Dead Past

by Beverly Connor

  “I’m glad you’re confident. I don’t relish people casting wondering glances at me for the rest of my life.”

  “Like I said, we have Jin. I tell you, I don’t think you know how you motivated him.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Diane.

  Diane sat staring at the lone wolf for several minutes after David left her office, hoping that some pattern would form in her mind. She concluded that she didn’t have enough information. Blake Stanton, she was sure as she could be with so little information, was hit to keep him from talking. If the meth lab had exploded with only the cook inside, there wouldn’t be near the seriousness as it exploding with a house full of young people. It would be worth killing to keep secret any connection with that—provided that there was someone behind the lab besides the poor fellow who got blown to smithereens. The meth lab connection was a good place to start, she thought.

  She opened up her bone vault where her computer equipment for reconstructing 3-D facial images from skulls was stored. She turned on the computer and the laser scanner.

  Three partially reconstructed skulls were sitting in boxes of sand. One was from bones found in the burned-out basement. Not much was there—the brow and top of the eye sockets, the cheek and lower socket on the right side that included part of the nasal area. Part of a maxilla—the bone anchor for the upper teeth—and a fragment of a mandible—the lower jaw.

  She was able to match the upper and lower parts because the wear patterns on the upper and lower molars and premolars fit exactly. Luckily, those teeth had been still in their sockets. Unfortunately, no dental records had been submitted that matched the remains she had.

  Diane used clay to prop up the reassembled pieces of skull on the modeling pedestal. It looked like a strange piece of artwork. When the modeling software was up, she turned on the apparatus and watched as the pedestal rotated and the laser read the topography of the fragments and generated a matrix of points on which to construct a wire frame of the head and face.

  Diane asked the software to interpolate the missing part of the face from the parts that were present. The result would be a face that looked more symmetrical than it actually was because the computer only had one side to calculate what the other side looked like. But it would be a likeness that would be useful.

  When she had a wire frame on which to work, she asked the software to use the skin depth database to reconstruct the face. Building the face was a slower process. She watched it being constructed.

  She felt free in the vault. At least Patrice Stanton couldn’t get to her here.

  Chapter 26

  Diane studied the completed 3-D model of the face generated from the glued-together skull fragments. It was not someone she recognized. She didn’t think he would be. But she was willing to bet that he was known to someone in the police department.

  Armed with a new face to work with, Diane printed out several paper copies, put an electronic copy of the image file on a memory stick, turned off her fancy equipment, and left the vault, locking it behind her.

  She looked at her watch. It was a couple of hours past her usual lunch time. She hoped David, Jin, and Neva had stopped for lunch, but they were like her in that respect—often working right though it without noticing. Diane left her osteology lab and walked over to the crime lab. She found her crew busy. Jin and Neva had their heads together over a map. David was on the phone.

  “Have you guys eaten?” asked Diane.

  “Eat,” said Jin. “No time. We’ve got criminals to catch. Neva and I were just looking at the jogging route Marcus took. I’ll make a matrix of the access points and . . .”

  “How did you find out where he was killed?” asked Diane.

  Jin gave her his “Please, I’m a detective” look.

  “What have you been doing?” asked David, placing the phone back on the hook.

  Diane produced the printouts of the facial reconstruction.

  “This skull was one of two that I hadn’t identified. The other was found on the first floor near a window. These bones were in the basement and they were the only bones found there—that is, the only bones McNair’s team turned over to us.” Diane was sure that there were bones in the material that McNair took that she would never see.

  “You think this is the cook?” said David.

  “I’m thinking that he is,” said Diane.

  “Let’s send a copy to Garnett,” David suggested. “This should make him happy. It’s the best lead they’ve had on the meth lab thing. They’re up against the wall, and that Adler person’s been giving them hell about it.”

  Diane handed David the memory stick; he put it in his computer and e-mailed the image to Garnett.

  “OK,” said Diane sitting down at the table where Jin and Neva were looking at the map. “I thought you were working on the Stanton murder, Jin.”

  Jin looked at Neva and over at David. “We’ve come up with a theory—hypothesis, to be more precise.”

  “An idea would be the most accurate,” said David.

  “OK, an idea,” said Jin. “What if McNair is mixed up somehow in the meth lab mess?”

  “Mixed up how?” asked Diane. If that were true, it would be a sticky wicket, indeed.

  Jin shrugged. “Not sure. He could have been investigating it on his own in hopes of cracking it and taking the glory. Found out too much and was killed.”

  “Or,” offered David, “he’s in it up to his beady little eyeballs. He’s been spending a lot of money—I know Garnett said that his wife has money, but what if he’s really getting money from a drug operation? What if he’s the shadow the police are all looking for behind the meth cook? He went to great lengths to get all the evidence under his control, you’ll have to admit that.”

  “OK,” said Diane, “I’m buying it so far.”

