DF02 - Dead Guilty

by Beverly Connor

  Frank returned with Diane’s purse in hand and guided her up the sidewalk to her building.

  ‘‘What’s going on?’’ This was from one of Diane’s newest neighbors, a young couple from the ground floor.

  ‘‘What’s all that noise? How are we to sleep with all that noise?’’ Mrs. Odell and her husband, who lived across the hall from Diane, stood with their arms crossed and their chins in the air.

  ‘‘Hate those car alarms. There ought to be a law against them. They go off for no reason at all.’’ Mr. Odell added, with a sharp nod of his head.

  ‘‘What happened?’’ asked the landlady. ‘‘Why are the police here?’’

  ‘‘As I was parking my car, someone came up and beat my car with a bat,’’ said Diane, trying to sound calm. ‘‘They ran off.’’

  ‘‘Why would anyone do such a thing?’’ said the landlady. ‘‘I tell you, it’s those hoodlums you read about. They’re everywhere. I keep telling my nephew that...’’

  Diane nodded and made her way up the stairs to her apartment on the second floor. The last thing she wanted to do was get her landlady started on one of her stream-of-consciousness conversations. The Odells came up the stairs behind her.

  ‘‘You know, you should move somewhere else,’’ said Mrs. Odell. ‘‘This was a quiet apartment building until you moved here.’’

  Diane opened her door. ‘‘Good night, Mrs. Odell. I’m sorry you had your sleep interrupted.’’

  Once Diane’s apartment door closed behind them, Frank asked, ‘‘Those are the people you were telling me about? The ones who had seven children die, and whose only joy in life is going to funerals?’’

  ‘‘That’s them. Mrs. Odell was the one who broke into my apartment looking for a cat, and I almost clobbered her with my cornbread pan.’’

  ‘‘Maybe you should move.’’

  Diane laughed. ‘‘You’re probably right.’’ She col lapsed on the couch. ‘‘I’m so glad to be home. It was a rough day at the office.’’

  Frank sat down and pulled her against him, cuddling her in his arms. ‘‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened—listening over the phone, not knowing what was going on.’’

  ‘‘How did you call the police?’’

  ‘‘I used my car phone. So you think that was the man who’s been calling?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know. I’m afraid it might be.’’

  ‘‘Why is he fixated on you?’’

  ‘‘He may be fixated on all of us who had anything to do with the Cobber’s Wood victims, or . . .’’ Diane rubbed her eyes with her finger. ‘‘I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell is going on.’’

  ‘‘What’s Garnett doing about these calls?’’

  ‘‘They were supposed to have someone outside my building, but they apparently slipped up.’’

  ‘‘You mean, there were supposed to be policemen posted in front of your house? Dammit, where were they?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know.’’ What Diane wanted to do was for get about the whole thing for just a few hours. ‘‘Where’s Star tonight?’’

  ‘‘At a concert with a friend. She’s spending the night with her after the concert.’’

  ‘‘On a school night?’’

  ‘‘It’s summer.’’

  ‘‘Of course it is. God, I’m losing track of time. You’re letting her go to a concert? Aren’t you nervous?’’

  ‘‘Nervous doesn’t quite describe it. All I can think of is all those drugs floating around and how vulnera ble she is.’’

  Diane’s back was against Frank’s chest and his face was close to her ear. His breath was warm and smelled like cinnamon.

  ‘‘Her friend’s a good kid and I know her parents. I let Star go to a concert last month. She checked in with me when she arrived and was home on time, so I’m letting her go again. I don’t know. In another year, she’ll be old enough to strike out on her own. I’m just trying to give her some experience being responsible, but I feel completely out of my depth.’’

  Diane wove her fingers into his and relaxed a bit, nestling further against him. ‘‘She seems to be doing well.’’

  ‘‘Most of the time. We have some pretty big dis agreements. Cindy helps. She’s good with Star. She lets Star stay with her and her husband when I’m away. It’s good for Kevin. It’s like having a big sister.’’ He moved his arms from around her and stood up, pulling her with him. ‘‘Let me fix you something. Have you eaten?’’

