Dead Past dffi-4

by Beverly Connor

  “That’s also the time she acquired the doll her grandmother accused her of stealing.”

  “OK, that’s interesting, too. What else?”

  “I asked her grandmother to send the doll to me. She delivered it in person. She was with me when Juliet had her flashback.”

  “Maybe the doll is what triggered…”

  “She didn’t see the doll. It was wrapped up. My original idea was to give you the doll to integrate into her therapy, or whatever. But her grandmother said something about the doll that reminded me of things I did as a kid. She said the doll had a secret.”

  “And?” prompted Laura when Diane didn’t say anything.

  “Do you remember how I used to play with my dolls?”

  “You mean tear their heads off?”

  “Funny. No, those were my sister’s Barbies. I hid secret messages inside mine.”

  “I remember now. You were a cross between Dr. Frankenstein and Mata Hari,” said Laura. “That’s probably why I went into psychiatry-to understand your childhood, rather than mine.”

  “You’re really full of yourself today, aren’t you? Well, wait until you hear.”

  Diane described her dismemberment of Juliet’s doll and what she found inside.

  “You’re not kidding? You actually found something?”

  Diane smiled with satisfaction at Laura’s amazement.

  “Now I just have to decode it, provided it’s not a meaningless string of gibberish-which it most likely is.”

  “You have surprised me again. Send the doll to me and I’ll keep it here and talk with Juliet about it,” said Laura.

  “OK. I’ll bring it by.” Diane hung up the phone, put on her coat, and took the package out of her drawer.

  “Andie,” she said as she walked through her office, “I’m going to drop a package by Laura Hillard’s. I’ll be back within the hour. Call the crime lab and tell David to expect me.”

  “Sure.”

  Diane walked to her car, clicking open the locks on the way. It was still cold. She thought she heard on the weather forecast that it was going to warm up. She was about to open her door when she felt the point of a gun barrel stuck in her back.

  Chapter 42

  Diane’s first emotion was disbelief. Here in front of the museum with so many people coming and going, someone was holding a gun on her? It had to be a joke. Then came the voice-a throaty blend of age and years of smoking cigarettes.

  “Just give me the package,” he said. “If you don’t, I have no problem opening fire on the line of tourists unloading from that bus over here behind us.”

  Diane had seen the tour bus arriving when she walked out. She handed him the package over her shoulder.

  “Now, that’s good. All you have to do now is stand here looking inside your car for five minutes while we get out of here. Same thing applies. You move or try to get a look and I’ll open fire. Nod your head if we have an agreement.”

  Diane nodded. She felt the pressure release from her back and she heard the footfalls walk away. She didn’t move her head; she couldn’t risk the safety of the visitors. But she shifted her eyes looking for a reflective surface somewhere in her car to perhaps see something of the gunman. There was none. She waited for several minutes until the passengers from the bus were inside the museum. It was another field trip of schoolchildren. She watched as they passed her car and filed into the building.

  She closed her car door and went back into the museum. Fear wasn’t her strongest emotion at the moment. It was anger. It was one thing to threaten her, but to casually threaten a busload of children. She went straight to the Security office. Chanell was in her office on the phone. She hung up just as Diane walked through the door.

  “Good news, we’ve got a line on several of the stolen items,” she began before Diane interrupted her.

  “I need to see the security tapes for the last ten minutes. Start with the camera near my parking space.

  Chanell’s coffee-colored face went from a bright smile to a frown. “Is something wrong?”

  “Someone pulled a gun on me at my car and stole a package I was carrying,” said Diane.

  “What? Here? Now?” Chanell made a beeline to the room with the video monitors.

  “Stefan! What have you been watching?” said Chanell.

  She stood with her hands on her hips next to a young man with brown hair with blond highlights who was wearing a brown museum security uniform. He looked up at Chanell with startled hazel eyes.

  “The tour buses, you told me to always make sure to keep an eye on them.”

  “Where was your other eye?” she asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Dr. Fallon was robbed at gunpoint at her car in the parking lot,” said Chanell.

  His eyes grew wide with what looked like fear. “Where was she?” he said.

  “At her car, in her parking space.” Chanell tapped the center of the appropriate monitor with each syllable.

  “I… I was looking at the schoolkids getting off the bus,” he said.

  “Call up the video for the last ten minutes,” said Diane.

  Stefan punched the keyboard, and a video came up showing the area of the parking lot that included Diane’s car parked beside Kendel’s Mercedes convertible. He sped forward for several seconds to the point the video showed Diane coming out of the museum and going to the driver’s side of her car. A man several inches taller than Diane walked between Kendel’s car and Diane, reached in his pocket, and pulled out a gun. He looked around for the first time, as if to see if anyone was watching.

  “Stop it there,” said Diane. “Give me a close-up of his face.”

  Stefan selected the face and enlarged it. It didn’t really help. It was a profile: He had on sunglasses, his collar was pulled up, and his stocking cap was pulled down over his ears. The clearest view was of his nose.

  “Enlarge the gun,” said Diane.

  A picture of a gun showed up on the screen. “That looks like a 1911 Army automatic,” said Diane.

  “Sure does,” said Chanell. “That’s an old gun.”

