Dead Secret dffi-3

by Beverly Connor

  “I’ll take good care of both of them.” Frank gave Mike one of what Diane called his prankish smiles.

  “That’s funny,” said Mike.

  “Seriously. Neva’ll be safe.” Frank fished a card and a pen from his pocket. “I’m writing my home phone and my cell phone on my card. If you need anything, give me a call.”

  Mike took the card and looked at it and then back up at Frank. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Do what the doctors tell you. I know it’s frustrating, believe me. But you’re no good to anybody if you don’t take care of yourself first.”

  Diane took Mike’s hand and squeezed it. His hands were rough from the heavy calluses he had developed rock climbing, and even ill he had a strong grip.

  “Listen to Frank,” she said. “I expect a lot of work from you when you recover.”

  He smiled, but his eyes still looked worried. Diane left feeling sorry for him.

  “He’ll be all right,” said Frank as they reached the elevator.

  “I know. It’s just that. . that I’m beginning to feel like some kind of bad-luck charm to everyone around me.”

  The elevator doors opened and they stepped in. Frank put an arm around Diane’s shoulders and pulled her to him. “I know, but that’s not how it is. If Mike thought you were such bad luck, he wouldn’t still be interested in you.”

  “He isn’t, really. It’s become sort of a game.”

  “Oh, he’s interested.”

  “You enjoyed yourself inviting Neva to stay at your house, didn’t you?”

  “I am genuinely concerned about her.” Frank grinned. “Playing with Mike’s head was just a bonus.”

  They walked out to the parking lot. As Frank started the engine and put his car in gear, Diane laid a hand on his arm. “Do we have time to run by Neva’s? It’s on the way.”

  “Sure. What’s her address?”

  Neva lived on a dead-end street in a neighborhood that was a combination of blue-collar and student housing. Two police cars were parked in front of her white frame house. Across the street a small crowd had formed. Half of them looked like students. Diane got out of the car and scanned the faces. A young woman, stout and squarely built, dressed in cutoffs and a tank top, yelled from the crowd.

  “My house was robbed and I can’t get the police to even come and take my statement. One of their own gets robbed and you’d think it was the president’s house.”

  Diane heard a couple of people shout their approval and someone else tell her to shut the fuck up. Frank and Diane ignored them and walked up to the porch.

  “Neva,” she called.

  Neva came to the door. “They’ve done the porch and front entry. David’s processed a walkway though the house. You can come in.”

  Diane had been in Neva’s house several times, picking her up to go caving. Neva liked to call her decor “early attic.” Her furniture was a combination of hand-me-downs from her parents and inexpensive furniture from Wal-Mart and secondhand stores. Nonetheless, it had a style to it. Neva had an artist’s eye for decorating. It shocked Diane to see it now.

  The sofa and stuffed chairs were slashed and the filling pulled out. Everything had been sprayed with a swath of black paint. All the chairs were overturned. On the wall over her sofa the words stupid fucking bitch were painted in red and black paint. The sentiment was repeated in the bedroom, where her mattress and pillows were also slashed.

  “They did a number, didn’t they?” said Neva, surveying the ruins of her home. “Whoever it was spray-painted my clothes in the closets and drawers. I must have really pissed somebody off.” She blew her nose with a Kleenex and dried her eyes with another.

  The glass shelves that used to stand against the wall were shattered. Among the shards of glass, Neva’s collection of polymer clay animals that she sculpted were lying in fragments.

  David came in from the kitchen and stood beside her. “Notice anything funny about the glass shelves?”

  Diane knelt and looked at the broken glass. Frank stared over her shoulder. She glanced at the overturned frame that once held the shelves and back at the pattern of broken shards.

  “Whoever it was took the shelves apart, laid them on the floor, and stepped on them.”

  David nodded. “That’s what it looks like. The police can’t find anyone who heard anything. From the look of the place, you’d think all her neighbors were stone-deaf. But if you look closer at everything he or she did, you’ll see that the perp was quiet, deliberately going from room to room breaking things without making much noise.”

