She was a person of interest in two murders and the Phantom Hawk cases. Not that he believed for one second that she’d committed either of the murders, but as for the other, if she was the cat burglar, she was playing a game of deception and all the more reason to guard his heart.
She hadn’t stolen anything. Immaterial. Elle had been less than honest with him, and he wasn’t going that route again. Or was he? Maybe Elle wasn’t the person to compare Kelsey with since she’d admitted she was wrong. His cell rang and he glanced at the ID. Elle? “Hello?” he said.
“Good. You’re not tied up.”
“I’m on my way across town to interview someone.”
“This won’t take a second. I thought I’d make dinner for us tomorrow night.”
She was wasting no time. “I don’t know. Can’t tell you what time I’ll finish up tomorrow.”
“But aren’t you working on old cases now? I thought that was a nine-to-five job.”
“It is still an investigation, and things come up.”
“Of course.” Silence stretched between them. “Instead of my place, why don’t I make dinner at your house? I have work I can do on my computer until you get home.”
Elle was trying, he’d have to give her that. “That sounds good,” he said.
“Is your key still where it was before?”
She remembered. “Yes. On a nail in the garage.”
“Good. Tomorrow night, I’ll just let myself in and have dinner ready for you when you get home.”
Brad disconnected. Elle making dinner for him should have him over the moon. He tapped the steering wheel. It was worrying about this case—that was the problem. And when it was over, he could focus on their relationship.
That settled, he turned his attention to the interview with Sergeant Warren, and twenty minutes later he turned into the nursing home drive. An aide helped him find the right room, telling him that Harvey Warren’s roommate had been transported to the hospital for tests. The sergeant was sitting up in bed and hadn’t changed much in his retirement—still had a full head of white hair and appeared to be trim. Brad showed his gold badge and said, “Sergeant Warren, you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Brad Hollister.”
Creases formed above his blue eyes, and then recognition smoothed his brow. “I do remember you. Have a seat and tell me what a homicide detective wants with an old coot like me.”
The sergeant hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “Actually, I’ve transferred to the Cold Case Unit, and I’d like to ask a few questions about one of your cases.”
Interest lit his face. “Which one?”
“The Paul Carter case.” When he didn’t seem to recognize the name, Brad added, “After his disappearance twenty-eight years ago, artifacts were discovered missing from the Pink Palace.”
“That is a cold case. Carter . . . Pink Palace . . .” He rubbed his neck. “I transferred from Robbery about that time . . .” He looked up. “Do you have the file?”
Brad had hoped he might remember it without the file, that for some reason it had stood out in his mind. He handed him the folder and sat in the chair by the bed while Warren read the first page.
Nodding, he turned to the second page. “I remember this now. Seemed like it was pretty straightforward. I was investigating Carter’s disappearance when missing artifacts came to light. The man just dropped out of sight. I concluded that he stole the artifacts and then relocated.”
“I saw that, but can you remember any details that might not be in your report?”
Warren popped a toothpick into the corner of his mouth and flipped through the rest of the file, quickly scanning each page, and then he went back to the beginning and flipped through the pages again. “I thought I referenced an audit at the museum, but I don’t see it here.”
“An audit?” He’d like to see if the audit was different from the list Tomlinson had sent him.
“Yeah. As I recall, the president of the museum’s board of trustees requested an audit . . . at least I think it was him. It’s been so long ago, and my memory isn’t what it used to be.”
“So when you first investigated his disappearance, you didn’t know anything was missing?”
“You’re right. Originally I did think there might be foul play involved, and then someone told me there had been rumors floating around before he left that someone was stealing the artifacts. After that came to light, I concluded he’d hightailed it out of town with the pieces.”
It still looked like that was what had happened. “Do you remember who the president was?” Brad could get the name, but it’d be quicker if Warren remembered.
He chewed the toothpick. “King, I believe. Or Allen . . .” He shook his head. “No, I remember Sam Allen telling me it was his first year on the board. Don’t know why that stuck in my mind, and I can’t remember who the president was, but you ought to be able to find the information on the museum’s website.”
Couldn’t be Jackson King, who was at the benefit Saturday night, so it must be his father. “Do you know if this person is still alive?”
“If it’s the King fella, he is. King had a son working at the museum. As for Allen . . . I don’t remember much about him other than he seemed like a nice guy.”
“Do you remember if he had an alibi when Carter went missing?”
“Alibi?” Warren frowned. “Once the thefts were confirmed, I never went in the direction of asking anyone for an alibi.” He pinned him with pale blue eyes. “Are you thinking he might have been murdered?”
“I’m not sure what I’m thinking, but there are a few things that don’t add up.” He took a card from his wallet and handed it to Warren. “If you remember anything else, give me a call.”
“I will, and come back any time. Days get awful long here.”
“What happened to get you here, anyway?”
“Fell off a ladder.”
From his tone of voice, the retired sergeant was thoroughly disgusted with himself.
“Hey, anybody can do that,” Brad said.
