Dead Hunt dffi-5

by Beverly Connor

  Merrick raised his eyebrows. ‘‘We thought you were just having dinner here.’’ He smiled for the first time. ‘‘Is there anything you can tell us that might help us apprehend Clymene O’Riley? Any place she might have mentioned that we could look for her? Any person she might turn to? Do you think she will go to see this guard’’—he looked at his notes—‘‘Grace Tully?’’ He seemed to be asking either of them.

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Diane.

  Kingsley was shaking his head. ‘‘No. I don’t think she would.’’

  ‘‘Why?’’ asked Drew.

  ‘‘Because you would think to go there. Clymene is a planner. She’s probably been planning this escape since she was incarcerated and got a good look at her prospects. She already knows where she is running to, and it isn’t anyplace we are likely to know about.’’

  ‘‘You’re saying she’s smart,’’ said Merrick.

  Kingsley nodded. ‘‘Yes. Very high IQ. And very detail oriented. That’s one of the things that makes her so dangerous.’’

  ‘‘She’s fluent in French and Spanish,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘That expands the possibilities,’’ said Drew. ‘‘Anything else?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘I’m guessing she’s a master at disguises.’’

  ‘‘You guess?’’ said Drew.

  ‘‘I don’t know very much for sure. It was whatI... we were working on—finding out about her. We believe that Archer O’Riley was not her first victim.’’

  The two marshals were quiet for a moment. Diane guessed they were absorbing the information— thinking about their next move.

  ‘‘You’ve given us some leads to work with,’’ said Merrick. ‘‘We thank you for your time.’’ He put two business cards on the table. ‘‘If you think of anything helpful, call us.’’

  They were rising to leave when Drew turned and asked, ‘‘What do you think she will do if she’s cornered?’’

  ‘‘Give up to fight another day,’’ said Kingsley.

  ‘‘You don’t think she’ll want to shoot it out?’’ said Merrick.

  ‘‘No. She would always have the hope of escape, I think. Clymene is very pragmatic,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘If you do find her, your biggest problem will be to not be seduced by her.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ said Drew. The two of them gave slight, derisive laughs. ‘‘What do you mean? I’ve seen her mug shot. Not what I’d call a babe.’’

  ‘‘The mug shot isn’t representative of her looks. But it’s not just her looks. She has a special gift,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘She knows how to appeal.’’

  ‘‘What do you do?’’ said Merrick. ‘‘Wear tin foil on your head when you go see her?’’

  Diane laughed. Deputy Marshal Chad Merrick had a sense of humor after all.

  Kingsley smiled and scratched his head. ‘‘We get special training,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Sure you do,’’ said Drew.

  ‘‘If all you have is the mug shot,’’ said Diane, ‘‘the local paper will have photos from the trial.’’

  ‘‘Have you spoken with Rev. Rivers, the counselor at the prison?’’ said Kingsley.

  ‘‘He had gone for the day,’’ said Drew.

  Diane and Kingsley exchanged glances. ‘‘That’s how she got out,’’ said Kingsley.

  ‘‘What?’’ said Merrick. ‘‘You’re saying the prison chaplain helped her escape?’’

  ‘‘It’s a very good possibility,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘I would look at him.’’

  The two deputy marshals left, turning down Diane’s offer to walk them to the door, saying they remembered the way out. Diane and Kingsley stayed in her office.

  ‘‘I didn’t expect this,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘No. Now we really need to find out who she is. I know the U.S. Marshals have had a lot of experience at this, but in this particular hide-and-seek contest my money’s on Clymene,’’ he said.

  ‘‘And here I thought she was planning her appeal,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Listen, we need to find out if there are any family movies of her—Archer’s son might have some. I’d like to get a recording of her speaking.’’

  ‘‘If you want to try a forensic linguist,’’ said Kingsley, ‘‘we have one. Michael loves to analyze voices.’’

  ‘‘That’s a good place to start. I have some other ideas too. Jin will love it. Jin is another member of my crime scene crew. He just finished calibrating a new DNA lab here in the forensic unit.’’

  ‘‘How is her DNA going to help?’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘I don’t see how that will locate her, or where she’s from.’’

  ‘‘I’m not going to look for her. I’m going to look for a relative.’’

  Chapter 14

  Ross Kingsley looked at Diane for a moment with a blank expression, then smiled.

  ‘‘People with similar DNA to hers,’’ he said, ‘‘Like siblings or cousins?’’

  ‘‘Right. I’m hoping the DNA profile of someone related to Clymene is in one of the many databases we have access to. If we can find a relative, then we have a link to who she is and where her family is from. That would give the marshals places to look and give us family history we need.’’

  ‘‘I like that. Any more ideas?’’ asked Kingsley.

