DF02 - Dead Guilty

by Beverly Connor

  David appeared at the door, interrupting her thought. ‘‘Garnett just called. We have another case.’’

  Chapter 18

  Diane drove her car to the address David had given her. Briarwood Lane was a cul-de-sac of old frame houses and large mature trees in a mixed neighbor hood of Hispanics, whites, and blacks, many of whom were standing in their yards, looking in the direction of the asphalt-roofed house with gray shaker siding where several emergency vehicles were parked.

  David, Jin and Neva had arrived just ahead of her and were just emerging from their van. Chief Garnett, Sheriff Braden, Whit Abercrombie, and several others were standing beside a car that Diane recognized as Lynn Webber’s. Great, thought Diane, another confrontation—and this isn’t even Lynn’s jurisdiction.

  As Diane approached, Garnett turned toward her and she caught sight of Allen Rankin, Rosewood’s pathologist. She stopped abruptly when she saw Lynn Webber sitting sideways in the driver’s seat with her feet on the asphalt road, sobbing.

  ‘‘I don’t understand this,’’ Lynn was saying. ‘‘What is this about?’’

  For a moment Diane thought that Lynn was, of all things, under arrest...and it hit her all of a sudden. The neighborhood. Lynn Webber sobbing. She looked at Garnett.

  ‘‘It’s Lynn’s diener, Raymond, isn’t it?’’ She didn’t even know his last name.

  Garnett nodded. ‘‘Raymond Waller. He came home for lunch and didn’t come back. When he was late, Dr. Webber called his home and his cell. When she couldn’t get in touch, she came to his house and found him.’’

  ‘‘She came to his house?’’

  ‘‘She said she has several bodies backed up, and he was always reliable.’’ Garnett lowered his voice. ‘‘She can get kind of feisty when she’s let down. I take it she was going to bring him back to work.’’

  Diane had experienced some of her feistiness. It wasn’t how she would have described it. ‘‘Was he murdered?’’

  ‘‘Yes. Hit on the back of the head. Somebody threw water in his face. Maybe an attempt to revive him.’’

  ‘‘This is really odd.’’ There it was, that word again.

  ‘‘Odd . . . at least. Look, I have no idea what’s going on here, but I want everyone involved with those hanging victims to be extra careful. I’m going to send a squad car by everyone’s home, but maybe you can get your museum security to help with your people.’’

  ‘‘We’ll come up with a plan. Chief, I’ve had a couple of other disquieting things happen.’’

  Garnett frowned as she handed him the note she had printed out and told him about the flowers. While she spoke, her gaze darted at the various people watching, looking to see if she recognized anyone she might have seen in the museum or the parking lot. No one looked familiar.

  ‘‘You replied to the E-mail. You should have talked to me first.’’

  ‘‘I thought it was museum business.’’

  ‘‘And you don’t know who left the flowers?’’

  ‘‘I’ve asked everyone that I know.... I just assumed you didn’t,’’ she added, with half a smile.

  Garnett chuckled. ‘‘No.’’

  ‘‘Why are you two laughing? You think this is funny?’’ Lynn Webber flew out of her car and stood before them, anger flashing in her red-rimmed eyes.

  ‘‘Dr. Webber—’’ began Garnett.

  ‘‘I’m sorry, Lynn,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We were just trying to deflect some of the tension. We are very disturbed by all this. I met and worked with Raymond and liked him. Of course I don’t think it’s funny. Neither does the chief.’’

  Lynn Webber shook her head, as if trying to shake out some thought. ‘‘I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’’

  ‘‘Why don’t you let me take you home?’’ said Sher iff Braden. ‘‘You don’t need to see any more of this, and those bodies in the morgue can wait a day or so. They aren’t going anywhere. I’ll ask one of the police men here to follow in your car.’’

  ‘‘That’s a good idea, Dr. Webber,’’ said Garnett. ‘‘We’ll keep you apprised.’’

  Lynn nodded. ‘‘Raymond has family in Philadel phia. I’ll call them. It would be better coming from me.’’

  The sheriff left with Lynn; Officer Warrick followed in Lynn’s car.

  ‘‘Why is the sheriff here?’’ said Diane. ‘‘This is Rose County.’’

