DF08 - The Night Killer

by Beverly Connor

  “What are you two doing?” Diane asked.

  “I want to follow this thing through,” said Liam.

  “Speaking of your client . . .” said Mathews, scratching his back and wiggling his shoulders.

  “Was I?” said Liam.

  “Why else would you want to follow it through?” said Mathews. “I think it’s time you told us who your client is.”

  Liam sighed and nodded. “I know. His name is Wain-wright MacAlister,” he said.

  “You mean the real estate mogul who’s thinking about running for Congress?” said Mathews.

  “The one and only,” said Liam.

  “You should have told me that sooner,” Mathews said.

  “Would you have done things any differently?” asked Liam.

  “Yes. I’d have brought more Tums,” he said.

  “I’ve got plenty. I can share,” said Liam.

  “You can stand over by that tree,” said Diane to Liam. “Don’t get in the crime scene.” She turned to Mike. “And what’s your excuse?”

  “There’ve been so many strange things going on, I thought you could use someone to watch your backs,” said Mike.

  “Fine. Watch our backs from a distance—over there with Liam,” she said. She hesitated a moment and turned to Liam. “What were their names?”

  “Larken MacAlister and Bruce Gregory,” he said.

  Diane turned back around and followed Frank to the edge of the creek. It wasn’t a large creek, perhaps five feet across at its widest point. It was very beautiful, almost the stereotypical mountain stream. Only the stain of blood on the rocks along the creek’s bank and covering one side of a small tree trunk marred its picturesque feel. Even with the rains, the blood was still there. It obviously had dried before the rains fell. Another clue.

  She noticed a shiny metal dish the size of a large skillet wedged between rocks in the creek.

  “Looks like they were panning for gold,” said Mike, pointing to the dish.

  Diane looked over at him.

  “That’s a pan for panning gold,” he said. “See, I’m helpful.”

  She frowned at him.

  Get equipment was one of the items on the dead couple’s list, thought Diane. She wondered if this was part of the equipment. Diane remembered Liam saying that the two copied geologic maps at the library. Liam thought they were looking for abandoned mines.

  “Perhaps they were panning at different creeks close to mines,” said Diane, “hoping the density of their finds would point them to the right mine.”

  “Possible,” answered Mike. “But you never know what’s going on underground. The stream being close to a cave or mine doesn’t necessarily mean it’s carrying material from there.”

  “But they might very well have thought that was a plan,” said Frank.

  “Well, I guess I’ve seen all I need to see,” said Mathews. “I’m going to leave it with you.”

  “Can you find your way back?” asked Frank.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my sense of direction,” said Mathews. He headed back the way they had come, retracing their steps.

  “Send up a flare if you get lost,” said Frank.

  “Up yours, Frank,” he said, before disappearing into the undergrowth. “Doesn’t anybody ever mow up here?” they heard him say.

  Frank smiled at Diane. “Gil’s not much of a woodsman.” He looked around at the scene. “What can I do to help?”

  “Neva and I are going to take photographs first. Then you can help Neva with some measurements. I’m going to collect blood samples. And we need to search the area to see if there’s anything else to be found. A murder weapon would be nice.” But Diane had a feeling that it was taken, to be used again on the Barres and the Watsons. “Neva, will you have a look at the pan and see if there are any prints on it?”

  Neva nodded and they began the meticulous work of collecting evidence. After photographing the area, with close-ups of the blood and the pan, Diane took blood samples from the tree and the rocks and she looked for fibers that might have rubbed off from clothing onto the trees or underbrush. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Mike was a little restless. But Liam seemed perfectly calm. Different training, she supposed.

  “Hey, Doc,” said Mike, “why don’t I walk the creek and look for anything that may have washed downstream?”

  “I can go with him,” said Liam. “We each can take a side of the creek.”

  Diane stood up from her stooped position and looked at them. “When this goes to court, we have to be above reproach in our collection of evidence,” she said.

