understand was why. She cast a glance at Garnett while Riddmann’s attention was averted to his tie. Garnett was staring at her intently. She knew Garnett would be on her side—at least she thought she did. She did know that Garnett and Riddmann didn’t always see eye to eye. In a flash it dawned on her.
Councilman Albin Adler.
Riddmann was a friend and political crony of Adler.
When Adler’s mental and physical health forced him
to leave politics amid one of Rosewood’s worst
catastrophes—an explosion that killed more than
thirty students—it left a vacuum his political opponents eagerly filled. Diane knew Adler’s friends and
family believed she had misdirected paramedics, causing Adler to be left in subfreezing temperatures overnight, resulting in severe harm to him. They were
wrong. It was not her fault. But they still blamed her. And there was one thing about Adler’s gang of
friends. They were as vindictive as hell.
Chapter 22
‘‘Can I get any of you something to drink?’’ said Diane. She wanted to add, while the DA is straightening his tie, but didn’t. Tie straightening was Riddmann’s tell. Diane didn’t think he knew it. ‘‘I have a refrigerator in my osteology office.’’
There was a round of ‘‘no’’ from the marshals and Garnett—just enough time to interrupt Riddmann’s flow. He glared at her. Diane sat looking at him innocently. He stumbled for words for several moments before continuing.
‘‘What if I told you the blood in your apartment was fresh and belonged to one person,’’ he said.
‘‘I would say that person is most likely dead,’’ said Diane.
‘‘What if I said the blood trail leads from your apartment to your car and that a knife from your apartment was found in the trunk along with more of the same blood that was in your apartment?’’ said Riddmann.
‘‘I would be very surprised,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Is that what you are saying?’’
He didn’t answer. Diane didn’t think he would. She was starting to resent being treated like a perp. She would stop the whole thing, but Riddmann would probably make Garnett drag her butt downtown.
‘‘And what if I told you the blood belonged to Clymene O’Riley?’’ said Riddman.
Diane didn’t say anything and again feigned astonishment. ‘‘Does it? Are you saying that Clymene was in my home?’’
‘‘Are you sticking to your story that you slept through a massacre going on in your apartment?’’ said Riddmann.
Apparently all of my neighbors did too, she thought. This is where he wanted to entice her to start a cascade of confessions: Maybe I heard something, but didn’t get out of bed; yes, I got out of bed but when I saw someone in my apartment I hid; well, maybe I did confront them but I didn’t kill them—it was someone else; well, maybe they attacked me and I had to defend myself. And last: well, there I was ankle deep in blood and a body in the living room—what was I to do but dump it?
But there was nothing to confess. The fact was, she did sleep through it. And Riddmann knew she did. So what was this about? Comeuppance for Adler?
‘‘Of course I’m sticking by my account,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It’s the truth.’’
‘‘Maybe you just don’t remember,’’ said Riddmann.
‘‘What would be the mechanism that would cause sudden amnesia in me?’’ said Diane.
‘‘People do have experiences they don’t remember later . . . for any number of reasons,’’ said Riddmann.
‘‘It would be unprecedented in me,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Let’s look for horses and not zebras. Blood and urine samples were taken from me at the hospital. Do you have the results?’’ asked Diane.
He glanced at his watch on his left wrist and back up at Diane. ‘‘You’ve been having a lot of stress at the museum. Then an escaped prisoner breaks into your home. Perhaps that caused some kind of mental break,’’ he said.
The marshals shifted in their seats. Diane didn’t think they were happy with Riddmann’s questions. Maybe they sensed another agenda—or maybe they just wanted him to hurry and ask where she hid the body.
‘‘No stress, just bad newspaper articles,’’ said Diane. ‘‘If I blanked out every time there was stress at the museum, I would be in a constant state of sleepwalking. I didn’t black out; I don’t have amnesia. Do you have the tox screens back?’’
‘‘It’s just a few more questions. What do you think happened?’’ he asked in a voice meant to tell her he was trying now to be friendly.
This was another of the trap questions. Get the suspect to come up with a scenario that will reveal that he, or she, has more information than he or she should. Diane rolled her eyes—and it set Riddmann off. He slammed his fist on the table.
‘‘Look, we’ve been very accommodating to you. We could be having this conversation downtown with the press waiting outside. Anyone else, we would have. You’ve been getting a free ride because of your political connections, your status with the crime lab and with the museum. From your performance here and what I’ve been reading in the newspaper, you aren’t doing a very good job in either.’’