  “We have several scenarios to look at,” said Jin. “McNair might have killed the Stanton kid because he was afraid the kid would talk, and then someone killed Stanton for the same reason, or for revenge, or something. Or, there is some other person above McNair in the meth operation who wanted to protect himself. Maybe he thought McNair was being too heavy-handed in taking the evidence and we were going to catch on that McNair was trying to hide something.”

  “I think we’re onto something,” said Neva. “I really do.”

  “Where are we going to put the DNA lab?” said Jin.

  “Let’s find the killer first,” said Diane. “What are you going to do now?”

  “David’s trying to find out how McNair was killed. We know the location was the Briar Rose Nature Trail where he jogged. And we know he was shot. David’s getting the details.”

  “David?” asked Diane.

  “His autopsy is being performed as we speak, but this is what I have so far. He was jogging along his usual trail—a place where few people jog this time of year, especially now, with twenty degree temperatures and snow on the ground. But McNair was a marathoner, always in training. About a half mile into it he was shot in the knee. He fell, rolled around a bit, got the ground bloody, probably screamed, but we won’t know that until we find the killer. He managed to get up and hopped about fifteen feet back to where he came from. He was shot again in the chest and once more in the head.”

  “What kind of gun?”

  “Don’t know that yet. I imagine the GBI does. We’re going to have to get that from Garnett.”

  “No one heard gunfire?”

  “I don’t know,” answered David.

  “Any footprints in the snow?”

  “Presumably, but we don’t know,” said David.

  “What are the points of similarity between McNair and Stanton?” asked Diane.

  Jin fielded this question. “They were both shot in an isolated place, both were shot in the head, maybe no one heard the gunshots in either case. That’s all we have now.”

  “Interesting, but not compelling comparisons,” said Diane.

  “I’ll bet they were both shot with the same gun,”
said Jin.

  “Do we have the autopsy report on Blake Stanton?” asked Diane.

  “No,” said David.

  “Can you get it for me, along with McNair’s autopsy report?”

  “Sure,” said David.

  “Good. I’d like to look at the two of them together. I’d also like to know as soon as possible if anyone in the police department recognizes the picture we sent.”

  “I can find that out,” said Neva.

  Diane started to speak just as her cell phone rang. With the sense of dread that Patrice Stanton had inspired in her, she looked at the caller ID. Unknown caller. Shit. But she couldn’t keep avoiding answering any of her phones.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Diane, Frank here.”

  Diane grinned. “Frank, it is so good to hear from you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. How about I come over this evening with dinner and stay the night?”

  “That would be great. It seems that I’m going to need an alibi twenty-four/seven.”

  “What? What are you into now?”

  “That’s the point. I’m not into anything. I’ll explain when I see you.”

  “All right.” There was hesitation in his voice as he let her off the explanation hook. “See you tonight. Pizza?”

  “Pizza’s good.”

  When Diane got off the phone with Frank, she asked David, “I don’t suppose you’ve taken that ad out yet about no murders until we recover? I could really use a night off.”

  “Darn it. No, I haven’t,” said David.

  “You know,” said Jin. “We could be looking at this all wrong. There’s another angle.”

  “What’s that?” asked Diane.

  “Someone could be getting rid of your enemies.”

  Chapter 27

  “Someone could be getting rid of my enemies?” said Diane. She didn’t like this angle at all.

  “You could have a secret admirer who wants to make your problems go away,” said Jin.

  “Let’s say for a moment that this scenario is true,” said Diane. “Then it follows that Patrice is in danger. Well, hell.” She fished the cell phone from her pocket, called Garnett, and relayed Jin’s latest idea.

  “It’s just a thought,” said Diane, “and I think it remote, but you might keep an eye on her.”

  “She’s already requested that we do so. She heard about McNair and has decided that you will be gunning for her next.”

  “Oh, this is just great. You know, Garnett, I do have a reputation to uphold in this town.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Easy for him to say, she thought. “We e-mailed you a likeness of the individual generated from the skull fragments found in the basement,” she said.

  “I got it. I’m showing it around now. This is the first break we’ve had in the meth case. Good job.”

  “Marcus’ men collected the evidence in the basement,” said Diane. “There have to be more bone parts from there. I have a couple of long bones, a rib, and the skull fragments from the basement, that’s it.”

  “Maybe it was all obliterated,” said Garnett.

  “Do you know how hard it is to obliterate bone?” asked Diane.

  “I’ll check on it,” he said.

  “Have you been able to look at any of the other evidence from the basement area?”

  “No. McNair’s unit is working on it. They’ll let me know when they have something.” Garnett thanked her again and hung up.

  Diane thought he was in rather a hurry to get off the phone.

  “Well,” said Diane, “Patrice had the same idea . . . but she’s asked for police protection from me.”

  The three of them laughed. She didn’t think it was funny.

  “I’ll be going through the books we brought from the Cipriano apartment,” said Diane, “while you guys work on the other two cases.”

  The books were stacked in boxes in one of the glassed-in workrooms of the crime lab. The ones David had already gone through were on the table. He had made a list of the titles, authors, copyright dates, editions, and subject matter. She scanned the list, looking for a title, a name, or anything that might sound like the phrase Jere Bowden thought she heard. Nothing sprang from David’s page of notes.

