‘‘Neva said you wanted to see me,’’ she said.
Diane nodded.
‘‘I’ll be in my office,’’ said Korey. He walked up to Kendel and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘‘Hang in there.’’
She placed a hand over his. ‘‘Thanks, Korey. I really appreciate all of you guys.’’
‘‘I just want to get on your good side for the next time I need to requisition something,’’ he said, then smiled at her and walked on to his office beyond.
‘‘David’s a sweetheart,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘He got me to remember more than I thought I could about my visits to Golden Antiquities.’’
‘‘David’s good at that,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I’ve been thinking about this,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘There’s simply no way I could have made a mistake. I know how to verify provenances. For heaven’s sake, I’ve seen all these on display at the Pearle...’’
As she spoke her gaze rested on the table of artifacts and her eyes grew wide.
Chapter 11
Kendel stood for a long moment staring at the artifacts on the table, then at the sphinx in the crate. She shook her head, frowning.
‘‘These aren’t the artifacts I purchased.’’
She examined each piece. ‘‘There’s a passing similarity, but that’s all. These are all different dynasties.’’ She looked up at Diane. ‘‘I was so excited when I found out that the Pearle Museum had sold some of their pieces to Golden Antiquities—they were all twelfth dynasty. That’s what we are building in the Egyptian room—Egyptian antiquities that match our mummy’s twelfth-dynasty date.’’ She looked over at Diane. ‘‘I’ve never seen these.’’
‘‘Did you see anything like them at Golden Antiquities?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘No, nothing.’’ Kendel noticed the documentation lying on the opposite table. She leafed through the pages and photographs. ‘‘These are the correct provenances for the items I bought. These are the documents I verified. Do you think they just sent the wrong items?’’
‘‘Maybe,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I suppose someone could have just ...what? Read only part of the tag on an object and decided that was the one. But all six?’’ She shook her head. ‘‘We’ll certainly follow up with Golden Antiquities to verify that there was no accidental mix-up. But it looks like someone made an effort to substitute items similar to the documentation.’’
‘‘You’re right,’’ said Kendel. ‘‘This is very deliberate.’’
‘‘And we have to account for the person who called the newspaper in the first place,’’ said Diane. ‘‘How did they know something was amiss in the unopened crates?’’
Kendel turned to face Diane. ‘‘What’s this about? Why did someone go to this much trouble?’’
‘‘I don’t know. But we’ll find out,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Have you been contacted by the FBI?’’ Kendel asked. She fingered the pages, looking again at the photographs and back at the artifacts as if she could will them to change into the right thing.
‘‘No, but I expect to be. I think you need to prepare yourself for that,’’ said Diane.
Kendel nodded. ‘‘Talking to David helped a lot. He calmed me down considerably.’’
‘‘He’s good at that.’’ Diane looked at her watch. Ross Kingsley had probably gotten tired of waiting and left. No, he wouldn’t have left but probably was tired of waiting, she thought. ‘‘Kendel, I have to go talk with someone.’’ She held out her hand, motioning Kendel to follow.
Kendel looked blank for a moment, lost in thought. ‘‘I suppose I need to go too.’’
‘‘Just so you can say you were never alone with the artifacts after they arrived. It probably won’t matter, but it might,’’ said Diane.
Kendel looked at Diane with wide eyes, suddenly unsure again. ‘‘Surely they will believe that I didn’t have anything to do with this. The provenances are always reverified after they arrive—verified by someone other than me,’’ said Kendel.
‘‘I will explain our procedures in detail,’’ said Diane.
She walked with Kendel, stopping at Korey’s office. The office was mostly glass. He saw them coming and came out to meet them.
‘‘Korey, would you repack the artifacts?’’ Diane asked.
‘‘Sure thing, Dr. F,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll do it myself. Andie called up here looking for you. Something about some guy from the FBI.’’
Kendel sucked in her breath. ‘‘Oh, no. I’m not ready for this.’’
Diane put a hand on her arm. ‘‘There’s another person from the FBI here for a different reason entirely. I imagine it was he, wondering if I’d gotten lost somewhere among the displays. Why don’t you go to your office and relax. Or spend some time meditating among the collections. I find them calming.’’
‘‘That’s a good idea,’’ said Korey. ‘‘Let Dr. F figure this out. That’s what the Dark Side does.’’
Diane found Ross Kingsley on the terrace drinking coffee and watching the swans on the pond. The early spring weather was still cool. There were buds on the trees but none had blossomed yet. Diane saw a couple of runners in the distance on the nature trail just before they disappeared around a bend.
‘‘I’m sorry,’’ said Diane taking a seat. ‘‘There’s a lot going on.’’
He rose as she sat down and smiled. ‘‘So I’ve been reading.’’ He pointed to a newspaper lying on the table. He set his cup down and turned his chair around to face her. ‘‘I’ve enjoyed your museum. I don’t get much time for things like this. It was very relaxing.’’