Diane placed her hands on the table and leaned forward. She would have stood up, but under the circumstances Riddmann might think she was about to attack him. The mention of her political connections and the references to the newspaper articles about the museum tweaked her suspicions and she could feel her face flush. It was clear now what was going on. Vanessa Van Ross was politically opposite from Riddmann’s mentor, Adler, and over the years had done considerable damage to Adler’s and his friends’ plans for the city. Vanessa was too wealthy and well connected to take on directly, but attacking the museum was a different matter. Everyone who knew Vanessa, knew the museum was like her child. Hurt the museum, hurt her.
‘‘Are you the one feeding the press misinformation about the museum?’’ she asked.
Riddmann’s eyes widened. He glanced down at his watch and back up at Diane. He hesitated too long to speak and Diane knew she was right. Or thought she was right. But what could this idiot know about Egyptian artifacts?
‘‘Don’t think you can deflect attention from yourself by accusing me,’’ he said.
‘‘I think there have been some misunderstandings,’’ said Garnett. ‘‘No one is accusing anyone of anything. We are just fact finding. In answer to your question, Diane, yes, your tox screen came back positive for barbiturates. Do you take sleeping pills?’’
‘‘No,’’ she said.
‘‘She could have taken them after her run-in with Clymene,’’ said Riddmann, clearly smarting from Diane’s accusation.
Diane had wanted to tell him he should have left the questioning to the marshals, that he was no good at it—as his low conviction rate attested to. But she held her tongue. Her former boss and mentor at World Accord International was always telling her that silence is just as important in diplomacy as all manner of words—especially if the words you choose are wrong.
‘‘Then I would have been forensically processed at the was drugged,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I need to find out when and how. If someone had access to my apartment, then they had access to anything I ate or drank.’’
‘‘Your own people didn’t find anything,’’ said Riddmann.
He glared at her and Diane knew that if he hadn’t been an enemy before, he was now. That was the trouble with politics; you could just be minding your own business and still end up in the middle of trouble.
‘‘Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence,’’ said Diane. ‘‘If someone took a body from my apartment, they could easily have taken the source of the barbiturate.’’
‘‘Let’s get back to the point of why we came,’’ said Merrick. ‘‘Drew and I still have some questions for Dr. Fallon. If that’s all right with all of you? Now, Dr. Fallon, you said you got no indication that Clymene was going to escape. What do you think she did have planned
? From what I’m hearing, she’s not the kind of woman who would be content to stay in jail. She asked you there for some reason.’’
‘‘I thought she was planning an appeal,’’ said Diane.
‘‘She had no grounds,’’ began Riddmann. Merrick’s glance at him had the impact of a shot across the bow. He closed his mouth.
‘‘I think she might have,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Some problematic information was allowed in at her trial. However, the reason I thought she was going to appeal was that she had been writing briefs for fellow inmates and had been fairly successful. She’s a smart lady. I sleeping hospital. through being Apparently I thought her friendship with Rivers was to gain an advocate in her corner.’’
‘‘The only reason I had to ask the judge to allow that evidence was because your crime scene evidence was so poor,’’ said Riddmann.
Diane and the marshals ignored him.
‘‘Did she say she was going to appeal?’’ asked Drew.
‘‘No. But it made sense. I believe she would have won the appeal,’’ said Diane.
‘‘But an appeal would have only gotten her a new trial,’’ said Merrick. ‘‘Would she have won without this problem evidence?’’
‘‘No,’’ said Diane. ‘‘The crime scene evidence was strong.’’
‘‘So, in that case, it makes sense that she would run, given that she wanted out,’’ said Merrick.
‘‘Putting it that way, yes,’’ said Diane. ‘‘But as I said earlier, she had a lot of confidence in her powers of persuasion and she would be up against a DA’s office with a fifty-four percent conviction rate. The next jury might side with her,’’ said Diane. Okay, she’d said it. Not a wise thing to do. But it was done.
Garnett winced. Riddmann glared at her with such intensity that she thought his gaze might actually burn her skin. The marshals raised their eyebrows slightly.
‘‘The fact of the matter,’’ said Riddmann, ‘‘is that we have what can legally be described as a dead body in your apartment. Your bloody knife in your car with Clymene’s blood in your car trunk. I convicted Clymene herself on less. I’m ordering Garnett to arrest you.’’
Chapter 23
‘‘Okay, let’s just talk about this,’’ said Garnett. He cast Diane a glance that was more frustration than anger, clearly wanting to defuse the crisis. ‘‘There’s time to sort this out, and Diane isn’t going anywhere.’’
Diane’s cell rang just as the DA opened his mouth to say something. She fished the phone out of the inside pocket of her jacket.