  A chill went up Diane’s spine.

  The ride to the airport was unexpectedly calming. Diane hated Atlanta traffic, even as a passenger. It was either moving really fast en masse, or at a dead standstill waiting for a wreck to be cleared. It was fast and crowded today, but sitting talking to Frank in the confines of his car was a comfort.

  “It will probably be easier than you think to get this mess with your mother sorted out,” said Frank. “I’ll do what I can from this end. I have some contacts in Alabama, and I’ll ask them to take a look at their files.”

  “I really do appreciate this, Frank. I’m glad you know about this kind of stuff.”

  He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Me too,” he said.

  Diane watched the landscape passing by for a moment-the houses, apartments, businesses, all the places where people clustered-all the places where they hurt each other.

  “You know, sometimes I think about getting out of the crime business again. I get so tired seeing the work of evil people, but lately it’s like. . ” She paused again, looking at the distant horizon. “Like it wouldn’t do any good. The evil’s spilled over into my life-following me to funerals, following my family. There are just too many criminals in the world.”

  “I know what you mean,” Frank said. “Most of the people I deal with are just greedy, but they have no conscience whatsoever about screwing up someone’s life, stealing money from people who need it the most. And even when I catch the bad guys, I usually can’t restore what’s been taken. I had a case of identity theft not long ago. Caught the guy, but the victim killed himself because he thought everything he had was gone. The tragedy was, I got back his money, just not soon enough. It turned out the same guy had scammed him before.” Frank shook his head. “The perp’s attitude was that the guy was just too stupid to learn and was better off dead. I would like to have arrested the guy for murder.”

  “At least you could put him in jail for a while.”

  “We have a good ADA. In the past, juries have wanted to let white-collar criminals off-they can always afford good lawyers. But this ADA’s really good at making the jury walk in the victim’s shoes. They end up feeling like if they let him go, their life savings are next.” Frank put his hand on the back of Diane’s neck. “How’s the arm feel?”

  “Sore as hell.”

  Frank had helped her change the bandage the evening before. It was healing well, but still red and sore-looking. She hated the perp every time she moved her arm.

  “You know,” she said, “all in all, despite the crime, I like my life. I love the museum, the people who work for me; I like solving puzzles. I’m really enjoying working on Caver Doe’s bones.”

  “Yeah, I like the museum too-I even think Mike’s a good guy.”

  Diane laughed. “You know, he’s always been appropriate with me.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but there is nothing like that secret love for an unattainable woman.”

  “You sound like you speak from experience.” Diane looked over at Frank and could see his smile spread across his face.

  “When I was nineteen, home from college for the summer, this couple moved in next door. She was just the most beautiful woman I had ever seen-long black hair, green eyes, long legs. It was love at first sight. The hardest part was keeping my brothers from finding out how I felt. I’d never have heard the end of it.”

  Frank turned the car onto the r
oad leading to the airport terminal. “I can’t even remember what the husband looked like, but I remember her. I mowed their lawn, did chores, anything, just to catch a glimpse of her. It was a wonderful summer.” He drove up to the dropoff area. “I have to let you out and go to work. I hope that’s all right.”

  “I’ll be fine.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss. “So unattainable women inspire desire in young males. Is that what you are saying?”

  “More or less.”

  Diane started to get out of the car. Suddenly she turned back to Frank. “She didn’t remain unattainable, did she?”

  Frank didn’t say anything. He only gave her an amused smile that made his eyes glitter.

  “I’ve got to hear about this when I get back.”

  “Have a good trip. Give me a call this evening.”

  Diane retrieved her bag from the backseat and headed inside the Atlanta airport. She dreaded this trip.

  Chapter 20

  Had she been feeling better and had more time, Diane would have driven the five hours from Rosewood to Birmingham. But she didn’t have the time, nor could she face the traffic through Atlanta or driving for that many hours.