  Garnett shook his head. ‘‘He must have heard the call on the radio and wanted to come to Dr. Webber’s rescue. I assume his interest in her hasn’t escaped your notice.’’

  ‘‘No, it hasn’t.’’

  ‘‘I need to ask you—about the hanging victims’ time of death...you can back up your numbers?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘Webber’s real certain.’’

  ‘‘So am I.’’

  ‘‘When are you going to be finished with the bodies?’’

  ‘‘Today. My team will work this crime scene. I’m going back to the lab. I’m going to do some analysis that will tell us which region of the country they grew up in, and that will take longer. But we’ll have a re port and facial reconstruction for the sheriff shortly.’’

  ‘‘Facial reconstruction? You can do that?’’

  ‘‘Of course ...I assume that’s why you sent me Neva Hurley.’’

  ‘‘Neva?’’ He stopped a moment and looked at Neva, who was donning a pair of gloves. ‘‘Oh . . . yes . . . of course.’’

  Diane smiled inwardly, but made sure it didn’t reach her face.

  ‘‘Any sign of Steven Mayberry?’’ she said.

  ‘‘No. And I’m worried. We can’t afford to have wholesale murder going on and not be able to do any thing about it. The media will jump all over this.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps they won’t know where the bodies were autopsied.’’

  ‘‘Why wouldn’t they?’’ said Garnett. ‘‘It looks like the murderer did.’’

  ‘‘I know this is quite a coincidence,’’ said Diane. ‘‘But I just don’t see any reason behind the murders that would establish a connection. Not yet.’’

  ‘‘Neither do I. Perhaps it is just that. A coinci dence.’’ He did not sound convinced.

  ‘‘The evidence will tell us if there is a connection. I’m going back to it.’’

  Diane gave her team instructions and left for the lab, relieved not to have to look at Raymond’s dead body. It would be bad enough when she looked at the photographs. She drove back to the lab and parked in the crime lab parking area, a gated lot to the side of the enormous museum building. She took the lab ele vator to the third floor, bypassing the museum.

  Suddenly, it looked like she was bringing crime into the museum, and that was something she had no de sire to do and couldn’t afford to do. She would close the lab and take Rosewood to court about the taxes before she would allow that to happen.

  But crime labs are not dangerous places. She knew of no cases where perps had targeted crime labs or the people who worked in them. After all, the people just analyze data. Why, then, was this happening? Per haps it wasn’t. Perhaps the flowers were from someone connected with the museum, or even a fan of the crime lab. Perhaps the E-mail note meant nothing.

  Green Doe was where she had left him, waiting for her on the table. She measured the skull, made notes of his orthodontic work, examined and measured his long bones. His left radius had been broken and healed well. She examined the ribs and each vertebra. There were no nicks or cuts on any of his bones, ex cept, as in Blue, his terminal phalanxes were missing. Of the damaged medial phalanxes, only one showed the surface striations that she had seen on Blue. But that was enough. Diane entered all of Green Doe’s data into the computer.

  Her team hadn’t returned yet. They could be out all night. She went to her office. Andie was gathering her things to leave for the day.

  ‘‘Hey, you got a message back from that weird Email about the dead being guilty. I printed it out.’’ She grabbed it off Dia
ne’s desk and handed it to her.

  Diane read it aloud. ‘‘ ‘I didn’t send this. Who are you anyway? Don’t bother me. My father’s a police man.’ Well, this is interesting. Sounds like a kid.’’

  ‘‘That’s what I thought,’’ agreed Andie.

  ‘‘Hey, anybody home around here?’’

  ‘‘Frank. When did you get in?’’ Diane gave him a hug and held him a little tighter than she felt comfort able with in front of Andie.

  ‘‘My plane landed a few hours ago. I stopped by to see Star and Kevin.’’

  His thirteen-year-old son, Kevin, lived with his mother. Star, his new daughter, stayed with them while Frank was gone.

  ‘‘Cindy wanted Star to stay the weekend so that she and David could go out. I thought maybe we could get some dinner. Have you eaten?’’

  ‘‘No, and I’m starved. The museum restaurant is open for a while yet. Mind if we eat there?’’

