“It looks to me as if she already relives it every day,” said Diane.
“Privately,” said Kingsley. “Not publicly. That’s what she dreads. Funny, I was watching them. Marsha and Wendy were inside themselves, completely absorbed. I doubt they could even give a general description of what your office looks like. Kathy Nicholson was the only one of them interested in the things around her—your assistant’s office, your office. While we were getting the chairs, she was looking at your Escher prints, your photographs, the fountain. I got the impression Kathy hadn’t wanted to come. I think she would like to break her bond with the other two.”
“What implications does that have?” said Diane.
“I have no idea. Just throwing stuff out. Like you, something bothered me too. But I can’t put my finger on what exactly,” he said. “Maybe it’s that they seemed like the three witches from Macbeth. Okay, that was unkind, but I find them just a little spooky.”
“Do you think Marsha or her husband could have killed Stacy?” said Diane. “You see how angry both of them are at us. What emotions must Stacy have brought out in them, poking around in their daughter’s death?”
“I think it’s a possibility the police should look at, but I’m not sure they will,” he said.
He didn’t say the two of them should look into it, but she felt that was what he was thinking. Perhaps she should have asked Marsha what she was doing the day Stacy died. Maybe dug a little deeper. But Diane had wanted to get them out of her office. Marsha Carruthers wouldn’t have answered anyway.
Kingsley left and Diane looked over some budget requests before she headed for the crime lab. She thought about looking in on the meeting of museum curators, but decided she would let Andie handle it. If she were present, it would completely change the dynamics of the meeting.
Diane stopped at the information desk to speak with a docent, when someone touched her arm. She turned to greet them with a smile.
“Kathy Nicholson,” Diane said, trying not to let the smile freeze on her face. “Did you forget something . . . or perhaps remember something?”
Chapter 31
Kathy Nicholson, sans Marsha and Wendy, stood beside the information desk with her purse on her shoulder. She had on a light wool jacket she hadn’t been wearing in the meeting.
“No, I didn’t forget anything,” she said. “I’d like to speak with you.” She looked around as if she were being watched, or on the lookout, lest she be seen by someone she knew.
“Let’s go to my office,” said Diane.
She told the docent she would see her the next day and led Mrs. Nicholson back to her office and closed the door. Diane didn’t sit behind her desk, but pulled up a chair and sat across from her.
“May I get you a drink?” asked Diane. “I have a refrigerator in the next room with cold sodas.”
“No, thank you, no,” she said. “I have a friend meeting me in your museum restaurant a little later. She said it’s very good.”
“It is,” Diane said.
Diane waited for Kathy Nicholson to speak. Kathy looked at her well-manicured hands a moment and back up at Diane.
“You must be wondering why I’m here,” she said.
“I am,” said Diane. “I hope you don’t intend to try to persuade me to recant, as Mrs. Carruthers put it. It’s not just my findings regarding Stacy’s death, but those of our medical examiner as well.”
“No, I haven’t come for that, but the others think I have,” she said.
“Oh?” said Diane.
“Do you really have all those jobs?” Kathy asked.
“Yes, I do. The forensic anthropology lab is part of the museum. The crime lab is housed here and I run it. I used to be a human rights investigator,” Diane said, hoping that might help Kathy to understand her qualifications.
“They—we—weren’t always like this. We were very happy people. You wouldn’t have known Marsha ten years ago. Wendy either. Ellie Rose’s death changed so much for us. But nine years is a long time, and I am so tired.”
“Of what?” said Diane, gently.
“That’s a good question. Marsha’s grief, I guess. That’s a terrible thing to say, I know. And I know you don’t ever get over something like her daughter’s tragic death. My husband died of cancer and I miss him every day. But . . . but I don’t”—she frowned as if searching for the right word—“I don’t cover the world with it. I don’t walk through it as if it were syrup. I don’t know.” A small sigh escaped her lips, as if she gave up looking for the right expression. “Wendy told me what you said yesterday—about Marsha losing what it felt like to love her daughter, or something like that. She has, I think. That desperate anguish she felt when they found Ellie Rose’s body is still fresh in her now, just like it was then.”
Diane wondered why she was telling her all this. But she didn’t say anything. She just listened. Her former boss at World Accord International always said the ability to listen is one of the most powerful tools one can have.
After a moment’s silence, Diane spoke. “Why do you think Marsha has not healed?”
“I don’t know. At first, Wendy and I tried to help Marsha cope. But after a while, Wendy just went along with her, and I stayed across the street with my husband more and more. We quit having the neighborhood barbecues we used to have when the children were small. I have a son, Colton. He’s in California now at Berkeley studying political science. He’s getting a master’s.”
“Do you see him much?” asked Diane.
“Not a lot. I go out there some. I’m thinking about moving,” she said.
Diane smiled.
“My son doesn’t like to come here anymore. I don’t blame him. Bad memories. Wendy’s son, Tyler, is in law school at UGA now. He doesn’t come home much either. So much has changed. I sometimes resent Marsha and her family. I think Wendy does too. I know that’s unfair and cruel.”