  “I’m a detective and I’ve given evidence in court before,” said Liam. “And Mike here . . .” He turned to Mike. “What are you exactly?”

  “Geologist,” said Mike.

  “See,” said Liam. “Geologist, rocks, cave, mines, gold.” He gestured with his arm over the area. “It fits. I think you’re covered.”

  “Okay. Watch where you put your feet. If you find anything, call one of us. Don’t pick it up,” she said. “Take those small orange flags out of the pack and mark anything of note.”

  “Gotcha, Doc,” said Mike. “It’s not like I haven’t helped before.”

  Diane watched for a moment as the two of them walked along the bank. She saw Liam cross the creek at a narrow point and proceed out of sight. She went back to collecting blood samples. She found a fiber stuck under a spot of dried blood on the tree. She lifted it and put it in an envelope. Neva was drawing the scene as she and Frank measured the distance between objects. All in all, they were going pretty fast.

  Diane had taken her last sample and Neva was examining the pan and lifting prints when they heard shouts downstream from Mike and Liam.

  Chapter 49

  When Diane and the others found Mike and Liam, they were on the bank looking at an object under the water. Diane squatted for a closer look. It was a leather drawstring pouch about the size of a cantaloupe wedged between two large rocks of about the same size as the pouch. Water flowed around and over it. Diane could see from the contours of the bag that there was something in it.

  Diane photographed it from several angles. Neva set about drawing it while Frank got Mike to help take measurements.

  “See, we were quite helpful,” said Mike.

  “Yes, you were. This is only about forty yards from the primary site. What took you so long to find it?” said Diane.

  “Is she always this exacting to work for?” Liam asked Mike.

  Neva grinned. Mike made a face back at her.

  “I assure you, Liam, Mike is more demanding in his department than I am in the whole museum,” said Diane. “Now, what did you do, miss it the first time and find it on the return trip?”

  “There was a glare on the water,” said Mike. “I missed it. And yes, we were coming back when we found it.”

  “We both missed it the first time,” said Liam. “He’s right. With the glare, we couldn’t see under the flowing water.”

  “Just wondering,” said Diane, stifling a smile.

  When she and Neva finished recording the find, Diane rolled up her jeans and waded into the water to retrieve it. She had on latex gloves and the chill of the water came through immediately. It was colder than she expected and the phrase cold mountain stream came to mind. The drawstring of the pouch was hung up. Diane tried to push the rocks aside to release it. It proved harder than she expected, but she finally unseated one of the rocks and the pouch came free.

  Diane waded out of the water to the bank. Neva had spread out a large envelope she had cut open to make it even larger.

  “I thought you’d want to see what was in it right away,” said Neva.

  “You did, did you?” said Diane.

  The four of them—Frank, Mike, Neva, and Liam—gathered around Diane as she opened the bag. Diane sniffed it first, just to make sure it wasn’t something unpleasant, like someone’s old lunch. Not much of a smell. She looked inside. It looked like rocks. She poured
the contents out on the paper Neva had provided.

  A glittering array of what appeared to be gold nuggets tumbled out onto the paper. The stones were mostly solid gold but some were clearly quartz with gold flecks.

  “Well, I’ll be,” said Liam. “They did find gold—I suppose this is theirs.”

  “No,” said Mike, “it’s not gold. It’s pyrite. Or, as some call it, fool’s gold.”

  “It’s not gold?” said Neva.

  Mike looked over at her. “And here I thought you’d spent a lot of time studying my reference collection in the museum,” he said.

  Neva rolled her eyes. “Every chance I get,” she said.

  “It’s pyrite—iron sulfide,” he said.

  He took a slender stick and divided up the rocks.

  “These shiny square pieces are pyrite in its isometric crystal habit.”

  “What’s that in layman’s terms?” asked Liam.

  Mike smiled at him. “Crystal pyrite. This piece here that’s amorphous in shape is what’s called massive pyrite.”