  ‘‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’’ said Andie, going out the door. ‘‘Good to see you, Frank. Miss you at karaoke.’’

  ‘‘Bye, Andie. Thanks,’’ called Diane.

  ‘‘You want to eat at the museum? Sounds like you’re planning a late night working.’’

  He stepped close and drew her into a kiss. Frank felt good—and safe, like home. She wanted to hang on to him, but she let go.

  ‘‘I’ve got to get the last skeleton done.’’

  As Diane checked her E-mail and looked through the messages Andie had left for her, she told Frank the whole story—the Cobber’s Wood hanging victims, the timber cruisers who found the bodies, and now Ray mond, the diener. She tacked on the E-mail note to her narrative.

  ‘‘Damn. I can’t leave you alone at all.’’

  ‘‘Can you trace the E-mail?’’

  ‘‘Probably.’’

  ‘‘I’d appreciate that . . .’’ The ringing of her office phone cut her off. Diane grabbed it midring. ‘‘Fallon?’’

  ‘‘Finally. We can talk. You’re a hard woman to reach.’’

  The voice was rough textured and unfamiliar to Diane. He talked slow, with a south Georgia accent.

  ‘‘Who is this?’’

  ‘‘Did you like the flowers?’’

  Chapter 19

  ‘‘You put the flowers in my car?’’ Diane looked at the caller ID on her office phone. NO DATA. She had picked up the receiver too soon. ‘‘Why didn’t you sign the card?’’

  Frank stood, took his cell phone from his pocket and backed out of her office while he dialed. She as sumed he was having the call traced.

  ‘‘It was unnecessary.’’

  ‘‘What does ‘To Justice’ mean?’’

  ‘‘Just that. I saw on TV that you are a sincere

  woman. I want you to know that I understand that, but you don’t have the whole picture.’’

  ‘‘Is that why you’re calling—to make sure I understand?’’

  ‘‘The thing you said on the TV—about all murder ers being evil.’’

  ‘‘That’s not exactly what I said.’’

  ‘‘It’s close enough. That’s what you meant. You can’t say things like that without knowing all the cir cumstances. Sometimes it’s the so-called murder vic tim who’s evil. The so-called murderer is just seeing that justice is done.’’

  Diane tried to stall for time. ‘‘First of all, you need to know the television interview was some old stock footage they had from when we opened the crime lab. I was talking about murder in general.’’

  ‘‘I know. That’s just the thing. You can’t talk about murder in general, unless you know all the circum stances all the time, and you don’t.’’

  ‘‘I know that everyone deserves their life.’’

  ‘‘Then you don’t believe in giving murderers the death sentence?’’

  ‘‘I believe in following the law.’’

  ‘‘You’re just playing with words.’’

  ‘‘It sounds like you have some personal experience . . .’’ She heard a click. Damn. She hadn’t handled that well.

  ‘‘I’m sorry,’’ she said as Frank came into the office. ‘‘I couldn’t hold him on the line any longer.’’

  Frank took a pen and scribbled a number on Di ane’s desk calendar. ‘‘The call was made from this pay phone at the Rest Aplenty Motel out on 441.’’

  ‘‘You had time to trace it?’’

  ‘‘That business about losing the trace if you don’t keep people talking for several minutes is just a device used by the movies to keep the detectives from finding the killer too quickly.’’ Frank pulled his chair closer to Diane and sat down. ‘‘Phone companies have been able to trace a call in a matter of seconds for more than twenty years.’’

  ‘‘You’re kidding.’’

  ‘‘No, I’m not. You just have to know who in the phone company to talk to. I called the police and asked them to check it out, but I imagine he’s gone by now.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t know there were any pay phones any more.’’

  ‘‘There’s a few still left, but they’re disappearing. So, what did this guy say?’’

  ‘‘Not much.’’

  Diane related the conversation almost verbatim. She watched Frank as she talked. He listened, leaning for ward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped together. His short salt-and-pepper hair looked steel gray under the lights of her office. He looked good in his blue jeans and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. Frank seemed to listen with his blue-green eyes—he nar rowed them in a way that made them glitter. He’d been gone for a couple weeks, and she realized it seemed like a couple of months. She was glad he was back.

