Dead Hunt dffi-5

by Beverly Connor

  She locked her door and waved at the crime lab security guard. She walked across the dinosaur overlook and past the staff lounge, where the custodians were cleaning. She waved to them on her way to the elevators.

  Diane made it to her office without incident. It angered her that she even had to worry about it. She changed into pajamas, made up the couch, and snuggled in for the night.

  She awakened at the sound of Andie coming into the adjoining office. She looked at the clock—eight o’clock. Four hours’ sleep. That ought to be enough for anybody. She got up and collected clean clothes and stepped into the bathroom for a shower, anxious to get to the various computers to see if anyone in the cyberworld had seen Clymene O’Riley.

  Chapter 39

  ‘‘Andie,’’ Diane said as she walked through to her office, ‘‘I’m going to be in the crime lab most of the day. Call me there if you need me.’’

  ‘‘I heard the shower running. Did you spend the night here? Are you homeless?’’

  Andie looked very retro today. She wore what Diane’s mother called a sack dress—very sixties, straight, no waist. It was pink with black trim and large black buttons down the front. She had new black patent leather Mary Janes on her feet. Diane smiled.

  ‘‘No, I’m not homeless. Actually, I guess I am, now that you mention it. I’m staying with Frank and he had to remain in Atlanta, so I slept in my office. I like your dress.’’

  Andie stood up and took the skirt of the dress in her hands as she turned. ‘‘I love it. I got it in the cutest little vintage dress shop that just opened downtown.’’

  ‘‘What happened to Agent Jacobs yesterday? I didn’t see him when he left,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘He looked at the books and said he’ll be back in touch.’’ Andie shrugged. ‘‘I figure since he didn’t handcuff anybody on his way out, that was good.’’

  ‘‘Hopeful, anyway,’’ said Diane.

  Diane was trying to remember if she had told him about the soil sample from the sphinx. She hadn’t. She took her cell out of her blue twill jacket. Agent Jacobs had given her his cell number and she had programmed it into her phone. Never know when you’ll need the FBI on speed dial. Diane supposed that was a good sign too, giving her his private number. She punched the speed dial number and he answered almost immediately.

  ‘‘Dr. Fallon,’’ he said. ‘‘What can I do for you?’’

  ‘‘The soil sample from the sphinx is from the region of Abydos in Egypt,’’ she said. ‘‘Jin thinks it may have been dug up recently. There was very little other contamination to suggest it had been sitting in a warehouse or some other place for any length of time.’’

  ‘‘That’s good information. Thanks,’’ he said.

  ‘‘You’re welcome,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘So,’’ said Andie when Diane was off the phone, ‘‘you know where the stuff came from?’’

  ‘‘Not exactly. But we are a fraction closer.’’

  ‘‘What about that money?’’ whispered Andie.

  ‘‘I don’t know.’’ She stood up and slipped her cell in her pocket. ‘‘Call if you need anything. I’m going up to the crime lab.’’

  Her crew was there—Jin, Neva, and David. Jin had news; Diane could tell by the look on his face, as if the news would fly out of his mouth at any moment or he would choke. But before she sat down with them for a debriefing she went to check on the progress of the searches. The face recognition software was working away, applying its formula to each face in the official databases at lightning speed, but so far there was nothing. Diane felt a stab of disappointment. She checked her e-mail. Nothing from Colonel Kade yet either. She was hoping to wake up this morning and everything would be solved—or at the very least there would be a clue. Of course, there was still Arachnid. She would go down later and see whether it had found anything.

  Diane did have some results from her query of Internet Listservs—five e-mails from disgruntled lawyers. They were short, basically polite, but terse statements, like ‘‘this isn’t appropriate’’ or ‘‘I’ve spoken with the list owner.’’ One was more explicit, asking her if she knew ‘‘how f**ing long’’ it took him to download the picture. Diane thought that only five complaints out of the hundreds of attorneys on the various lists was pretty good, especially from a group of people who file complaints for a living. There was no telling how many complaints the list owners got. But she imagined they were used to putting out fires.

  Her crew had been looking over her shoulder as she checked the progress.

  ‘‘Nothing, huh, Boss?’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘It’s early yet,’’ said Diane. ‘‘You guys want to tell me what progress we’ve made so far?’’ Diane got up from the chair, and after casting a wistful glance at the face recognition program still running, she went to the debriefing table and sat down.

  ‘‘What I want to know,’’ said David as he sat down, ‘‘is what’s with the money? There’s four thousand dollars in there. Did someone just send it to you?’’

  ‘‘What money?’’ said Jin and Neva together.

  ‘‘Yes, someone just sent it to me,’’ said Diane. ‘‘With the note. I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a bribe, a payoff, or a donation from an angry contributor who still wants to give but is pissed at me.’’

  ‘‘What are you talking about?’’ said Neva.