  The flight was not a lot better. It was short, but turbulent. The five-year-old sitting behind her kicked her seat the whole way. She turned around once to say something to the mother, but saw that she was young, alone and barely holding herself together. Diane smiled at her and said nothing. By the time the plane set down at the Birmingham airport, Diane was nauseated.

  From the air, downtown Birmingham reminded Diane of one of those 1950s photographs of any steel-mill city, though the furnaces were gone now, along with all the enterprises connected with them. Everything about Birmingham was downsized and laid-back compared to Atlanta. The airport was postage stamp-size compared to the Atlanta airport, and not nearly as hectic. Diane had heard it said in Georgia that Birmingham was 120 miles and fifty years away from Atlanta. Alabamians said that the road to hell ran through Atlanta. Truth on both sides, she thought. For her personally, it was like a trip back in time.

  She collected her bag from the overhead compartment and walked with the other passengers down the long passageway past security to where she hoped to see Susan waiting for her. She searched the crowd for her face.

  “Diane. Over here.”

  Susan stood in back of the waiting crowd, waving her arm. She looked just as Diane remembered her-conservative tailored dress, shoulder-length brown hair parted on the side with the ends turned under. A contrast in every way to Diane’s slacks, blazer and short-cut hair.

  Diane walked around the escalators taking passengers to the luggage pickup and over to her sister. The hug was perfunctory, their cheeks barely touching. Diane felt awkward. She wondered if Susan dreaded the arguments that would come as much as she did.

  “Susan, I hope you didn’t have to wait long. We were late taking off.”

  “No. I had to be here anyway to bring the kids to the airport. We sent them to stay with Gerald’s sister until this is cleared up.”

  Diane was disappointed. “I’m sorry I missed them.”

  Susan’s mouth stretched into what she probably thought was a smile. “They wanted to see you too. Especially Kayla. She’ll be starting college next fall.” Susan fished an envelope from her purse. “She wrote you a letter and wanted me to give it to you. She was hoping maybe next summer to get a job at the museum.”

  Diane smiled, glad to have something she could offer, glad her niece wanted to work at the museum. “Sure. There are several jobs she’d like. Is she wanting a museum career?”

  “No, she wants to be an archaeologist. Gerald and I are trying to talk her into something more useful, but kids can be so impractical.” Susan turned toward the escalators. “Baggage claim is downstairs.”

  “I have everything in here,” Diane said, holding up her duffel bag.

  “Is that all? We need you to stay awhile and help us with this.”

  Susan continued talking as they walked out of the airport terminal and crossed the street to short-term parking. “I’m glad to get out of there. I just don’t like being in the airport longer than I have to. There’s all kinds of people in there that I don’t like near me.”

  Diane let that pass. “I’ll stay as long as I’m needed. I’m hoping we can get Mother out quickly.”

  “We all hope that, but Alan says-” Susan stopped suddenly. “This is my car.”

  She pushed the remote and unlocked the door of a Lincoln Town Car. Diane put her bag in the rear seat and buckled herself in the front seat.

  “I have an appointment with a criminal lawyer this afternoon,” said Diane. “I thought the two of us could go.”

  Susan was backing out of the parking space, but stopped abruptly, throwing Diane against her seat back, hurting her arm.

  “Shit, Susan, what are you doing?”

  “Mother is not a criminal!”

  “No, she isn’t. But she is in the criminal justice system, and we have to get her out of it. That calls for a criminal lawyer. Let’s not argue about this.”

  Susan drove the winding circular exit lane through the parking deck out to the street. “We thought with your contacts in the State Department you could help learn what this is about. Have you called them?”

  “No. We first need to find out why she’s being held. The State Department probably has nothing to do with it.”

  Susan sighed heavily. Diane hated that sound.

  “And I suppose you have a theory?”

  “Yes, a couple. I’ve talked to a friend who’s a detective in the Metro Atlanta Fraud and Computer Forensics Unit. He believes she may be a victim of identity theft.”

  “That’s stupid. Her credit cards weren’t stolen.”