  ‘‘Do you think he’s the perp?’’ Frank asked.

  ‘‘I don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned the murders specifically. Just allusions to justice. We’ve had a lot of people contact me to protest the location of the crime lab in the museum.’’ Diane threw her hands up. ‘‘For all I know, I could have picked up a stalker when I appeared on television.’’

  ‘‘You need to get some rest.’’

  ‘‘Does it show?’’

  ‘‘I wasn’t going to mention it.’’

  ‘‘You just did.’’

  ‘‘No. I said you need to get some rest.’’ He gave her a broad smile.

  ‘‘The key to solving this is the identity of the vic tims. I need to finish the last set of bones.’’

  ‘‘Why don’t I stay with you, drive you home when you’re done?’’

  ‘‘You must be exhausted after your trip back from San Francisco.’’

  ‘‘Don’t you have a comfortable couch in your office up in that fancy lab of yours?’’

  ‘‘Yes. But...’’

  ‘‘There you have it. Problem solved. Let’s eat, then go identify a skeleton—I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that. I’m pretty good at recognizing clavi cles now. I’ll betcha I can tell the left from the right.’’

  Diane called David at the Waller crime scene first to check up on her team.

  ‘‘How’s everything going?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘Going fine. I sneaked some pictures of the peo ple watching.’’

  ‘‘Good for you.’’

  ‘‘We found a secret closet.’’

  ‘‘No. A secret closet?’’

  ‘‘It was next to the main closet, with a bookcase for a door. You can imagine what ran through our minds as we were opening it.’’

  ‘‘Collections of fingertips.’’

  ‘‘That’s what we all were thinking.’’

  ‘‘Well, what was in it?’’

  ‘‘His collection of memorabilia from the old Negro Leagues. I’m sure he was keeping it hidden from bur glars. You know he’s got a bat signed by Josh Gibson? He hit over nine hundred home runs in his career, eighty-four in one season. I actually held a ball signed by Satchel Paige. I mean, you should see the stuff the guy had.’’

  ‘‘You think it was a burglar
y gone bad?’’

  ‘‘That’s what Chief Garnett thinks.’’

  ‘‘Was Raymond tied up like Chris Edwards?’’

  ‘‘No. His hair, face and chest are wet. That’s what Garnett is keeping back.’’

  ‘‘Do I detect a note of disagreement? Is there any evidence this is connected to Edwards or the Cobber’s Wood victims?’’

  ‘‘Not exactly. But . . .’’ Diane heard sounds of David walking. She assumed he was going someplace where Garnett couldn’t hear him. ‘‘The place is tossed like Edwards’. Chris Edwards was caught unawares in his bathroom, dazed by a blow to the head and then tied up, but he was able to put up a fight. I think there’s a possibility that the killer tried the same thing with Raymond, but hit him a little too hard, tried to revive him, but he had killed him.’’

  ‘‘The perp could still have been looking for the baseball stuff.’’

  ‘‘Yes, he could. We’ll see if there’s anything in the trace evidence similar to Edwards.’’

  ‘‘Keep up the good work. I hope we are all able to get some sleep sometime this week.’’

  ‘‘Sleep? You don’t still do that, do you?’’

  ‘‘Call me if you need me.’’

  ‘‘Frank not back yet?’’

  ‘‘As a matter of fact, he is.’’

  ‘‘Does he know about the flowers?’’

  ‘‘The flowers. It turns out the person who left them called.’’

  ‘‘Oh, who was it?’’ David had asked about the flowers in jest, but he sounded cautious now. Diane briefly told him about the caller. David whistled. ‘‘Okay, this isn’t good.’’

  ‘‘It could be completely innocent...’’

  ‘‘Normal people don’t act like that—only crazies or people guilty of something.’’

  ‘‘Can you hand your phone to Garnett.’’

  ‘‘Sure.’’

  After a moment, Garnett’s voice came on the phone and Diane related the story a third time.

  ‘‘I don’t like this. You say you kept him talking long enough for the phone company to trace the call?’’

  Diane hesitated a beat. ‘‘Yes. A policeman went to check it out, but I imagine he’s long gone.’’