  ‘‘Yesterday, when we had a room full of law enforcers—with guns,’’ said David, ‘‘Diane hands me this envelope filled with packets of one-hundreddollar bills.’’

  ‘‘You’re kidding,’’ said Jin. ‘‘Someone sent you bundles of money?’’

  ‘‘Yes, and I haven’t a clue what it’s about. We can add it to the long and growing list of things I don’t know anything about.’’ She looked at David. ‘‘Were you able to find anything on it?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I did. You know that tiny piece of paper with blood on it I gave you, Jin?’’ said David.

  ‘‘That piece was cut from money? Is that legal?’’ asked Jin.

  ‘‘It was cut from one of the wrappers,’’ said David, glaring at him. ‘‘Apparently the guy got a paper cut.’’

  ‘‘Wow, Boss, that’s my news,’’ Jin said. ‘‘We’re making some progress, now.’’ He rubbed his hands together.

  ‘‘Well finally,’’ said Diane. ‘‘What is it?’’

  ‘‘The blood on the money wrapper has the same DNA as the hair pulled off Andie’s purse, the one she hit your attacker with.’’

  Diane stared at him. She wasn’t sure her surprise was because the attacker and the money sender were the same, or because they had actually found out something.

  ‘‘Are you sure?’’ she said.

  ‘‘Of course I’m sure,’’ said Jin. ‘‘And neither one is Clymene or even related to her.’’

  ‘‘Is he in the system?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘No,’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘Why is he paying you?’’ said Neva. ‘‘That’s so strange.’’

  ‘‘I don’t know. Did you find anything else? Fingerprints?’’ she asked David.

  ‘‘No, and I found that odd. How did he get the paper cut if he had gloves on?’’ David said.

  ‘‘You know,’’ said Jin, ‘‘not everyone leaves prints. If you have very dry skin, or handle a lot of paper in your job, or—’’

  ‘‘I know,’’ said David. ‘‘Your prints get sanded off, so to speak. I know that. It’s still strange that there weren’t any prints from anyone.’’

  ‘‘What about the postmark?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘Rosewood,’’ said David.

  ‘‘Was there a—’’ began Jin.

  ‘‘No, there was no return address,’’ said David.

  ‘‘Just asking,’’ he said.

  ‘‘What about the note?’’ asked Diane.

  David smiled. ‘‘That was a little more helpful. The writing is simple block letters. The pressure was very heavy. I think this is an angry guy.�
��’

  ‘‘What did the note say?’’ asked Neva.

  ‘‘Bitch,’’ said David.

  ‘‘And you needed to look at the amount of pressure he used to figure out he was angry?’’ said Neva. She grinned at David’s scowl.

  David ignored her. ‘‘What was kind of interesting was what was indented in the paper. He wrote the message on a piece of lined school paper that had been underneath a page that had been written on.’’

  ‘‘I’m assuming you used the electrostatic machine,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘I did but really didn’t need to because the pressure was hard there too,’’ said David.

  ‘‘What was it?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘Words,’’ said David. He jumped up and went to his desk inside one of the glass rooms and came out with a piece of paper. ‘‘Back, red, blue, have, dog, play, and face.’’

  ‘‘What the heck is that?’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘Spelling words,’’ said Diane. ‘‘First grade, if I’m not mistaken.’’

  David nodded and put the paper down. There in a neat but unmistakably child’s printing was a vertical list of words.

  ‘‘That’s good,’’ said Neva. ‘‘You can narrow down a community with that information.’’

  ‘‘I know. Now all I have to do is figure out what I’m going to say—hello, I’m from the Rosewood police and I need to get a list of your first-grade spelling words.’’ David started to laugh before he even finished. Jin and Neva started, so did Diane, and for a moment the four of them sat at the table laughing.

  ‘‘When I figure out just how to go about it, I’ll find out what school and maybe what classroom this kid is in.’’

  Diane was starting to feel like they were making progress after all. She started to ask about Jin’s DNA search when she saw a red glow coming from David’s glassed-in workspace.

  Chapter 40

  ‘‘What is that?’’ asked Neva, pointing toward a red glow illuminating the inside of David’s cubicle.

  David grimaced, alarm evident in his dark eyes. He stroked his bald scalp and the fringe of hair circling his head and looked at Diane.

  What? she thought. Then it occurred to her— Arachnid. Arachnid had found something. She started to open her mouth, then shut it.

  ‘‘What’s wrong?’’ said Neva. ‘‘Is the building on fire?’’

  Diane could see David’s dilemma. He was actually proud of his program and wanted to show what he’d done. But he also didn’t want anyone to know about it.

  ‘‘Okay,’’ said Jin looking from David to Diane. ‘‘You two are really freaking us out here. What’s going on? Do we need to evacuate? Has some toxic chemical breeched its containment? Are the dermestid beetles loose? What?’’