  ‘‘At the museum. I bought Mike dinner tonight.’’

  Frank raised his eyebrows. ‘‘Mike. That’s...’’

  ‘‘The geologist.’’

  ‘‘You bought him dinner?’’

  ‘‘He gave me some information about diamonds.’’

  ‘‘He doesn’t get a salary for that?’’

  ‘‘This was after hours.’’

  ‘‘Okay, this just gets better. This is the guy who’s got a thing for you?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘So you admit it now?’’

  ‘‘He admitted it.’’

  ‘‘I see.’’

  ‘‘It’s not serious. I believe it’s just the challenge. I told him that I was not only seeing someone else, I was his boss and old enough to be his mother, though I didn’t put it quite like that.’’

  ‘‘Only if you had him when you were twelve. That’s not that big an age difference.’’

  ‘‘It is to me. I thought you were going to fix me something. I could use a cool glass of wine when I get out of the shower. There’s some white zinfandel in the refrigerator.’’

  Frank put his arms around her. ‘‘You doing okay?’’

  ‘‘I’m still shaking...and praying that this was just a random act of violence. Frank, I don’t know how to handle that guy. It’s like he wants to talk to me, but he won’t say anything. And now this. Garnett said he hired a profiler.’’

  ‘‘Do you know who?’’

  Diane shook her head. ‘‘Some consultant who used to work for the FBI. I hope he’s good. We need some one to make some sense out of all this. I sure can’t.’’

  Chapter 29

  Her car looked worse in the light of day than it had that evening under the streetlight. She shook her head as the tow truck drove off with it.

  ‘‘I don’t think I’ll be able to have that fixed,’’ she said to Frank.

  ‘‘It’s all cosmetic, really,’’ he told her.

  ‘‘Cosmetic. It looks totaled.’’

  Before Diane left for work, she took coffee and hot egg and bacon sandwiches out to the policemen on her stakeout. They were surprised and grateful.

  ‘‘Will you be relieved soon?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘In an hour,’’ they assured her.

  Frank drove her to the museum. She bought a paper on the way in and leafed through the pages, dreading what she would find. Another thing she’d have to deal with now—bad publicity for the museum, with her name attached.

  ‘‘I don’t see anything,’’ she said.

  But there it was in the police blotter—one line. CAR REPORTED VANDALIZED ON EAST ELM STREET.

  ‘‘I don’t believe it. Hardly a mention. With any luck, that’ll be the end of it.’’

  She was already letting go of the image of the phone calls, E-mails and letters about the attack—and the Itold-you-so’s from her board members.

  ‘‘Dinner?’’ asked Frank, stopping in front of the museum.

  Diane got out and leaned into the passenger’s side of his car. ‘‘Yes. Let’s go some place quiet.’’

  ‘‘How about my place? Star will be there, but she’d enjoy seeing you.’’

  ‘‘I’d like to see her too.’’

  ‘‘You going to be all right today? That was quite an ordeal last night.’’

  ‘‘I’ll be fine. Thanks for the rescue.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t do anything.’’

  ‘‘Yes, you did.’’

  Diane went
straight to the crime lab. Jin, David and Neva were already there. David peeked his head around the corner from where his rearing chambers were located.

  ‘‘Aren’t you due to give birth soon?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘Yep, got lots of babies here now. We’re coming along nicely. I’ll be able to give you a good time of death soon.’’

  Jin came out from his work space when he heard Diane’s voice.

  ‘‘I have an ID on the orange carpet fiber.’’

  ‘‘More good news,’’ said Diane. ‘‘What is it?’’

  ‘‘It’s an inexpensive make and, unfortunately, it’s plentiful. Made by a company in Dalton, Georgia.’’

  ‘‘I can’t imagine that there is an expensive version of orange carpet,’’ said Neva.

  ‘‘I’ll have you know that I have orange carpet, and it looks quite nice,’’ said David.

  Diane and Neva looked at him with raised eye brows.

