“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 bl
ue 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.”
Diane turned her head to face him. “You think he could be involved in something illegal with his nephew?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. But he’s smart enough to make sure nothing leads to him.”
“Would he have his own nephew killed?” asked Diane.
“That I don’t know. Some days I’d say yes. But hiring a hit is dicey. More often than not, it backfires.”
Diane put her hands to her temples. “I’ve got book titles swimming in my head, and I’m not even sure that Joana’s death had anything to do with books. I’m just at a loss. I’ve been locked out of the information on McNair’s crime scene. I need more data.”
“Now, tell me again why you are not leaving this to the detective in charge of the case?”
“Because I have this crazy woman calling me every time I turn around telling me she is going to stalk me the rest of my natural life, and calling my board members and God knows who else and accusing me of murder.”
Frank kissed her lips, then moved his mouth just a hairsbreadth away from hers. “Are you sure you want to talk about crime right now?”
“What crime?” she whispered.
It had been four days since Frank talked her out of investigating the murders and into simply handling the trace evidence from the crimes they themselves processed. She had to agree that this was far more relaxing. However, Jin, David, and Neva were still on the case. Jin was determined to get his DNA lab.
McNair’s murder had an unexpected effect. Patrice Stanton stopped harassing her by phone. Apparently, she actually thought Diane had killed two people already and she didn’t want to be next. Well, thought Diane, whatever works.
Today, Kendel sat in front of Diane’s desk with several sheets of paper in her hand and a large box under her arm.
“We have a researcher who says he is going to petition the Egyptian government to ask for the return of our mummy if we don’t allow him access,” said Kendel.
Diane sighed. “That’s a new tact.”
“I’ll write a letter to the legal affairs department of his university,” Kendel said. “Maybe they have some influence on him.”
Diane nodded.
“I’ll also see if he’s tried this with other institutions.”
“Do that,” said Diane.
“I wouldn’t worry,” said Kendel.
“I’m not,” said Diane. “Lately I’ve had people threatening worse.”
Kendel smiled. “I guess you have. By the way, Whitney Lester’s starting her management training today.”
“I hope she learns something,” said Diane, eying the box. “What else do we have?”
“Mike sent you a gift. He wanted me to give it to you in person.” Kendel handed Diane the box.
Mike was the curator for the geology collection at the museum and her caving partner, and he had on more than one occasion suggested that he would like to be more.
Diane smiled. “What is it? Do you know?” She weighed the box in her hands. “It’s heavy.”
“It is,” said Kendel. “Open it.” Kendel sat back smiling. “It’s something you’ll like.”
Diane cut the tape on the box. Inside was filled with Styrofoam peanuts. She stood and put her hands down in the box, spilling the peanuts all over her desk. She found a roundish object wrapped in bubble wrap. She pulled it out and cut off the wrapping.
“Oh, my,” said Diane, “this is lovely. You’re right, I do like it. I love it.”
She turned it around in her hand and looked at it. It was something Diane had wanted for a long time-a crystal skull carved out of quartz.
Chapter 28
Diane set the skull on her desk under a lamp and watched the light play off the surfaces. She placed her fingertips on the top of the skull and caressed it. It was as smooth as glass. The sutures etched into its surface were perfect. It was a beautiful piece. She opened the card that came with it.
If you look into its eyes you will be transported away.
I miss our caving.
— Mike.
Another thing she and Mike had in common was a love of science fiction. In particular, they both liked Stargate-SG1. His note referred to an episode in that series. He was right. Staring into the eyes, she was transported.
“Aren’t you tempted just a little?” asked Kendel.
Diane was startled out of her reverie. Kendel’s voice abruptly transported her back from wherever she was.
“Tempted?” Diane asked.
“Mike.”
“I’m seeing someone that I like very much. Mike is younger than I, and he works for me.”
“That wasn’t what I asked,” said Kendel.
Diane smiled at her. “That is all the answer you’re going to get.”
“Well, I’d be tempted. And I’m dating a great guy whom I like very much. Just one of Mike’s crooked smiles in my direction and I’d melt.”
“I like the skull,” said Diane, evading any talk of Mike and his crooked smile. “Did you help him find it?”
“I did. It wasn’t easy finding one that nice and that large, but I managed,” she said.
Diane imagined she did manage. Kendel was the best at finding things.
“I understand you’ve been visited by headhunters,” said Diane.
Kendel had not tried to hide the fact that other museums had contacted her. Diane knew it would happen. She had been lucky to hire Kendel. Now that other museums were seeing her work, Diane knew they would be interested in her.
Kendel nodded. “Still have my head.” She grinned. “The Illinoisan and the Smithsonian are looking for upper management.”
“Kendel, you are well qualified for a director’s position. I don’t want you to stay here out of a sense of loyalty if something good comes your way.”
/> Kendel shook her head. “They weren’t looking for a director.”
“Even so, those are big museums.”
“The thing I liked about RiverTrail from the beginning was the quality of the collections and the physical facilities. The collections here may be small, but they are good and the potential for this museum to grow is tremendous. You have the space and the resources. That’s not true of other museums.”
Diane agreed. Good quality space is something they had in abundance, and they had strong financial resources.
“I can make a substantial contribution to a museum like this one,” continued Kendel. “The effect of my work would have much less impact at a really big museum. The geology collection here is already one of the best in the Southeast and it keeps growing. On each of Mike’s excursions he sends back a unique selection of rock and mineral specimens and their petro-genesis. More and more of Bartram’s graduate students in geology are coming to the museum to use our reference collection in their research. I’ve been working closely with the Geology Department on their exhibits. They’re one of our strengths.”
Diane knew that was true. The geology exhibits alone had raised the museum’s ranking in the eyes of neighboring universities.
“I’m pleased to hear that you’re happy here. I just want you to feel free to consider options when the headhunters come to you.”
“Not a problem. That’s another thing, they can’t offer me the freedom I have here. Another quality I like about this museum is the lack of politics-and that’s mainly your influence. I can concentrate on the collections and not constantly worry about sensitive egos and political agendas. Other museums aren’t like that. This is a good place.”
RiverTrail was indeed a good place. Diane counted it as one of her major jobs as director to keep it always a good place.
Kendel was summoned back to her office for some pressing matter, and Diane went to her other job-the one in the crime lab-for a different kind of pressing matter.
“We have the autopsy reports for Blake Stanton and Marcus McNair,” said Neva.
“Bring them to my osteology office,” said Diane, as she passed through. Even though she was more relaxed taking a hands-off approach to the investigations, she had had enough. It was not in her nature to avoid the thick of things.
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