Justice Buried

by Patricia Bradley

  Maybe they could have a truce. Kelsey certainly wouldn’t object to one. “How soon do you think the bones will be examined?”

  The detective took out her phone. “I’ll see.” She speed-dialed a number, and when someone answered, she said, “Dr. Caldwell, please.” After a short wait, she said, “Dr. Caldwell, I have a possible homicide that I need your help with. A box of bones was delivered to the Pink Palace Museum, and the sternum appears to have a nick in it. I was wondering how soon you could autopsy the bones.” Rachel nodded. “Great. I’ll deliver the remains to your office this afternoon.”

  She slipped the phone onto her belt and took a deep breath as she turned to Kelsey. “He’ll start on it ASAP.”

  “As soon as possible” could mean days, and an urgency inside her wanted to push for quicker. “Do you think I could sit in on the autopsy?”

  Rachel startled. “Why would you want to do that?”

  Kelsey didn’t have an answer for the detective since she had no idea why she’d asked that question. But there was something about the bones that drew her, and she had worked with skeletons before—in college and then on an archaeological dig in Arizona. “Maybe finishing something I started,” she said, pointing to the sternum.

  “I’ll ask Dr. Caldwell when I deliver the box. He allows medical students to sit in. Who knows, he may allow you to as well.”

  “Then it would be okay for me to touch base with the office and see when?”

  “Sure. Maybe a citizen wanting answers will move the autopsy up.”

  18

  AT THREE FIFTEEN, Brad pulled into the museum drive and met Boone Callahan going in the opposite direction.

  Before he could wonder why Callahan was there, he spied Rachel Sloan’s car. What were two homicide detectives doing here? What if Kelsey had been shot? It took him a minute to swallow down the lump that leaped into his throat. But he didn’t see an ambulance, unless it had come and gone. He voice-dialed Rachel Sloan’s number.

  “What’s going on at the museum? Did someone take more shots at Kelsey?”

  “No,” Rachel said. “I’m here about bones. Where are you?”

  “In the parking lot.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Just, uh, touching base with Kelsey. Wanted to make sure she was okay after what happened earlier.”

  “I see. Just professional courtesy. We’re in her office, although I’m about to leave.”

  He ignored her sarcasm and disconnected. After signing in, he asked for directions to the conservator’s office. When Brad stepped through the door, Kelsey and Rachel were standing by a worktable that held a wooden crate. “What’s going on?”

  They turned toward him. “We’re resealing this box with bones in it,” Rachel said.

  Bones? He stepped closer, noticing the Coon Creek Science Center shipping label on the side of the box. “Don’t tell me they found a dinosaur at the dig. I’ve never seen anything there but fossils.”

  “Dinosaur?” Rachel said.

  “You know where it is?” Kelsey said.

  They both spoke at the same time, and he answered Kelsey’s question first. “Yep. It’s a little over a hundred miles east of Memphis. Found a shark’s tooth there one time when I was a kid. I got to write my name in the official fossil-finding book and the museum got to keep the tooth,” he said and nodded toward the crate. “If you ever visit the site, look for my name. There’ve only been nine shark’s teeth found since the dig started.”

  “Wow. I’m duly impressed,” Rachel said. “But this is not dinosaur bones.”

  “No,” Kelsey said. “It’s human bones.”

  Brad rocked back on his heels. “Then why are they in a crate from the science center?”

  “That is the million dollar question. Right?” Rachel said. She shot Kelsey a look, and Kelsey nodded.

  Something was different about the two women. They almost seemed to share a . . . camaraderie. He felt a presence and looked around, recognizing the collections manager in the doorway.

  Julie acknowledged him and then said, “Sorry it took me so long, but I had to track down the shipping department supervisor. He said the crate was sitting beside another shipment that came in Saturday. He assumed it came in then. No one saw either delivery.”

  “I’m still in the dark about what’s going on,” he said. “Is it unusual for the museum to get shipments from Coon Creek?”