  “Let the video run,” said Diane.

  She watched as the man held the gun to her back and as she handed over the doll. He walked away with the package tucked under one arm and the gun in his pocket. There was an instant that showed his face and Diane asked Stefan to isolate it, save it, and send it to her crime lab.

  “The gun, too,” she said.

  She watched the gunman walk out of the picture. “Follow him,” said Diane.

  “Huh?” said Stefan.

  “What is the next camera that has him in sight?” said Chanell.

  “Oh.” Stefan called up the same time on another camera.

  Diane watched a view from the back of him walking away and getting into a blue Chevrolet Impala.

  “Try for the license number,” said Diane, as she picked up the phone.

  Stefan zoomed in on the rear of the Impala, but the best they could see from the camera angle was a blurred partial.

  “Send that partial of the plate to David in the crime lab. He may be able to enhance it. And see if you can get the car’s interior and send it to the crime lab, too,” said Diane.

  “You won’t be able to see his face at all,” said Stefan, “even in the mirror.”

  “Don’t go second-guessing Dr. Fallon… Do what she says,” said Chanell.

  Diane dialed 911.

  “This is 911 Emergency. What is the nature of your emergency?”

  “This is Diane Fallon. I’m director of the crime lab. I was just robbed at gunpoint in the parking lot, in the past ten minutes.”

  “Are there injuries, ma’am?”

  “There are no injuries. No medical attention is required.”

  “Is the perpetrator still on the premises, ma’am?”

  “No. No one is in immediate danger here. The perpetrator escaped the crime scene in a late model dark blue Chevrolet Impala, possibly a 1999 year model. We don’t know
his direction of travel. There was probably one or more other persons in the car with him.”

  “Do you have a license number for the vehicle, ma’am?”

  “Not at this time. We may be able to get one from the security tape.”

  “Hold on just one minute, ma’am. I’ll get right back to you. Stay on the line.”

  Diane was put on hold, and almost immediately they heard the police alert on Chanell’s police radio monitor. Then the operator was back.

  “Ma’am, are you there?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Officers have been dispatched to your location and should be there within ten minutes. Will you be there when they arrive?”

  “My chief of security, Chanell Napier, will be our point of contact here.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we know Officer Napier. Officers will be in touch with her in the next ten minutes. Can you give me a description of the perpetrator?”

  “He was a male Caucasian, approximately six feet, appears to be middle-aged, husky voice, wearing a black ski cap, a dark blue bulky winter coat, and sunglasses. He was armed with what appears to be a model 1911.45 caliber Army automatic pistol, silver finish, which he was last seen carrying in his coat pocket.”

  “Just one moment, ma’am. Please stay on the line.”

  Diane was again put on temporary hold, and again they heard the description broadcast over the police radio, and the warning-Armed and Dangerous. Then Diane was connected back with the emergency operator.

  “We have security videos showing the incident,” said Diane. “Please see that Chief Garnett is notified immediately that the perpetrator may be the same suspect sought in the Joana Cipriano murder.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Chief Garnett has been notified. I will transmit that information to him. Do you need any other assistance at this time?”

  “No. We are fine here. Thank you for your help.”

  “Yes, ma’am. An officer is at your location now.”

  They looked up to see a Rosewood police officer entering through the doors of the museum Security office. Diane thanked the operator again and hung up the phone.

  “Thanks, Chanell,” said Diane. “Will you handle this with the police, please? I have to go see someone right away. Tell them the package he stole contained a doll, approximately twelve inches high, dark hair, dressed in a green satin dress with white fur trim. The perp may have it with him if he is caught. Call me if you need me.”

  Diane left the Security office and walked briskly to the restaurant, hoping that Juliet and her grandmother were still there.

  “Do you want to be seated, Dr. Fallon?” the hostess asked.

  “I’m looking for someone, thank you.” As Diane’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkened interior, she spotted Juliet and her grandmother getting up from the booth. She walked over to them.

  “Juliet, why don’t you and your grandmother sit down a moment.”

  Diane drew up a chair from another table and sat down at the end of their booth. Where do I start? she asked herself.

  “Someone just stole the doll,” said Diane.

  “What?” said Juliet. “Stole the doll? Why?”

  “I told you to hang on to it,” said Mrs. Torkel. “Someone tried to get it from me when we were helping Juliet, and I had to elbow them out of the way.”

  “You mean someone besides the security guard?” asked Diane.

  “Yes. When we were helping Juliet into the back room,” said Mrs. Torkel. “Did they snatch it from you? You should have given them a good elbow.”

  “No, I was taking it to Laura Hillard and a man pulled a gun on me,” said Diane.

  Both of them looked at Diane with open mouths.

  “A gun?” said Juliet. “Here in the museum?”

  “In the parking lot,” said Diane.

  “What’s the world coming to?” exclaimed her grandmother.

  “Don’t worry about the doll,” said Juliet.

  “It’s not the doll that I’m worried about,” said Diane.

  She took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Juliet, I want you and your grandmother to stay in a hotel. The museum will pay for it.”

  “Why?” Juliet looked alarmed.

  “Because of the doll?” said Mrs. Torkel. “It was just a doll.”