  ‘‘A few. Analyzing her speech should give us some clues. And I need to talk to David. He’s my king of databases. I think we can do something with our face recognition software. She may have made her face look a little distorted in the mug shot, but that would not have changed the indexes used by the software. We also have photographs taken by the media during her trial.’’

  ‘‘Not many. She kept her face covered entering and leaving,’’ said Kingsley.

  ‘‘We only need one to find a match,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Even the bad mug shot we have will do if worse comes to worst.’’

  ‘‘You thinking she’s been arrested before? That there’s a picture of her in a database someplace from a previous arrest, maybe under another identity?’’ asked Kingsley.

  ‘‘Maybe. Perhaps someplace where the fingerprints from old records have not yet been digitized. But we have lots of databases we can comb through—missing persons, for instance, or driver’s license records.’’

  ‘‘See, I knew it was a good idea to get you to track down her identity,’’ said Kingsley, grinning broadly.

  I’m glad you think it’s such a good idea, thought Diane. She wasn’t so sure she would have any time to devote to the search for Clymene after dealing with what was becoming a major scandal at the museum. Diane stood up and stretched, kneading her lower back muscles.

  ‘‘Why did Clymene ask me to come see her?’’ asked Diane. Ever since she’d learned of Clymene’s escape, Diane had been wondering what the point of the visit had been.

  Kingsley shrugged. ‘‘She knew she was escaping; maybe she just wanted to mess with your life a little. Maybe she really was concerned about Grace Noel and wanted to take care of those concerns before she left. Maybe receiving a visitor put her in the right place or got her out of prison duties that would have delayed her. I have no idea, but it’s interesting. We’ll be sure to ask her when we catch her.’’

  ‘‘Do you think the marshals will find her?’’ asked Diane.

  Kingsley shook his head. ‘‘No, but I think we will.’’

  ‘‘You have a lot of confidence in my abilities,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘I do. But you saw the looks on Merrick’s and Drew’s faces. They can’t conceive of anyone who can outsmart them. A lot of law enforcement personnel have the notion that people in prison are stupid or they wouldn’t be in prison. And I’ll be the first to admit that quite a few prisoners are a couple of standard deviations left of the mean on intelligence. But quite a few are also like Clymene—very smart and very cunning.’’

  Diane stood up. ‘‘I need to go to the other side of the building to my other job. David’s probably wondering if I was carried off i
n chains by the U.S. Marshals.’’

  She looked up at the clock on the wall. It was past quitting time for the museum staff, but Andie would be in her office waiting for her. Diane needed to speak with her so Andie could go home. The muffled ringing of the phone in Andie’s office had been continuous while she and Kingsley were being questioned by the marshals. Andie must have had an onerous day herself, fielding calls from concerned, irate contributors, not to mention the media.

  ‘‘Do you have a night crime scene team?’’ said Kingsley, standing up and smoothing his jacket.

  Diane grinned. ‘‘Yes. It’s the same one as the day team. We have a night receptionist who receives requests and forwards them to whoever is on call. We take turns. So far the crime rate has been low enough to allow us some sleep.’’ Diane yawned. ‘‘Which I’m in need of. The DA has probably worn out his carpet waiting for my call. You going to speak with him tonight?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I will. He’ll probably blame both of us for breaking Clymene out,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘I’ll have to put on my FBI attitude.’’

  Diane walked Kingsley through Andie’s office on his way out.

  ‘‘I’ll give you a call tomorrow,’’ he said, waving as he left.

  Diane turned her attention to Andie. ‘‘I heard the constant ringing of the telephone. I hope things haven’t been too bad for you today.’’

  ‘‘Me?’’ said Andie. ‘‘How about you? I didn’t have the U.S. Marshals after me. What was that about?’’ She looked more than ever like Orphan Annie when her eyes were large and round like they were now, staring up at Diane.

  ‘‘It wasn’t about the museum,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Oh, dark matter,’’ said Andie. ‘‘That’s a relief.’’

  Not really, thought Diane. ‘‘What’s been going on here? What have the calls been like?’’

  ‘‘That DA is a pest. I tell you, come next election he doesn’t get my vote. We’ve been getting some calls from people asking about the scandal. I tell them that it’s being looked into. Some of them say they are contributors and they want to know what’s being done. I just tell them that you are on top of it. Of course, then they want to talk with you and I have to tell them you are busy being on top of things. Some want to give Kendel a piece of their mind. Really, people can be so mean. I want to tell them, like they’ve got a piece of mind to spare.’’ Andie stopped to take a breath.

  ‘‘I’ll work on an e-mail tomorrow to send to the contributors,’’ said Diane. When I think of what to tell them, she thought. ‘‘Go home, Andie. I’ll see you tomorrow.’’

  Andie grabbed her purse. ‘‘Things will be better tomorrow,’’ she said. ‘‘I’m sure of it. You always fix things.’’