  ‘‘In case you’re wondering, it’s the expensive vari ety. I had Jin take a sample from it to document that we haven’t contaminated anything.’’

  ‘‘It is a nice carpet,’’ said Jin. ‘‘Thick, low pile, soft. It’s more of a burnt orange color. Our guy’s carpet is bright orange, almost the color of a safety vest.’’

  Diane and Neva laughed at the two of them talking about carpet.

  ‘‘Neva has something to show you,’’ said David, pointing to the conference table.

  They all gathered around the table and looked into portraits of Blue, Red and Green Doe, first rendered by the computer, then as drawings enhanced by Neva. She had drawn a full face and profile of each victim. She had done as Diane asked, turning a computer graphic into realistic portraits of a Caucasian female and male and an Asian female. They looked like peo ple. They looked like someone their mothers would recognize.

  ‘‘These are great,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I mean it. This is really good.’’

  ‘‘I made the two whites look too much alike. I tend to do that when I’m drawing faces freehand—make them all look alike. I must subconsciously still be doing that.’’

  ‘‘The computer renditions of them look a little bit alike around the eyes and brow,’’ said David.

  ‘‘What I didn’t tell you,’’ Diane said to Neva, ‘‘be cause I didn’t want to influence you, is that Blue’’—she put a finger on the corner of Blue’s drawing—‘‘had a nose job.’’

  Diane pointed to the profile of Green Doe with his large nose.

  ‘‘If he had a nose job, it would have to be the same kind that Blue Doe had in order to reduce the size, and they would look very much alike. We’ll have to see the DNA report, but I suspect they may be related—perhaps cousins, or sister and brother.’’

  Neva looked at her, wide-eyed. ‘‘Then I did do it right.’’

  ‘‘Way to go, Rembrandt,’’ said Jin, bumping into her, shoving her slightly. ‘‘I told you they’re good.’’

  ‘‘Go to the archives department in the museum and make several copies. Use the color copier. Even though these aren’t color, the color copier will give you a better image,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Then run a set to Garnett and Braden. Leave a couple of sets of copies here, and store the originals.’’

  Neva nodded and gathered up her drawings.

  ‘‘Before you do that, I need to tell all of you something.’’

  Diane described the attack on her the previous evening—the shadow furiously wielding the bat. The three of them listened with varying degrees of open mouths.

  ‘‘Last night?’’ said David. ‘‘After you left here?’’

  ‘‘Yes. Have any of you noticed anyone following you—anything out of the ordinary?’’

  The three of them shook their heads. ‘‘Nothing,’’ said David. ‘‘And I’m paranoid.’’

  ‘‘No,’’ said Neva. ‘‘I would have noticed.’’

  ‘‘Me too,’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘I want all of you to be extra watchful. I’m going to hire security to watch your homes until we solve this. Jin, I want you to process my car. It’s in the police impound. I doubt you’ll find anything useful, but you never know. Maybe the bat left some kind of distinctive paint or something. He slashed my tires. See if you can find a tool pattern that we could match to a knife.’’

  ‘‘Sure, Boss,’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘I didn’t see anything in the paper,’’ said David.

  ‘‘The police blotter had a one-liner,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘The vandalism on Elm Street?’’ said David.

  ‘‘That’s it. I consider it lucky. The last thing I want is for this to be connected to the museum. I’m sur prised the media didn’t pick up on the story.’’

  ‘‘That’s because Chief Garnett ordered that any calls concerning you, the lab or the museum be han dled off radio and on telephones so police scanners can’t pick them up,’’ said Neva.

  Diane looked at her for a moment, puzzled, then it dawned on her. Garnett was as protective of the mu seum as she because he wanted to protect the crime lab. He knew that if push came to shove, she’d cut the lab loose from the museum and find some way to deal with the tax problem.

  ‘‘I see. I hope this doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass,’’ she said. She sent Neva to the copying ser vices, Jin to the police station, and she went to her crime lab office and settled down with a file on each of the murders, determined to find something that would help.

  Diane was in the middle of the Cobber’s Wood file when Neva came in with the copies of the drawings.