“I never did before. Now my girls think I’m too old to be painting or doing anything else that involves climbing.” He turned to gaze out the window. “Thinking about selling out and moving to Florida, or maybe Alaska. Then they won’t know what I do.”
It sounded as though Harvey Warren needed something useful to do. “Look, when you get out of here and your leg is healed, we could use some help at the youth center near the University of Memphis.”
He looked at Brad’s business card and then cocked his head. “I might just do that. Always liked working with kids.”
17
AFTER KELSEY SIGNED IN AT THE MUSEUM, she went looking for her supervisor to put out at least one fire. She knocked on her door and was invited in.
“Ms. Webb, I wanted to let you know I was back, and to apologize for having to leave,” Kelsey said as she shut the door behind her. Helen Peterson sat in a wingback chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know someone was with you.”
“I told you to call me Julie, and it was no problem. Do you know Helen?”
“Yes, we met Saturday night.” Today the brunette was dressed conservatively in a patterned midi skirt and a blue silk blouse.
“Did your meeting with the police have to do with poor Mr. Rutherford’s death?” Helen asked, tucking a stray lock of hair into the clip holding her ponytail.
“Yes.” The meeting with Detective Sloan included the murder, so she didn’t feel as though she were lying.
Julie picked up a stack of files and placed them on top of the cabinet. “Did you find out what the shooting this afternoon was all about?”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Probably someone on drugs or who knows what,” Helen said, shuddering.
“Whatever the reason, we’ve beefed up security.” Julie shook her head. “For the foreseeable future, everyone will be escorted to and from their cars.”
Kelsey massaged her temples. “As late as it is, I thi
nk I’ll start work on the circus in the morning. Is there anything in particular that needs to be done today?”
“Why don’t we open the box from the Coon Creek Science Center,” Julie said, “and you can catalog whatever they’ve sent.”
“And I need to get back to work myself,” Helen said.
Julie and Kelsey walked to Erin’s office, now temporarily hers. A wooden crate sat on the workstation, and Kelsey walked to it. “Erin seemed surprised to get this.”
“They do usually call or email that they’re sending something.” Julie turned and scanned the office. “Where would Erin store a pry bar?”
Kelsey surveyed the room and found a short steel bar on the bookcase. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
“That’s it.”
Her supervisor slid the lever between the nails and pried the box open, then removed packing to reach a heavy-duty black garbage bag. She picked up a pair of scissors and cut the bag open. “More plastic,” Julie said. “I’ve never known them to double wrap anything. There should be a carpet knife in Erin’s desk.”
Kelsey rummaged in the top drawer and handed Julie the knife. Seconds later, she slashed through the white plastic. “Oh!” Julie stepped back.
Kelsey wrinkled her nose at the earthy scent coming from the bag. She peered into the box. “That’s a skeleton, not fossils.”
A skeleton that was nothing more than a skull and a pile of bones.
“I see that. Maybe they found an Indian burial ground.” The collections manager took out her cell phone, and when someone answered her call, she said, “May I speak to Luther McCoy?” While she waited, she put her hand over the speaker. “He’ll know what’s going on.”
Today was full of surprises. Kelsey pulled on a pair of latex gloves from a box on the desk, half listening to Julie as she peeled back the plastic.
“Luther,” Julie said as she walked toward the door. “Why did you send a box of bones to the museum?”
Kelsey gently opened the bag wider, revealing more of the skull. She swallowed the unease that pushed up from her stomach. She hadn’t signed on for this. Get a grip.
A somber mood enveloped her. The bones were once a living, breathing person, and no one’s remains should be dumped into a box like this. “Who are you?” she murmured. “And where did you come from?”
Not that she expected an answer. She bent closer to examine the ancient skull.
Why was there a gold cap on one of the teeth?
“Julie!” Kelsey carefully picked up the skull.
Her supervisor stepped back into the room, the cell phone still stuck to her ear. “Yes?”
“There’s a gold crown here.” She pointed toward the jawbone.
“Oh my—let me call you back, Luther.” Julie continued to hold the phone as she walked to the worktable. “Then it can’t be an ancient skeleton.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“I better call 911.”
Kelsey thought of the card Detective Sloan had given her. “Wait—why not call the detective who was here earlier?”
“Good thought. She’ll be familiar with all of us.”
Maybe too familiar. She found the card and handed it to Julie, and then she turned back to the skeleton, curious about why it would be mailed to the museum. Using a pencil, she opened the plastic wider, and a nick in the sternum caught her attention. She picked it up and examined it. Caused by a bullet, maybe . . . or knife?
“Don’t touch anything!”
Kelsey dropped the necktie-shaped bone like it was a hot piece of charcoal.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” Julie said, “but Detective Sloan is on the way, and she said not to touch anything. She’s bringing a medical examiner with her.”
“I’m sorry, I should have known better,” Kelsey said. She wanted to get another look at the sternum, but Julie might come unhinged.
“What did you find?”
“The sternum looks like it might have a nick or chipped place in it.”