‘‘It is—most of the time,’’ said Diane. A waitress came out of the restaurant and Diane ordered a cup of hot tea.
‘‘Mike Seeger gave me a most interesting tour,’’ he said, a knowing glint in his eye. ‘‘He’s obviously taken with you.’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘He just gives that impression.’’
Kingsley laughed. ‘‘I won’t even pretend to know what that means.’’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘‘I’ve been dying to know what in the world Clymene wanted with you. You said she was afraid that one of her guards had married someone like her? Was that an admission of guilt on her part?’’
Diane shook her head.
The waitress came out with a small teapot and a cup. She poured Diane’s tea and left them.
‘‘Clymene didn’t actually admit to anything, but it was my impression that she didn’t care if I thought she was guilty.’’
Diane gave Kingsley an account of the visit. When she finished, he sat back in his chair in amazement.
‘‘Of all the things I imagined she might want to talk with you about, I confess, that didn’t cross my mind. Do you think there is anything in it? She said what— you would think that she could recognize her own kind?’’
‘‘Yes. I think that is as close to an admission of her guilt as you are going to get,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Are you going to check on—what’s her name?— Grace Noel, I suppose Grace Tully now?’’ he asked.
‘‘No,’’ said Diane. ‘‘You are.’’
‘‘Oh?’’ he said, his cup halfway to his lips.
‘‘Some things Grace Tully said made me think that maybe Clymene was right—like maybe her husband is trying to separate her from friends.’’ Diane shrugged. ‘‘You are better equipped to determine if she has married a killer than I,’’ said Diane.
The waitress came out and refilled Kingsley’s coffee and gave Diane a fresh pot of tea.
‘‘Can I get the two of you anything? Chocolate cake? Apple cobbler?’’
‘‘None for me, thanks,’’ said Diane. Kingsley shook his head and the waitress left. ‘‘Sure. I’ll be happy to speak with Mrs. Tully,’’ said Kingsley.
‘‘That was easy,’’ said Diane.
‘‘What you have told me is sufficiently disturbing to warrant a look. Maybe he simply wants a traditional household with a stay-at-home wife; he may be just a control
ling guy—or a killer.’’ He gave a short laugh before he took another sip of his coffee. ‘‘Amazing how much credibility we are giving to Clymene’s judgment. Tell me what you think about her,’’ said Kingsley, his eyes glittering. ‘‘I would like to know your impression. Did you find that you liked her?’’
Diane squinted at Kingsley. Like her. ‘‘I think she is very good at what she does,’’ she said. ‘‘I didn’t dislike her. I believe she’s a killer. She knows I believe that, but...’’
‘‘But what?’’ Kingsley leaned forward, smiling.
‘‘But that’s it. I didn’t dislike her. She won over Rev. Rivers, did you know that?’’
‘‘No, I didn’t. You spoke with him?’’ Kingsley said.
‘‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but an interesting conversation. He didn’t seem to know he had been drawn in by her until we talked.’’
‘‘What do you mean?’’ he asked.
‘‘He wanted to know the evidence presented in court against Clymene and I went over it with him. His general comments and attitude were very subtly in defense of Clymene.’’
Kingsley’s brow knitted together in a frown. ‘‘Did he believe the evidence?’’
‘‘Oh, yes. And he was visibly disappointed. I think he himself was surprised at how disappointed. The thing that is interesting to me is I think she knows not only what to say, but what not to say. That’s—’’
‘‘Explain that.’’ Kingsley leaned forward again. Diane had the impression that he wished he was taking notes or recording the conversation.
‘‘I’ve spoken before with felons I’ve helped put in prison. Almost all of them have complained about what an injustice I’ve done them. And if they know anything about my background, they make some kind of jab about the death of my daughter. They’ve enjoyed twisting that knife.
‘‘As you said,’’ Diane continued, ‘‘Clymene is very low-key about proclaiming her innocence. With me, she made a joke of it. She let me know early in the conversation that her lawyer had researched my background. But she never once even alluded to my tragedy—subconsciously I noticed that.
‘‘According to Rev. Rivers, she didn’t proclaim her innocence to him either. With him she was simply helpful. She helped other prisoners in his classes. She didn’t proclaim that she had found religion, which, as you know, is common. She listened to what Rivers had to say. That won him over and that is her special gift. Her methods are subtle and their effect is often subconscious. And that is why I think she’s dangerous and why I think she has killed other husbands—she is so very accomplished.’’
Kingsley sat nodding as she spoke. When Diane stopped he was quiet for a long while.
‘‘Interesting analysis,’’ he said. ‘‘And I agree with it. It’s hard to explain those subtleties to a jury. It’s lucky you found that cotton ball filled with all that evidence.’’ He relaxed, sitting back in his chair. ‘‘You know, I had to study hard to become a profiler—I still have to take workshops to keep up on the latest information. But Clymene is a natural.’’