  “No, but her identity may have been. It’s like, say I’m caught for shoplifting, and when I’m arrested I give them your name and Social Security number. I could just not show up for trial and they would go looking for you.” A scenario that at the moment sounded rather appealing to Diane. “I believe something like that may have happened to Mother.”

  Susan didn’t say anything, and Diane knew that meant her sister found her argument persuasive but didn’t want to admit it.

  “Susan, we can go at it from both angles. Alan can follow his theory, I’ll follow mine, and maybe between us we can get Mother out. This isn’t a contest. The goal is to get Mother back.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” admitted Susan. “You said on the phone that you had a medical procedure. How are you?”

  “I’m doing okay. A little sore. I was stabbed in the arm.”

  Susan looked over at her, then back to the road. “Well, if you insist on dealing in crime. .”

  Diane had decided on the plane that the best way to get through this visit with her family was to say as little as possible and stay focused on the task at hand.

  “I was at the funeral for one of Rosewood’s most prominent citizens,” Diane said.

  “I read about that in the paper.” Susan gasped. “They said a student was stabbed.”

  “That’s true. I didn’t know I was also stabbed until later. The, uh, knife was very sharp.”

  “God, what’s the world coming to?” said Susan. She turned a corner sharply, and Diane held on to the handle above the door for support.

  “That’s what we’ve been asking ourselves,” Diane said, keeping her mouth firmly closed about Susan’s driving.

  Diane’s sister drove to Mountain Brook, one of the wealthy suburbs of Birmingham populated by new money in old mansions that were layered on wooded hillsides above narrow, winding quiet streets whose curbs were lined with expensive automobiles. Her parents’ home was a large rock-faced structure that looked like an English manor. Susan lived next door in an equally large brick home built a century ago by a steel tycoon. She drove up the steep, winding drive to the garage and parked the car.

  “You’ll be staying at Mother and Dad’s. I’ve made up the guest room for
you. We’re all having dinner there this evening-including Alan. I hope that’s not a problem.”

  “No. Whatever all of you feel comfortable with.”

  Susan gave another one of her exasperated sighs. “It’s not about our comfort. Alan is a friend of the family and is Mother and Dad’s lawyer.”

  “That reminds me,” said Diane. “We have an appointment in an hour and a half. Do you want to go with me, or do you want me to handle it?”

  “I’ll go with you. Like you said, going at it from two directions won’t hurt. Dad went in briefly to the firm today. He’ll be home in an hour or two.”

  Diane got out of the car and grabbed her bag from the rear seat. “I’ll just freshen up a bit and we can get started.”

  Daniel Reynolds’s office was over the mountain in downtown Birmingham. They made it with five minutes to spare and were ushered straight into his office by a young woman. Reynolds was sitting at a large dark-wood library table stacked with files. His desk was much older, with scrollwork around the sharp edges. Both looked antique. The desktop held pens, a pad of paper and a telephone. All the office walls were lined with glass-enclosed bookshelves filled with law books. There was no computer visible in his office.

  Reynolds himself looked like he belonged out West working cattle. Not because of what he wore-he had on a silver-gray dress shirt and gray suit pants with dark gray suspenders, his suit coat thrown over the back of his chair. It was his rugged face that made him look like a cowboy, that and his wiry steel-gray hair. He stood and held out his hand. Diane and Susan shook it in turn and introduced themselves.

  “One of you is from Georgia?” He gestured to two chairs.

  “That’s Diane,” said Susan. “She lives in Rosewood, Georgia.” She sat down, holding her purse in her lap, and fidgeted with the strap. “I live in Mountain Brook. My husband is in business with my father. They have a brokerage firm here in Birmingham-Fallon and Abernathy. Diane. . Diane has several jobs.”

  Diane suppressed a smile. Susan made it sound like she worked at McDonald’s during the week and Waffle House on weekends. “I’m director of the RiverTrail Museum of Natural History, as well as the director of the Rosewood Crime Lab and the Aidan Kavanagh Forensic Anthropology Lab.”