  “No,” Julie said. “But we’ve never received bones from them. When I contacted the director in McNairy County, he said they hadn’t sent any.”

  “And there’s a nick in the sternum that could be from a bullet,” Rachel said, “and the gold crown in the skull indicates it’s not old.”

  Finally, his mind clued in to what they were talking about. Someone, they didn’t know who, had sent a crate of bones with a Coon Creek label on the box to the museum. Intriguing. And more than likely a homicide, and maybe even a cold case.

  “Have you sealed the box?” he asked. “I’d like to see this sternum you’re talking about.”

  “Sure,” Rachel said and pried the lid up.

  Kelsey slipped on fresh gloves and removed the sternum. Brad reached for it, and she drew her hand back.

  “Gloves, please.”

  Brad pulled on the pair of gloves she handed him and took the flat bone from her. He examined it, then ran his finger around the nick before shifting his gaze back to the women. “This black on the inside of the circle may be traces of gunpowder.”

  “Why do you think the sender used the Coon Creek label?” Kelsey asked.

  “I don’t know . . .” Rachel turned to Julie. “What’s the process for shipments when they arrive?”

  “Unless it’s addressed to a particular person, security opens it first.” Julie glanced at the crate. “But one like this, addressed to the conservator, would be delivered to her office. No one would question it if it had the Coon Creek label.”

  Why would anyone send skeletal remains to the Pink Palace? Brad examined the label. “Evidently, whoever sent this has access to the science center’s shipping labels.”

  “Or they created their own,” Kelsey said. “Anyone knowledgeable with computers could print a label like this.” She stared at the box again. “But they’d also need a working knowledge of how the museum handles shipments.”

  “All good points that I will follow up on, but for now, I need to get the crate to Dr. Caldwell to see if it’s even a homicide,” Rachel said.

  She fastened the lid in place, and Brad shifted the box to a cart.

  “You want me to put it in your car?” he asked.

  “I can handle it.” She pushed the cart toward the door and then stopped. “I almost forgot to tell you—I dug a bullet out of the tree earlier and sent it to ballistics. That should tell us if the gun used today has been used in other crimes. And Kelsey, you were right about the photo being altered. Got the report back right before Julie’s call came in. Meant to say something when I first arrived, but seems like other things got in the way.”

  Brad could imagine, with Boone Callahan in the mix. He liked the lieutenant, but he could be something of a micromanager. “I saw Boone as I drove in. Why was he here? Doesn’t he have enough to do without your cases?”

  She shrugged. “You’d think. We were in a meeting together when the call came in, and he offered to help. Actually, he insisted.”

  Yeah, Boone pushed the detectives under him to be the best they could be, and if that took “helping” them, he didn’t hesitate to jump in. And Rachel was new to Homicide. After Julie and Rachel left, he turned to Kelsey. “When I saw the two detectives’ cars, I was afraid something had happened to you again.”

  She hugged her arms to her chest. “So far, nothing else has happened. But why were you coming to see me, anyway?”

  “I found your dad’s file.”

  “Really?” Her face lost some of its color.

  “You okay?”

  She took a deep breath. �
��Yeah. I just didn’t expect you to find it so quickly.”

  Their eyes locked, and he couldn’t look away from eyes the color of a lush meadow on a summer day. He swallowed and jerked his gaze away from hers, breaking the electricity that crackled between them. “Umm, do you think the coffee shop is still open?”

  “I don’t know. It’s my first day here, remember?”

  They both laughed, and just like that, everything returned to normal. “Let’s go see.”

  He held out his arm, and she looped hers through it, sending electric tingles up his arm. Maybe not quite back to normal. He didn’t know what was going on. Women usually didn’t get past his defenses, not since Elle. Elle. For half a minute, he’d forgotten she was back in his life.

  When they stepped into the café area, it was closed, but he spied a worker in the kitchen. “You sit here, and I’m going to see if they have something to drink back there.”