  Diane didn’t say anything; she just looked at David. He sat down and put his hands flat on the table.

  ‘‘If I tell you, you have to promise to keep it a secret,’’ he said to Jin and Neva.

  Neva glanced at Diane and gave her a what’s-heup-to? smile.

  ‘‘We promise,’’ said Neva.

  ‘‘Jin?’’ said David.

  ‘‘Sure,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Sure what?’’ said David.

  ‘‘Okay,’’ said Jin. ‘‘Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. Is that what you want to hear? You’ve got me curious now. You’ll never get any peace from either of us unless you tell us, I swear.’’

  ‘‘Okay. I wrote some software. It’s in the basement,’’ said David.

  ‘‘What?’’ said Jin. ‘‘You wrote some software—it’s in the basement? Those two sentences don’t go together. What are you talking about?’’

  ‘‘I wrote a facial recognition program that searches the Internet for image files, picks out faces, and compares them with a target face. It’s called Arachnid.’’

  ‘‘And you kept this a secret?’’ said Neva. ‘‘You should sell it.’’

  ‘‘It must only be used for good,’’ he said. ‘‘In the wrong hands it could be evil. Besides, something like it is probably out there already in dark places, collecting pictures of all of us.’’

  ‘‘So the red light means it found something?’’ said Neva.

  ‘‘It found something,’’ said David. ‘‘I told it to call my computer up here when it did. I didn’t think the light would be so...so glowing.’’

  ‘‘You put Clymene’s picture in, didn’t you?’’ said Jin. ‘‘Come on, let’s go look at it.’’

  They took the elevator down to the basement and headed to David’s space.

  ‘‘I thought you did photography down here,’’ said Jin as David was unlocking the door.

  ‘‘I do. I also have my laboratory,’’ he said in mock Boris Karloff voice.

  David led the way to the room where he kept Arachnid. When he opened the door the first thing they saw in the dark was a closeup photo of a spider’s mouth parts on the monitor.

  ‘‘Jeez, David,’’ said Neva, ‘‘now I see why you said, ‘It’s in the basement.’ ’’ Neva did a better Boris Karloff impersonation than David.

  David flipped on the light and went to the printer.

  ‘‘Oh, my God,’’ he said. ‘‘Arachnid did find something.’’

  They laughed at his surprise. He fidgeted nervously and handed the printed page to Diane.

  ‘‘Isn’t that her sitting at the table?’’ said Neva, pointing to the face of a woman seated at a banquet table with an older man who had his hand over hers. There were three other couples at the table with them.

  Neva had a good eye for faces. Diane had to look closely. The woman in the photograph had short dark hair in a swept-up style, giving her quite a different look from the woman Diane had sat across from in prison. Or the woman who sat in court. But it was Clymene’s face.

  ‘‘Does it also collect information that goes with the photograph?’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘Of course. It wouldn’t be much use otherwise,’’ said David.

  He sat down and punched a few keys printer started printing more pages. Diane and the snatched the pages as they came out.

  ‘‘This was taken at the Commonwealth Lawyers Convention in 1997, Richmond, Virginia,’’ said Diane.

  Neva read the caption. It listed the names of the people in the photo.

  ‘‘Mr. and Mrs. Grant Bacon,’’ said Neva. ‘‘We have one of her aliases. Too bad they didn’t give her first name.’’

  ‘‘It could be one of her sisters,’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘That’s true,’’ said David, ‘‘if they are identical in features.’’

  ‘‘Well, Clymene or her sister, you’ve got one of them,’’ said Neva.

  As the three of them were talking, another name caught Diane’s eye.

  ‘‘She did know her,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Who?’’ asked Neva.

  Diane told them about the call she received the day before from the estate attorney complaining about the e-mail Diane had posted on the Listserv.

  ‘‘It was this woman—Emma Lorimer,’’ Diane said, pointing to the name in the caption. ‘‘I need to fax this to the marshals.’’

  ‘‘They have several people to talk to now,’’ said Jin. ‘‘That should make them happy.’’

  ‘‘Arachnid did a great job, David,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Things are coming together finally. With all the searches, we are bound to find out who Clymene really is.’’

  Diane raced up to the crime lab and called Deputy Marshal Merrick.

  ‘‘I got your voice mail,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll ask the locals to have a talk with this Emma Lorimer.’’

  ‘‘I have an alias for Clymene,’’ Diane blurted out. ‘‘Mrs. Grant Bacon. I also have names of people she was with at a lawyers’ convention in 1997—including Emma Lorimer.’’

  ‘‘You’re kidding. Do you think that’s who she really was before she married Robert Carthwright?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘I don’t know. And it’
s possible that it is one of the identical sisters, but it’s a place to look,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘We’ve been coming up dry on this end,’’ said Merrick. ‘‘Do you know if this Grant Bacon is alive or dead?’’