“But understandable,” said Diane. Kathy obviously wanted to talk. Diane wondered whether she had been frank with anyone about this.
“Colton was a year younger than Ellie Rose. He and Tyler are the same age. We were so happy then. There were lots of kids in the neighborhood. Several people moved away after Ellie Rose’s death. Even though Colton was a boy, I was afraid after El’s death. You never know why someone kills children, or if yours might be next. All of us parents were afraid. Many distanced themselves from the Carruthers. Others, like Wendy and me, tried to help. But as I said, there was no helping her. I don’t know what it would have been like if it had been my child. Wendy said your child was murdered,” she said.
“Yes,” said Diane. “I don’t talk about it much.”
Kathy nodded as if she understood. “What did you think of us?” she asked, suddenly.
“The three of you are very sad, especially Wendy and Marsha. They have turned very much inward. The whole time the three of you were here, you were the only one who seemed to be aware of your surroundings.”
“Yes, we are different,” she said. “You noticed that?”
“Yes, I noticed it. What I don’t understand is why the three of you came here today. Did Marsha actually expect to have me say that what I found really wasn’t true? Does she honestly think there is a chance Ryan Dance could get out of jail based on my findings about his sister’s death?”
“Yes. Both of them think that. Marsha got some pretty mean calls that upset her after the article came out. And her daughter Samantha moved out. She is beside herself about that. But she never paid any attention to the poor girl. What did she expect? She wanted her family nearby, but out of her way. She never used to be so self-absorbed. Honestly, that’s true. She was just the nicest person. Ellie Rose was a nice girl too. Always cheerful, always had something sweet to say. Her death tried my faith. It did. I think it tried Marsha’s and Wendy’s too.”
“Samantha moved out?” said Diane. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She is eighteen. And, frankly, I think it’s a good thing. She
was being smothered in that house. You were there. Could you live there?”
No, Diane couldn’t have, but she didn’t say it. Instead she gave Kathy a prod. “Is there something you wanted to say to me?”
“I wanted to ask you: Are you sure, are you really sure, that Stacy Dance was murdered?”
“The Gainesville police will be receiving all the new evidence soon and they will decide how to proceed and what to divulge. So I can’t go into any specifics. However, I can tell you I have no doubts whatsoever, and neither does our medical examiner, that Stacy was murdered. And we both have had a lot of experience in what we do.”
Kathy Nicholson’s eyes teared up. Diane reached for a tissue and handed it to her.
“Are you afraid Marsha Carruthers or her husband might have done something to Stacy?” asked Diane.
Kathy was quiet for several moments. “I would never say that. Never,” she said at last.
“But you might worry about it?” said Diane.
Kathy said nothing.
“Is there anything you know that bothers you? Anything you’ve seen?” asked Diane.
“It’s just the anger. We drove up here together. It was just terrible. Wendy drove and Marsha sat in the front seat. I sat in the back. We discussed strategy. It was all so—so frenetic. Marsha was so angry. I think it was equating the manner of Ellie Rose’s death to Stacy’s that got to her. Wendy called the police and they told her what Stacy was supposed to have died from. For some reason, Marsha was angry with you in particular. I think it was the things you said to her. I suppose she saw you as trying to rob her of her grief. It’s all she thinks she has.”
“I’m sorry I upset her,” said Diane.
“Wendy looked you up on the Web and discovered you are the director of the museum,” said Kathy. “We all thought you had deceived us about who you are.”
“She didn’t find the other positions I hold?” said Diane.
“No. I think the first item she found was the museum and she stopped there. It had your picture. That was the only listing we knew for sure was you. You aren’t the only Diane Fallon in the world.”
“That’s true,” said Diane, smiling.
“We didn’t quite understand why you would have anything to do with a crime investigation. Frankly, I thought you and the gentleman with you were frauds. I thought you had lied to me.”
“Didn’t you look up the name of my osteology lab—the one on the card?” said Diane.
“We didn’t think of it. When we found you, we thought that was it; we had found you out. None of us know very much about computers, really. I know everyone does these days, but we don’t. Wendy used Marsha’s husband’s computer. She knew how to use Google. I always thought it was simply a very large number,” she said.
Diane smiled. “I take it you don’t follow the stock market either,” said Diane.
“No,” she said, and almost smiled. “I was amazed at all the information on your Web site. All the things about the museum. Wendy found the museum board of directors and discovered that both her husband and father-in-law, Everett, were on a couple of charity boards with two of the members. Wendy will make good on her threat to have them make calls about you. Her father-in-law is a type A personality, if you know what I mean. He’ll pressure the board members to do something about you if Wendy asks him.”
“Wendy will be sorely disappointed,” said Diane. “It isn’t a governing board. It’s an advisory board.”
“Oh, she will be disappointed,” said Kathy.
“Tell me, why is Wendy so involved in Marsha’s life?” asked Diane.