  He walked over to the counter and tapped on it, and a woman looked his way.

  “We’re closed,” she called.

  “Any chance of getting coffee or tea?” he asked.

  She glanced away from him and then back. “I haven’t poured the coffee out. Would you like a cup?”

  “Make it two.” When she brought the cups out, she wouldn’t take any money. “Okay, how about a two-dollar tip?” he said and laid the bills on the counter. “And thanks.”

  Brad walked over to Kelsey and handed her one of the cups. “I noticed creamer on the sideboard if you’d like some.”

  “No, black is good.”

  He sat across from her and sipped his coffee. Strong but not bitter.

  “I’m sorry about almost passing out on you again.”

  “I should be the one apologizing,” he said. “You’ve had a hard day, and I should have found a better way of unloading that information.”

  “Thanks. I never expected hearing you’d found my father’s file to throw me. What was in it?”

  After her earlier reaction, he wasn’t sure today was the day to discuss what he’d learned. “Nothing you wouldn’t expect in a case like his.”

  She laughed. “That bad, huh?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve learned over the years that when someone starts using language like you just used, it’s always bad news, or it’s something they don’t want to talk about.”

  “Let’s just say that I’d like to investigate the case a little more. There are a few details that raised questions, and I’d like to have those questions answered first.”

  “I guess I’ll have to trust you on that.”

  “Yeah, I guess you will.” He couldn’t keep from grinning, at least on the inside. Her trust was something he had not expected.

  19

  AT FOUR THIRTY Kelsey shut down her computer and texted Maggie that she was on her way. It would be a relief to get this whole thing behind her. If she was arrested . . . she’d deal with that when it happened.

  The attorney texted back. Twelfth floor. Be careful.

  “Don’t worry,” she muttered under her breath. She’d know if a leaf moved when she stepped outside the building. Still thinking about her father’s file as she stepped out of her office, she almost ran into Jackson King.

  “Excuse me. I—”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean—” He reached to steady her. “Kelsey? I was looking for you. Didn’t mean to run over you, though. Are you okay? I just got back from Nashville and heard about the shooting.”

  The adrenaline rush left her knees weak. She couldn’t jump every time someone startled her. “I’m okay. Not used to being shot at, I guess.” Kelsey checked her watch. “Did you need anything else?”

  “No, I was also coming to tell you the camera malfunctions did correspond within the time frame of the thefts. I say time frame since it might have been days before the thefts were discovered.”

  “That answers one question. Our thief is very familiar with the security system here. Have you reviewed your employees’ records?” she asked.

  “We’re in the process.” He ran his hand over his silver hair. “And what’s this I hear about the science center shipping some bones here? Is it true?”

  “The part about the bones is true, but no one knows how they got here,” she said and explained what she knew. “Detective Sloan took the remains to the Forensic Center for autopsy.”

  “I’ll look at the playback on the shipping dock camera,” Jackson said. “We’ll get together in the morning.”

  “Thank you. I would suggest now, but I have an appointment . . .”

  “No problem,” he said. “Let me walk out with you.”

  After this morning, she was glad to have his company. As they approached the sign-out station, Jackson’s phone rang, and when it sounded as though the conversation would be a long one, she motioned that she was going on.

  “Hold on a minute,” he said into the phone and turned to the security officer on duty. “Raymond, would you walk out with Ms. Allen?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He was the same security officer Kelsey had signed in with—Raymond Ray. She bet the grandkids she saw in the photos on his desk called him Ray-Ray. She would hate for anything to happen to him.

  “I hope your second day will be smoother,” he said. “Don’t believe we’ve ever had a shooting here before, but these days, you never know what some crazy fool is going to do.”

  “Don’t suppose you’ve heard if the police have caught the shooter?” It was possible the police had shared more with the security officer than her.