‘‘Excuse me,’’ she said as she looked at the display.
It was Andie, her assistant.
‘‘Hi. Diane. I didn’t know where you were, so I
called your cell. Are you all right?’’
‘‘Fine,’’ said Diane. It wasn’t true at the moment,
but Andie was asking about her health.
‘‘There’s a guy from the FBI who wants to talk to
you about the artifacts,’’ said Andie.
‘‘The FBI. Great. Tell him he has to take a number,’’ said Diane.
‘‘What?’’ said Andie.
‘‘Just hold the phone a minute, Andie,’’ said Diane. She put her phone on mute and looked at the others. The marshals looked amused. The DA looked a
little happier. Garnett was still frowning.
‘‘Can we wait until I speak with the FBI before you
take me downtown?’’ she said.
‘‘Look,’’ said Garnett. He turned to the DA. ‘‘I
think it’s premature to arrest Dr. Fallon at this point.
The barbiturates in her system do give her an alibi,
and I would hate to make a mistake that we all would
regret. Remember, no one in the apartment building
heard anything either—not the neighbors across the
hall, nor the ones above, below, or beside her. You
will agree that is odd. In addition to the unpleasantness in her apartment early this morning, Dr. Fallon
was attacked at the hospital by an unknown assailant
wielding a knife. I think we can cut her some slack,
especially since I’m sure she is sorry’’—he looked at
her when he said the word sorry—‘‘for not being as
cooperative as she could, but that’s understandable.’’
He looked at Diane and gestured with his head
toward Riddmann.
Diane knew what he meant. He wanted her to apologize to the DA. Damn. But the museum and the
crime lab were worth more than her pride at the
moment.
‘‘Garnett is right,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Mr. Riddmann, I’m
sorry. You are certainly due more cooperation than I
have given, especially in front of guests.’’ She nodded
at the marshals. ‘‘I’m also sorry for the misuse of statistics. I hate it when other people do it and I regret
doing it myself.’’
Riddmann had been smiling—or smirking—at her,
she couldn’t really tell the difference, but now he
looked confused. Diane turned to the marshals. ‘‘The police commissioner in Rosewood asked the
DA’s office to accept cases that have weaker evidence
than they would normally prosecute. The aim is for
Rosewood to get as many criminals off the streets as it can. Although we do get more people off the streets, a consequence is a statistically lower conviction rate for the DA’s office.’’ A policy which Diane, herself, disagreed with because another consequence was that too many innocents got convicted. ‘‘If Rosewood had the same policy as, say Atlanta, the conviction rate
stats would be much higher.’’
Riddmann looked as though he hadn’t realized that
before. He probably tucked it away to use in his
next campaign.
‘‘I didn’t know you were attacked at the hospital,’’
said Riddmann. ‘‘With this new evidence, I think we
can wait.’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ she said, and Garnett looked relieved. ‘‘This attack,’’ asked Deputy Marshal Merrick, ‘‘do
you think it was connected to the incident in your
apartment?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Diane.
She didn’t say that she thought it was connected to
the museum, and she wasn’t sure she was going to tell
the FBI. She believed she had a better chance of solving it than they did. If someone thought she was dirty
and was willing to kill her for it, the FBI would, of
course, see her as a suspect for buying stolen antiquities. That would be a blind alley, and valuable time
would be lost. But leaving out important information
when talking to the FBI was very risky business. Diane
was beginning to feel stuck—like she was fighting wars
on too many fronts.
She got back on the phone with Andie. ‘‘Ask him
to wait in my office. I’ll be right there.’’
‘‘Where are you coming from exactly?’’ asked Andie. Diane smiled into the phone. ‘‘I’m in the crime lab.’’ ‘‘Oh, okay. I’ll tell him you’ll just be a few minutes,
then,’’ she said.
‘‘Thank you, Andie.’’ Diane hung up the phone. ‘‘We will be in the area a few more days,’’ said
Merrick. ‘‘If...’’
‘‘Why are you still on the case?’’ asked Riddmann.
‘‘We have jurisdiction now.’’
‘‘Because we don’t have Clymene’s body,’’ said
Merrick. ‘‘It makes the paperwork harder.’’ Merrick turned to Diane. ‘‘If your apartment is a
crime scene, where will you be staying?’’
‘‘I’m staying with Frank Duncan; he’s a detective
in�
�’’
‘‘We know Frank,’’ said Drew. ‘‘We apprehended
one of his white-collar fugitives. Good guy to work
with.’’
‘‘If we need you, then you will be either at his house
or here, somewhere in this building,’’ said Merrick. ‘‘Yes,’’ said Diane.
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