“Same reason I am. We are neighbors and friends. We go to the same church. We got caught up in trying to help Marsha with her grieving process and were kind of pulled into it. Over the years it became our life. It’s not this bad all the time. We go though long periods of normal. Then something happens and Marsha will start drinking. It’s gotten a lot worse since Stacy Dance spoke to her. And when you and that man—Kingsley—came into our lives and that newspaper article came out.”
“I’m sorry our visit had that effect,” said Diane. “Has Marsha been to grief counseling?”
“Yes. It hasn’t worked—or it will work for a while until something happens,” said Kathy.
“What triggers her relapses?” asked Diane.
“Lots of things. My husband’s cancer and death were one thing. Wendy’s husband is head of the oncology department at the hospital, so all of them were there for us during the process. When Samantha reached the same age Ellie Rose was when she died, it set Marsha off. As I said, Stacy’s visit upset her. Sometimes a report in the news about some teenage girl who died would be enough to upset her again.”
“You said they think you are here to talk me into recanting my findings. Why do they think that?” asked Diane.
“When we went outside to get in the car, I commented that maybe if we had been friendlier we might have gotten somewhere. Marsha turned on me and started to yell. She’s been doing that more frequently. It made me mad and I almost told her that maybe I would be the one to recant my story. I came that close.” Kathy stopped and took a deep breath.
“I wouldn’t,” she continued. “I saw what I saw. But I was so angry that she’d turn on me after everything. I made up my mind I wasn’t going to ride back with them. I have a friend here in Rosewood, and I can spend the night with her and we can go shopping together tomorrow.” Kathy wrapped her jacket closer to her as if she were cold.
“Wendy said she thought I was right,” Kathy continued, “and if I came in to speak with you alone, I might get somewhere, or at least find out what you were really up to. I agreed. I just wanted to get away from them. Wendy is real good with Marsha. I’m not. Marsha agreed that it might be a good idea too, and she apologized to me for the things she said. But, you know, I’m tired. I’m tired of living in her world.”
“What will you tell them?” said Diane.
“I’ll tell them about your qualifications—about the human rights work,” she said. “And that you said again that you aren’t trying to get Ryan Dance out of prison. That’s what Marsha is really concerned about.”
“I’ll repeat, just for clarity, the finding that Stacy Dance was murdered is not in any way related to Ryan Dance. Suspicious circumstances aren’t proof of anything. Even if you were to recant your story about seeing Ryan Dance that day, it would have no effect on his status. There was too much physical evidence implicating him.”
“But sometimes evidence is thrown out. People get released, even though everyone knows they are guilty,” said Kathy.
“Very rarely,” said Diane. “I haven’t read the transcripts of the trial and I’m not a lawyer, but from what I understand, the police had probable cause to search Ryan’s car, even without your testimony, so the incriminating evidence that convicted him would have been found anyway. The only way I can see him getting out of prison is if he really is innocent and the police happen to find indisputable evidence that identifies the real guilty party. I don’t see that happening. If Marsha needs comforting on that point, have her talk to the district attorney or a defense lawyer. I’ll bet you have one in the neighborhood.”
Kathy gave Diane a faint smile and nodded. “That’s what I’ll tell them.”
She gathered herself together and stood. Diane stood with her.
“But you do seem to know about Ryan Dance’s case,” she said.
“A little. But not for any other purpose than to understand where Stacy Dance was coming from,” said Diane. “Much like Marsha’s obsession, Stacy had her own obsession involving Ellie Rose’s death and her brother’s conviction. Something Stacy did may have gotten her killed, but it may be coincidental to her investigation. We just don’t know.”
Kathy Nicholson nodded and Diane walked her through Andie’s office to the door and let her out. The woman had been forthcoming, but Diane was suspicious of her as much as she was of Diane. What if the three of them had killed Stacy? sh
e thought. What if she and Wendy had been so sucked into Marsha’s world that they had formed a kind of vigilante cabal? The thought made Diane shiver. Other than the profound sadness, the three of them looked so normal.
Chapter 32
All in all, Diane had a good ending to a not altogether pleasant workday. After Kathy Nicholson left, Andie came back from the meeting with the curators and gave Diane her report. Diane told Andie to write it up and she could present it to the board.
Frank called and said he would be late coming home, probably very late. Diane grabbed an apple and cold drink from her refrigerator and called it dinner. She sat down on the couch in the sitting room off her office, put on a CD of classical music, and cleared her mind of anything to do with murder or death before she left the museum.
Diane drove out to Marcella’s house before she went home. When she arrived there, Marcella’s yard was lit up. David had brought the lights they used for night work. Why, she wondered, were they working at night?
A police car was parked in the drive. A patrolman sauntered up to her car.
“I hope there’s not another problem,” said Diane, getting out of her SUV.
“No, ma’am. David Goldstein asked a couple of us to come down and stand guard. He didn’t want a repeat of the other night,” he said.
“Good move. How is Patrolman Daughtry doing?” asked Diane. “His leg healing up?”
“Leg’s doing good. Got in a bit of a dustup over his gun. I guess you heard,” he said. “I don’t think it will amount to much. He’s off work now with his leg up, watching football reruns, so I guess he’s doing great. You really think those punks will come back here?”
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