. She turned off the water fountain on her desk.

  Normally she liked the sound of the water running

  over the stones, but today it was annoying. She should

  have gotten a jump start on this situation when she

  read the first article. But she had been knee-deep in

  other things and Kendel had assured her there was

  nothing to it.

  After a moment Kendel opened the rear door to

  Diane’s office and quietly slipped in. She was dressed

  in a navy pinstriped suit and a pink shirt. Her brown

  hair, usually in some kind of twist, was down, just

  touching her shoulders. Her eyes were red and she

  looked tired. Her usual countenance, the tough-asbrass assistant director, was absent. Kendel was

  scared. Diane motioned for her to sit down. ‘‘Diane, I know I told you the other day that this

  was nothing—’’

  The phone rang and Diane picked it up. ‘‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’’ said Andie. ‘‘It’s the

  Journal-Constitution. Do you want to speak with