‘‘I believe you’re right,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’m still just a little unsettled about what she wanted to speak with me about. You know, waiting for the other shoe to drop.’’
‘‘You want me to give the DA a report on your visit with Clymene?’’ said Kingsley.
Diane eyed him suspiciously. ‘‘That would be good. I really don’t have the time,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Thank you. Talking to Grace, profiling her husband, talking to the DA. I don’t know what to think. What should I think?’’ Diane stared at him.
Kingsley blushed under her steady gaze and grinned. ‘‘Actually I have a favor to ask.’’
‘‘Favor? Does it have anywhere near the value of speaking to the DA and Grace for me?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘No. I definitely will have to sweeten the pot,’’ he said.
Chapter 12
‘‘This sounds like something I would want to say no to,’’ said Diane. She had pushed her teacup away and sat with her forearms resting on the table, scrutinizing Kingsley. She was envious of Clymene’s ability to size people up so quickly that it seemed as if she was reading their minds.
‘‘You will say no at first. I know that because I’m a profiler.’’ He grinned.
‘‘Okay, what is it?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘I’m working on a book about Clymene and some other cases,’’ he said.
‘‘Clymene told me,’’ said Diane.
Kingsley stopped, coffee halfway to his lips. He sat looking at Diane for several seconds.
‘‘Okay, that’s a surprise. I never told her,’’ he said.
‘‘Did you tell Rivers?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘No. No one outside the FBI knows except you.’’ He shook his head and finished his sip of coffee. ‘‘It must have been something in the way I asked questions, or my organization of the questions.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘I told you she is a natural profiler. Anyway, I’m writing a book—’’
‘‘I didn’t think FBI agents could do that,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Some prohibition against profiting from your work?’’
‘‘I’m writing a textbook to be used for training profilers. The idea is to do in-depth case studies of different types of serial killers,’’ he said. ‘‘The classic killers that we already know so much about compared with killers like Clymene who are harder to detect and catch because their patterns aren’t as obvious.’’
‘‘Clymene was motivated by profit,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Would she really be called a serial killer even if it turns out her body count is high?’’
Kingsley nodded. ‘‘I think so, but there is debate about that. Motivation makes a big difference.’’
The wind picked up, sending them a cool breeze. Diane’s paper napkin blew off the table and into the air. She jumped up and snatched it before it got away entirely. She had seen them take off like kites and sail out of sight.
‘‘Let’s go inside the restaurant,’’ she said.
Kingsley looked at his watch. ‘‘Why don’t we have an early dinner?’’
‘‘That’s fine,’’ said Diane, hoping because it was almost the end of the day that nothing else would happen concerning the Egyptian artifacts.
She nodded to the waitress, who followed as Diane went to an out-of-the-way booth in the back of the restaurant. Kingsley ordered prime rib. Diane ordered marinated salmon. After taking their orders, the waitress brought them both iced tea.
Kingsley took a drink of his tea and set it down. He pursed his lips together as though trying to recall what he was talking about.
‘‘Yes, Clymene is a for-profit killer. I believe she married and killed her husbands for money. But she is distinguished by her modus operandi. Some serial killers get off on a particular killing fantasy, and the method of murder comes from that fantasy. Your typical for-profit serial killer will choose a single method like poison to use in all their murders because once they have used it successfully it is easy and safe for them. Where Clymene differed is she let circumstances dictate the method. The husband’s manner of death had an integral connection to some typical activity in which he was often engaged.’’
Kingsley rested his elbows on the table and steepled his hands. ‘‘If we believe that Clymene killed Robert Carthwright, then she did it by causing the antique car he was working under to fall on him and crush him to death. Not an easy or safe method.’’
‘‘What about the murder of Archer O’Riley—the only murder of which we have proof?’’ asked Diane. ‘‘Did she think his family and friends would believe he simply contracted tetanus while on a dig in a foreign country?’’
‘‘Why not?’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘Americans find it perfectly believable that a person might die of some bacterial infection in a foreign country, particularly if the victim is digging around in ancient contaminated soil.’’
‘‘I suppose so,’’ said Diane. ‘‘His son didn’t suspect anything sinister.
’’
‘‘It was Clymene’s bad luck that Archer O’Riley was a friend of Vanessa Van Ross,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘I doubt the police would have paid any attention to the suspicions of a Vanessa Jones, waitress, or even a Vanessa Smith, bank president. But Van Ross is one of the founding families in Rosewood, and the name carries a lot of weight. She convinced O’Riley’s son that something wasn’t right about the death and the two of them convinced the police. I don’t have to tell you that it’s only on television that all untimely deaths get the full treatment of a crime scene investigation unit. That you were called in was unusual. That you found the incriminating cotton ball was another bit of bad luck for Clymene. I’m sure she thought she had been very careful to clean away all evidence.’’
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