  “Juliet, I’m trying very hard not to alarm you.”

  “I don’t think you’re doing a very good job of it,” said Mrs. Torkel.

  “Gramma!” said Juliet.

  “It’s OK,” said Diane. “She’s right. Juliet, you know someone was murdered in your apartment building.”

  “Oh, goodness gracious,” said Mrs. Torkel.

  “Yes. They had an address similar to mine and it frightened me.”

  “I know. Did you know the murdered woman?” asked Diane.

  “No,” said Juliet, “I never met her.”

  “Joana Cipriano, the murdered girl, didn’t look like you, but her general physical description was the same-blond hair, blue eyes-living in your apartment building. Someone who hadn’t seen you for a long time or perhaps had an old picture might mistake one of you for the other,” said Diane. “We have reason to believe that her murderer drove a blue Chevrolet Impala. The man who stole the doll also drove a blue Chevrolet Impala.”

  “Oh,” said Juliet. She drew a deep breath. “I’m not crazy, am I?”

  “No,” said Diane. “You are definitely not crazy.”

  “I’ve always been afraid that someone was after me, even though I couldn’t remember the kidnapping. But still, why would he come back after all these years?”

  “Juliet, when you played with your dolls, did you ever hide messages inside them?”

  Juliet looked at Diane with a blank stare. So did her grandmother.

  “Why in the world would she do that?” said Mrs. Torkel.

  “Just for fun,” said Diane, hoping not to have to explain her own childhood play.

  “No,” said Juliet. “You mean like cut them open? I’d have to tear up the doll to do that.”

  “Not really. They can be put back together fairly easily-most of the time.” Diane paused a moment.

  Juliet and her grandmother looked at her as if they were beginning to doubt her sanity.

  “Your grandmother said you told her that the doll had a secret,” she continued.

  Juliet shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

  “That’s what you told me, dear,” said her grandmother.

  “To me that meant one thing,” said Diane. “There might be a message inside the doll.”

  “Well, how the heck did you get here from there?” said her grandmother.

  “It was the way I played with my dolls. I won’t get into that now, but I found that your doll had been restitched at the arm… so I took it apart.”

  “Took it apart?” said Ruby Torkel.

  “I put it back together,” said Diane. “It’s as good as new.”

  “Did you find anything?” asked Juliet.

  She was wide-eyed at this point. Diane didn’t know if it was from Diane’s effrontery, the odd way she played with dolls as a child, or the fact that there might have been a message hidden in the stolen doll.

  “Yes, I did,” said Diane. “There was a roll of paper inside with some kind of code written on it. I asked if you hid messages in your dolls because I wanted to know if it might have been something that you left, and not be of any importance to recent events. But since someone stole the doll, perhaps this is connected… ” Diane pulled the paper from her pocket. “This is what was printed on a strip of yellowed newsprint.”

  Both of them looked at the letters.

  “Surely this is not about Leo Parrish,” said Mrs. Torkel with a snort, sitting back in her seat.

  Chapter 43

  “Who is Leo Parrish?” asked Diane.

  “That name sounds familiar,” said Juliet.

  “It should, dear. It’s an old legend that’s hung around Glendale-Marsh for years.�
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  The waitress came by and asked if they wanted coffee. Diane was at the point where a beer would have been nice, but the effects of caffeine would work just fine, too. The three of them ordered coffee.

  “Leo Parrish was this young man…” Ruby Torkel stopped. “I need to start before Leo. I need to start with the hurricane. In 1935 or thereabouts, a hurricane struck the Florida Keys and killed an awful lot of people. I was just a little baby then. They called it the Labor Day storm. They didn’t give hurricanes names back then. Anyway, a train was sent to rescue people stuck on the Florida Keys. Legend has it that a man in the path of the coming storm talked someone at the railroad into letting him stash his gold on the train. Now, this is what don’t make sense to me. The train was going to the Keys when the gold was loaded onto the train-going into the path of the storm, not away from it-that’s the story. Why would he put his fortune on a train going into the hurricane?”

  “Maybe he had to leave town or had to protect his fortune for some reason,” said Juliet. “He had only one chance to put the gold on the train, and he believed the train would weather the storm and eventually get to safety. He probably figured the railroad company knew what they were doing and would not send a train into a situation it couldn’t come out of. They had more to lose than he did.”

  “Maybe,” conceded her grandmother. “Now the details change depending who’s telling it. Some say the man’s gold came from a Spanish treasure ship. Some say it’s gold from the Civil War. I say it’s a load of malarkey.” She took a sip of coffee. “You think I could have another piece of that chocolate cake? It would go real good with this cup of coffee.”

  Diane called the waitress over and ordered Mrs. Torkel another piece of cake.

  “Anyway, the train never made it to the Keys. It got washed off the tracks, and the money, or gold, or whatever it was, supposedly got washed away in the ocean, or the river, or covered up by mud. Like I say, the story changes.”

  “I never heard this story,” said Juliet.

  “Oh, sure, you did. You must have. Everybody in Glendale-Marsh knows the story,” said Mrs. Torkel.

  “What about Leo Parrish?” asked Juliet.