  Diane continued where he left off. She flipped through the books, looking for margin notes or anything stuck between the pages. She went through about twenty books and . . . nothing. David was right. If you don’t know what you’re looking for, you have a hard time finding it.

  She had started on a second boxful when Neva came into the room.

  “I got a call from one of my sources,” she said. “I have some information.” She dragged up a chair and sat down. “It was another jogger who found McNair on the path. He said when he parked his car he saw a guy walking up the road. He was wearing a synthetic black winter coat and bill cap that matched, jeans, and work boots. He had graying dark hair, from what he could see. He noticed him because he didn’t look like either a jogger or hiker. Does that sound familiar?”

  “That’s the description of the guy Jere Bowden saw at Joana Cipriano’s apartment,” said Diane.

  “That’s what they are thinking at Homicide,” said Neva.

  “So the murders are tied together somehow,” said Diane. “How? We haven’t found any evidence that Joana was involved in anything criminal.” For that matter, she thought, they didn’t really know if McNair was involved in anything illegal.

  “I suppose it could be a coincidence,” said Neva. “I mean, after all, it’s not like those are unusual clothes. You could go around the city and find a half dozen men dressed like that this time of year.”

  “I supposed they asked Joana’s ex-husband if she knew McNair?” said Diane.

  “They did, and he said he’d never heard of him. Neither had her mother or her friends,” said Neva.

  “Did the witness have any other information?” asked Diane.

  “Just that he thought the hat was new or the guy was a dork.”

  “Excuse me?” said Diane.

  “The bill on his cap was straight, not curved. You know, you have to train your cap bill to have that curve in it. Most new hats don’t have it. It’s dorky to not train your cap bill.”

  “Of course.” Diane had rolled up many a baseball cap bill and stuck it in a glass to get that curve in it. “If he saw the bill of the cap, did he see a face?”

  “Partial face. The guy’s collar was pulled up and he had his head turtled down and his hands in his pocket as though he was cold.”

  “Thanks, Neva. That’s a good lead. Thank your informant for me.”

  “Sure. The police are kind of funny on this one,” said Neva. “Normally, a member of the fire department like McNair would be held in the same regard as a member of the police department. They would pull out all the stops to find his killer. But McNair was considered lower than Internal Affairs because of the way he’s gotten so many good cops in trouble.” She shook her head. “He was a nasty fellow and he’s sure caused a lot of problems. Garnett has to report directly to the mayor every day. They said he’s pulling his hair out trying to deal with all of this—and he has a nice full head of hair.”

  “I can imagine. When Garnett gets the report on trace from both the crime scenes, get me a copy. I’m particularly interested in the fiber evidence from all the crime scenes.”

  “Sure. You really think you can get Garnett to put in a DNA lab?” asked Neva.

  “I don’t know. The museum might do it if the numbers line up the right way.”

  “Jin’s really excited. Boy, you know how to reward people for accomplishment—shopping in Paris, DNA lab.”

  Diane laughed. “I suppose I do.”

  “OK, Diane,” Frank said after washing down a bite of pizza with a swallow of beer, “tell me about your day.” His blue green eyes glittered with amusement. “Why do you think you will need an alibi?”

  Diane related the entire mess as they sat
at her dining table eating pepperoni, mushroom, and sausage pizza. She started with Blake Stanton trying to hijack her car and ended with McNair taking the evidence.

  “Now both Blake Stanton and Marcus McNair are murdered. A city councilman would like me to be the killer, for some reason I can’t fathom.”

  When she finished, Frank was no longer smiling; his eyes didn’t have that wrinkle in the corners they got when he was amused.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the attempted carjacking?” he asked.

  “It paled in comparison to finding Star,” said Diane. She cleared off her oak dining table and threw the pizza box in the trash. She put the other pizza he brought in the refrigerator. Frank always brought more food than they could possibly eat. A consequence, he said of coming from a family with two older brothers and an older sister.

  “You are also important to me,” he said when she returned to the table with coffee.

  “I know, but it was over, and there would be plenty of opportunities to tell you.”

  “It must have been terrifying, facing a crazed kid with a bloody stump and a gun.”

  “Scary perhaps. He looked mainly pathetic, except for the gun. But what I really need is to find out who killed him and who killed McNair—and Joana Cipriano. You know, everything we’ve found out about her doesn’t point to a person involved in criminal activity. Actually, I don’t know that McNair was involved in anything criminal. It’s just that I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  They moved to her living room. She turned on some music—jazz violin played by Stephan Grappelli—opened up her drapes so they could watch the falling snow, and snuggled up with Frank on her large burgundy and gray striped sofa. She had liked the colors when she got it, but now she wasn’t sure.

  “Why don’t you leave it to Garnett and his detectives?” asked Frank, kissing her temple.

  “Because they aren’t being accused of murder—twice,” countered Diane.

  “Neither are you, really. Just by some crazy woman and a councilman of questionable motives. I know Adler. He’s not aboveboard himself.”