Interest lit Julie’s eyes, but then she shook her head. “Better leave that for the detective. Why don’t we wait for her in my office.”
It wasn’t a question, and Kelsey removed her gloves and followed the collections manager down the hall. At least this time when the police cruisers arrived, it was without the sirens. Detective Sloan wasted little time when she arrived with another man wearing a badge on his belt next to his gun. Not the medical examiner, since detective was written all over him, and Sloan confirmed it.
“This is Lieutenant Boone Callahan,” she said, nodding toward him.
Her superior, and from the hard edge to her voice, Sloan was not happy about him being along. Authority oozed from the lieutenant, from the way he stood to the way he took everything in with his serious brown eyes.
“Show me what you called about.”
“Where’s the medical examiner?” Kelsey asked. Evidently the lieutenant was letting Sloan take charge.
“Not coming.” Her tone indicated it was none of Kelsey’s business where the ME was, and then Sloan glanced at Julie, who had not moved. “You were showing me . . . ?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s this way.”
Kelsey followed the three down the hallway to her office, half expecting the detective to dismiss her.
Sloan peered into the box. “You say the crate arrived this morning?”
Julie shot a questioning glance at Kelsey.
“Yes. The conservator I’m temporarily replacing said it was brought up from the shipping department,” she said. “It has a Coon Creek shipping label on it.”
“That’s our fossil site in McNairy County,” Julie said.
Sloan nodded. “Where is this conservator and what’s her name?”
“Erin Dolan. Kelsey is taking her place temporarily while she’s on maternity leave.”
“So these bones are from an archaeological dig?”
“I doubt it,” Kelsey said. “I mean, they may be, but they aren’t ancient.”
“And you know this how?”
She would not match Sloan’s patronizing tone. She would not. “There’s a gold crown on one of the teeth.” She did.
The lieutenant looked away, but it was evident he was trying not to smile. The red flush that crept up his detective’s neck made Kelsey regret her tone. But it wasn’t her fault. Rachel Sloan needed to learn she’d get more by being nice than nasty.
Still, it had to be hard with her superior looking over her shoulder. It occurred to Kelsey that Rachel Sloan might think being hard-nosed was the only way she could survive in what had long been considered a man’s job.
“But you couldn’t have known that,” Kelsey said, gentling her voice.
Sloan snapped a look at Kelsey that said Don’t do me any favors. “Anything else I should know?”
Kelsey clamped her mouth shut. Pigs would fly before she told her about the sternum.
“You found something else,” Julie said, turning to her. “Didn’t you say the sternum looked as though it had a chip in it?”
Everyone’s attention focused on her, except Sloan’s, and she was staring in the crate.
“Yes,” Kelsey said. “But I didn’t have time to examine it in detail.”
“It would have been better left alone since this is a possible homicide. You could have contaminated the evidence,” Callahan said. He eyed the detective. “I expect we’re done here for now. Do you need me to help take the crate to your car?”
“I’ve got it,” Sloan said. “You go ahead. I have a couple more things to do around here before I leave.”
Kelsey wasn’t sure, but she thought the detective muttered something about not needing him in the first place as the lieutenant left. Then she pulled on a pair of latex gloves and pinned her gaze on Kelsey. “I’d like to take a look at that chipped sternum.”
“It’s right there on top.”
“Thanks.” Sloan leaned over the crate. “Smells like the bones have been in the ground, probably i
n the white polyethylene. They say that stuff will last five hundred years, so no telling how long it’s been there.”
Julie cleared her throat. “Not that long, I dare say, since that type of plastic only became available to the general population in the sixties and factories a short time before that.”
Sloan looked over her shoulder. “You know that for fact?”
“The history of plastic was a featured exhibit until recently,” Julie replied with a smile, “and that looks like the early greenhouse polyethylene they had on display. I believe the museum began using it in the mid-eighties—and that was in the historical notes. I didn’t start work here until the late eighties.”
“So that means the body could have been buried since the sixties.” Rachel made notes in her tablet. “How was the box delivered?”
“I have no idea,” Kelsey said, and they both looked at Julie.
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t know it was here until Erin told me.” She tapped her foot. “But I can check with shipping. They’re the ones who deliver items to our offices. I’ll go around the corner and talk to the supervisor.”
Once Julie had clattered down the hallway, Rachel lifted the sternum and examined it. “You’re right, it does look as though a bullet could have done this. What else can you tell me?”
“Or it could have been caused by a knife.” Kelsey slipped her hands into gloves and took the bone. “If it is a bullet, it entered here,” she said, pointing out the notch, “and judging by the angle, it traveled through the body in a downward slant. I’d say the killer was taller than the victim or the victim was sitting down. And, if the bullet didn’t exit the body, you may find it or at least fragments among the remains or loose in the plastic.”
“Is there anything that you don’t know about?” Rachel Sloan asked.
At least the detective had lost her sarcasm, and Kelsey offered a tentative smile. “I didn’t know about the plastic.”
Rachel’s surprise gave way to a chuckle. “No, you didn’t, did you.”
Justice Buried Page 11