  “What about this?” Liam pointed to the quartz that had the gold flecks.

  “Pyrite in quartz,” said Mike. “Like gold, pyrite often occurs in combination with quartz.

  “No gold?” said Liam.

  “Gold is also found in association with pyrite,” said Mike, “but I don’t see any here in this cache.”

  “I hope they weren’t killed over this,” said Frank.

  Mike stood up and walked to the creek to an accumulation of sand that had been dropped by the flowing water where it slowed down in a curve. He scooped up a handful of the sand and came back. Over the grassy bank of the creek he picked through the wet sand in his palm.

  “We’ve got a lot of quartz, feldspar, magnetite—that’s these black grains. When you’re panning for gold you look for magnetite. It and gold are heavy and they settle out together in streams, and the magnetite is more plentiful and easier to spot.”

  He moved his fingers over the sand, looking.

  “Here we go.”

  They stood around Mike so they could see what he was pointing to.

  “I don’t see anything,” said Neva.

  “Here, that tiny flake. That’s gold.”

  “That’s it?” said Neva.

  “That’s pretty good,” said Mike, “for just one handful of sand. Panning for gold is labor-intensive.” He dropped the sand on the bank of the creek and dusted off his hands.

  “How sad,” said Neva. “Do you think they thought all this was gold?”

  “Probably,” said Mike. “Unless they were rock hounds too.”

  They looked inquiringly at Liam.

  “They probably thought it was gold,” Liam said. “Life was a fantasy to Larken, and Bruce was sure he was going to find a treasure.”

  They took the evidence back with them to the primary site. Somehow the couple’s deaths seemed all the sadder to think they were chasing windmills.

  Diane went home with Frank to shower and change clothes. Her muscles ached from fighting with the drunkards in Conrad’s jail the day before. She dressed in an emerald green blouse and gray linen trousers with a matching jacket.

  “You look beautiful,” said Frank.

  “I feel clean,” she said. “I’m not much either for running around in the thickets.”

  “My grandmother used to wash herself down with kerosene after going blackberry picking,” said Frank.

  Diane wrinkled her nose. “Seems like that would be harmful,” she said.

  “She lived to be eighty-six. I don’t know if she would have lived longer if she hadn’t doused herself with kerosene every summer.”

  Diane put her arms around him. He smelled fresh and clean. “What are you going to be doing the rest of the day?” she asked.

  “I’m going to check on what Gil Mathews is up to. He’s a good friend but the GBI likes to take the lead on cases they’re involved in, and I’d like to make sure my division gets its due. You got something better in mind?”

  “Yeah, I do, but I have to get back to the museum. I thought maybe we could have a late date tonight here at home—maybe dinner and a movie,” she said.

  Frank embraced her tighter. “I like it when you call this home. That sounds like a terrific idea. I’ll bring food back and a movie.” He held her at arm’s length and looked at her. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m still angry about what Conrad did to me. Do you know how many instances of that behavior I investigated in other countries? And it happened here. I wonder what else he’s done in his little fiefdom. I’m glad the GBI is working so fast,” she said.

  “They have been looking at him for quite a while, according to Gil. Intimidation is a big part of the way Conrad defines his job. Don’t take this to heart, but the GBI is kind of glad he did what he did to someone who has clout and credibility. It gives them a lot of ammunition,” he said.

  “I can see their point, but . . .” She let the thought trail off.

  Frank pulled her back to him. “I’ll give you a call when I can get away,” he said.

  “Me too,” Diane said.

  Diane went to her museum office. First thing she wanted to do was call Lynn Webber. Diane had just sent her two bodies without asking her or giving her a heads-up.

  Andie was in her office sporting Diane’s Vitruvian Man T-shirt. The tee was parchment color with a dark brown image of the page out of Leonardo da Vinci’s journal and highlighted with a special pale burnt-orange glitter.