  “Nope. We figure he came under the fence on Lafayette Street and hid behind the school buses. Can’t figure out how he did it without the camera catching him. Just glad the children were still inside.”

  “How do they know he didn’t go into the museum?”

  “Because of the kids, Mr. King had guards stationed at every door. They were in the IMAX theater when it all happened, and we were prepared to keep them there,” he said. “But the police concluded the shooter was no longer a threat and were through with their investigation before the movie ended. The kids never even knew anything happened.”

  She shuddered. What if Lily had been here? If a child had been injured because of her . . . it would be impossible to live with.

  “If you’re ready, Ms. Allen.”

  Part of her wanted to say no, that she didn’t want to endanger anyone else, but the look on his face said that wasn’t an acceptable answer. “Thank you.”

  “We’re doing it for all the employees.” He half turned to another security officer standing nearby. “Knight, cover the desk for me.”

  “I still hate for you to have to do this,” she said as they exited the building. Her muscles tensed as she scanned the parking lot, and she noticed Ray did as well. When it seemed clear, she pointed out her Wrangler.

  “I hate that we didn’t do our job today,” he said as they approached the car. “Just can’t figure out why the cameras didn’t see him, unless they malfunctioned. Seems like they’re doing that a lot lately—thought the new ones would fix that.”

  Kelsey had an idea how the video missed it. “Did you notice a blip on any of the screens around the time the shooting occurred?”

  He glanced sharply at her. “How did you know?”

  “Just a guess.” Something else to discuss with Jackson in the morning. He would not be happy when she told him that the shooter had more than likely gained access to the security system again and inserted an old video of the gate in place of live streaming.

  “Thank you,” she said and slid under the steering wheel. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am. And there’ll be security officers patrolling in the morning.”

  Even though traffic was light going downtown to Maggie’s Front Street office, her muscles stayed on high alert. Rather than driving straight to the office, Kelsey took a roundabout way, turning right off Central and then left onto Poplar. She kept an eye on the traffic be
hind her and right away noticed a motorcycle made the same turn.

  Kelsey quickly made another left, and her heart leaped into her throat when the motorcycle did as well. Then it pulled beside her at the red light, and she relaxed. MPD motorcycle unit. When the light changed, he fell in behind, and she breathed easier until her phone rang. Her mom. She went on high alert again. “Hello?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” Surely she didn’t know about the shooting yet.

  “The early news reported shots were fired near the Pink Palace today. They were asking for anyone with information about the shooter to come forward.”

  She’d forgotten her mom listened to all the news broadcasts. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. How are you feeling?”

  “Tired. I’ve been cleaning the house on Snowden. Do you mind stopping by here on your way home?”

  The renters must have moved again. “I’m on my way to a meeting. How about around six or six thirty?”

  “Perfect. I’ll tell Dru you’ll be here for dinner. By the way, you haven’t told me what you think of Brad Hollister.”

  She gripped the steering wheel. Now she had the real reason why her mom wanted her to come by. Kelsey wished she would quit trying to set her up with dates. “He’s nice. Traffic is getting heavy. I’ll see you later.”

  On Front Street, she glanced up at the building she’d scaled Thursday night. At first she hadn’t understood why the man had been determined to kill her. She hadn’t seen his face, only his outline. But as Brad pointed out, the man hadn’t known that, like she hadn’t known he’d killed someone. Kelsey had read once that most murders were solved because of witnesses being where they shouldn’t be—like her Thursday night.

  There were several parking spaces in the lot adjacent to Maggie’s building, and she checked her mirror before she pulled in. Her motor escort was still behind her. Brad’s or Rachel Sloan’s work? Either way, she was thankful. The motorcycle pulled in and waited for her to park, then the cyclist nodded as she climbed out of her car. Once she was at the front entrance, he waved and roared off.

  Her heart lighter, Kelsey walked across the marble floor to the elevator and punched the up button. She would have to find out whose idea the escort was and thank them for covering her.