  ‘‘I hope so,’’ said Diane. She didn’t feel as though she could fix anything right now. She felt weary to the bone.

  Diane walked from her office to the bank of elevators in the center of the museum and rode to the third floor. From there she walked to the west wing. She waved at the night guard as she entered her code in the keypad and opened the door to the crime lab.

  The warren of glassed-in rooms looked empty. Then she saw Jin and Neva near the elevator. They were carrying crime scene kits and appeared to be preparing to leave. When they saw Diane they set their cases down and walked along the glassed-in hallway to where she stood. David popped up from a computer station inside one of the rooms. He mouthed a greeting and came out to join them.

  ‘‘You have a scene to process?’’ Diane asked Jin and Neva.

  Neva nodded. ‘‘In White County. How are things with you?’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ said Jin, ‘‘David said the U.S. Marshals took you and the FBI guy away.’’

  ‘‘I said no such thing,’’ said David, frowning at Jin. ‘‘I said they left the restaurant together.’’

  ‘‘Clymene escaped today sometime after my visit with her,’’ said Diane.

  They all walked over to a round table sitting in the corner that they used for debriefing. They all looked so alert. I miss young, thought Diane. But then David also looked alert and chipper and he was her age.

  ‘‘Don’t let me keep you,’’ said Diane. ‘‘The two of you need to get to the crime scene.’’

  ‘‘We’ll get there. We want to hear about Clymene first. She escaped? How?’’ asked Jin.

  ‘‘Don’t know,’’ said Diane. ‘‘That seems to be up in the air at the moment. Jin, I want you to search the DNA databases for anyone related to Clymene.’’

  ‘‘We looking for her too?’’ asked Jin. ‘‘You saying we’re helping the marshals?’’ He looked so skeptical that Neva laughed.

  ‘‘The FBI would like us to find her,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘You mean Kingsley,’’ said David.

  ‘‘Same thing,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Jin, can you do it or not?’’ asked Diane.

  Jin looked wounded. ‘‘Sure, Boss. I’ll start tomorrow.’’

  Diane shook her head and put her hand to her temples. ‘‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.’’

  ‘‘You look tired,’’ said David.

  ‘‘I am. It’s been a weary day and instead of getting my morning run in, I had to visit Clymene. The woman is a lot of trouble. Now, Neva, Jin—go. David, tell me about your interviews with Kendel and Marge—and the fire at Golden Antiquities.

  Chapter 15

  ‘‘I’ll start with my interview of Madge,’’ said David. He stretched out his legs, then after a moment sat up straight and stretched. ‘‘Let’s go into your osteology office. It’s more comfortable and you have that little refrigerator with drinks in it. You know, you need to put in a bar.’’

  In Diane’s capacity as forensic anthropologist at the crime lab she had an osteology lab in the west wing with an attached office. She punched in her key code for the bone lab, entered, and switched on the light. A newly arrived box of bones from a cold case in Ohio was sitting on a shiny metal table waiting for her analysis. If she hadn’t felt so tired she would have started laying them out while David briefed her. Instead she went to her office.

  Smaller than her museum office, it had off-white walls adorned only with a watercolor of a wolf, a green slate floor, dark walnut office furniture, a leather chair, and a long burgundy leather couch that David immediately claimed. He stretched out full length with his head on the arm and his hands behind his head.

  ‘‘Now, this is comfortable,’’ he said.

  Diane went to the small refrigerator in the corner that was topped with an artificial green plant because she managed to kill real ones. Besides, there was no sunlight in the room anyway. She got Cokes for herself and David. She tossed David his and popped hers open as she sat down in the leather chair near the sofa.

  ‘‘Did Madge have any useful information?’’ asked

  Diane.

  ‘‘I had to calm her down before I could get much

  out of her,’’ he said. ‘‘She said you told her that Kendel was going to sue her.’’

  ‘‘Not exactly right. She asked me if Kendel would

  sue and I told her that if I were Kendel, I would,’’

  said Diane.

  ‘‘Well, it scared her,’’ said David.

  ‘‘Madge Stewart is babied too much,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘It’s time she started taking responsibility for her

  behavior.’’

  David knitted his brows together. ‘‘So you’re her

  mother now?’’

  ‘‘No. I’m director of this museum and she made

  some stupid statements to the newspaper that caused

  problems that I now have to deal with.’’

  ‘‘Just getting things straight,’’ said David. He looked

  comfortable lying there in his jeans and T-shirt. Diane

  wished she had taken the couch instead.

  ‘‘Did you get a coherent answer from her?’’ asked

  Diane, sipping on the ice-col
d drink. She pressed the

  cold can to her forehead.

  ‘‘More or less. She said the reporter called her from

  the Rosewood Review and told her that Kendel Williams had knowingly purchased looted Egyptian antiquities for the museum and what did Madge have to