  “How does it look?” said Andie.

  “Great,” said Diane. “I really like it.”

  “I put one in your office. I think these T-shirts are going to be popular. I hope so, anyway. I like them a lot,” said Andie. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” said Diane. “I’ll be in my office. I have to make a few calls.”

  Diane went to her office and sat down behind her desk and dialed Lynn Webber’s number.

  Chapter 50

  Hector answered the phone at the Rosewood morgue. That was a relief to Diane. She had asked the GBI agent taking the bodies to the morgue to request that Lynn Webber call Hector and Scott and have them come and take tissue samples. That meant the agent had remembered, Lynn had made the call, Hector and Scott were there, and the autopsies were probably in progress.

  “This is Diane Fallon, Hector. Is Dr. Webber available?”

  “Oh, hi, Dr. Fallon. She’s kind of in the middle, literally. I’ll ask,” he said.

  While Diane waited on the line she checked her e-mail. There was a mountain of it she needed to deal with personally and she began sorting through it until Lynn came on the phone.

  “Diane, so sweet of you to call,” Lynn said.

  “Lynn, I’m sorry about the surprise. I was in the woods with no cell service and, of course, when we found the condition of the bodies, well, I told the agent in charge he needed to give them to you. This is a big case and there is no one I trust like I trust you with it. I’m also grateful for your getting in touch with Scott and Hector.”

  “I’m happy to help out,” said Lynn. “Actually, I think I can get a paper out of this. Interesting series of bodies—all killed the same way. I’m not finished yet, but I’d be willing to bet my job that we’re going to find these two were killed with the same weapon as the others. Really interesting.”

  “Puzzling would be my choice of words,” said Diane.

  “That too,” Lynn said.

  “Thanks for doing this,” said Diane. “We owe you a big one.”

  Neva often complained that Diane had to stroke Lynn Webber’s ego a little too much, which might be true. But Diane also used Lynn. Lynn Webber was in a traditionally men’s field and had to work doubly hard to make sure she stood out. Diane knew that Lynn would be willing to do anything that was intriguing and would give her an edge in her field.

  “Like I said, it will make a good paper. I’m going to make casts of the vertebrae as I did with the others.
I’m getting quite a collection. Interesting that this was a couple too—but a young couple. And they were killed in a cave, the agent said?”

  “They were killed outside nearby and dumped in the cave,” said Diane.

  “And they were killed before the Barres. I wonder what a profiler would make of that,” she said.

  “I don’t know,” said Diane. “Raises lots of questions.”

  “I’ll send you my report,” Lynn said. “Hector and Scott are quite excited that their samples will be used to pinpoint time of death in these two—unlike their samples in the other cases.”

  Diane thanked her again and hung up the phone. Before tackling the e-mails, she called Beth in Archives to see how the speed-readers were progressing. Beth put Fisher on the line.

  “Hi, Dr. Fallon,” he said. “We’re making good progress. The gold mine you wanted to know about is mentioned in the second diary. Only he identified it as a cave. The author of the diary and a friend were exploring a cave when they found a cavern with deposits of gold—a vein about three to six inches thick and bits of sparkling pieces in the wall. The two were very excited and made a pact to keep it a secret between them and to come back and mine it themselves.

  “There was no further mention of it in that diary or in any of the others written when he was a kid. He actually seemed more interested in arrowheads. That’s his main focus throughout. There was a big event when he was sixteen. They had several days of hard rain that caused widespread mud slides. He found a whole cache of arrowheads that had washed out of the hillside road embankment not far from his home. That was the highlight of his year.

  “In the diaries written after he became an adult, Mikaela found an entry mentioning the childhood gold discovery and him taking a sample to someone in the geology department at Bartrum, where he found out it was pyrite. From the tone of the entry, he seemed to take the news with good humor. We are still reading and have quite a few diaries to go,” Fisher said.

  “Was there any mention of where the cave was located, or a description of it?”