  ‘‘You’re right. The color copies are really good. I can’t tell them from the originals.’’ Neva lingered in front of the desk after she gave Diane two sets of copies.

  ‘‘Is there something else?’’

  ‘‘Weren’t you scared last night?’’

  Diane motioned for her to sit down, and Neva pulled up a chair.

  ‘‘Yes. Terrified.’’

  ‘‘Down at the department, they say you don’t have any fear.’’

  Diane couldn’t contain a laugh. ‘‘What?’’

  First Mike and now Neva. What kind of impression was she giving people?

  ‘‘That what happened to you in South America took all your fear away. Some say you have very little emo tion about anything.’’

  ‘‘Where in the world did that come from?’’

  ‘‘The mayor’s office.’’

  ‘‘The mayor’s office?’’

  Diane remembered now. Her encounter with the mayor when he tried to threaten her politically. She laughed again.

  ‘‘I’m not afraid of the mayor, but a maniac wielding a bat in the darkness made my heart race.’’

  ‘‘But you dealt with it.’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘How?’’

  ‘‘Practice, apparently.’’ Diane shrugged. ‘‘Fear’s just an emotion. You deal with it.’’

  ‘‘I did pretty well in my police training. I do pretty well confronting suspects. It’s authority figures I can’t handle. Garnett terrifies me.’’

  ‘‘I know.’’

  ‘‘I know you know, and I appreciate your helping me out with him.’’

  ‘‘You can help yourself out by dealing with him in a straightforward way.’’

  ‘‘How?’’

  ‘‘Just pretend you aren’t afraid of him. What can he do to you anyway?’’

  ‘‘He can fire me, for one thing.’’

  ‘‘So. Is that the worst?’’

  ‘‘Well, yes.’’

  ‘‘You could walk out of here today and find another job. Perhaps a better one.’’

  Neva shook her head as though she didn’t believe her. ‘‘It isn’t that easy—to pretend you aren’t afraid.’’

  ‘‘Yes, it is. You haven’t tried it. It’s harder to think about than it is to do. It starts by building confidence in yourself.’’

  Neva smiled. ‘‘Some of the guys at the station say you�
�re arrogant.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps they’re right, or perhaps I’m just pre tending.’’

  ‘‘I don’t see how you do it.’’

  ‘‘Do what?’’

  ‘‘I mean, you have two really big jobs—two major careers going at once.’’

  ‘‘I couldn’t if that was the American Museum of Natural History out there,’’ Diane said as she gestured in the direction west of her office, toward the museum, ‘‘and if this was a New York City crime lab. But RiverTrail is a small museum—large building, but small as holdings go. And Rosewood doesn’t have a high crime rate. As it is, I’m pretty much at the limit of what I can do.’’

  ‘‘Still . . .’’ Neva was interrupted by a knock on Diane’s office door.

  Chief Garnett entered the room with a man who looked like a college professor. He wore a brown tweed sports coat and slacks, had a respectable head of brown hair and a short well-trimmed beard to match. He was slightly built and moved with an air of confidence.

  ‘‘This is Ross Kingsley,’’ Chief Garnett said. ‘‘He’s going to be doing some profiling for us.’’

  ‘‘I’d like to interview you, if you don’t mind.’’ He held out a hand to Diane, and she shook it.

  ‘‘Certainly. Before we start, Chief, Neva has finished her drawings of the Cobber’s Wood victims.’’

  She handed a set to him and watched as he and Kingsley studied them.

  ‘‘This looks good,’’ Garnett said, casting an approv ing glance at Neva.

  ‘‘They are,’’ agreed Diane. ‘‘The sheriff ought to be able to find someone who knew them.’’

  Neva stood and eased herself out the door, clearly not picking this day to confront her fear of Garnett.

  ‘‘We found what we think was the Crown Vic. Sto len, of course. That Asian guy—Jin—I’ve asked him to process it too.’’

  ‘‘I figured it was stolen,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Maybe Jin will be able to find something.’’

  ‘‘I’ll leave you two here,’’ said Garnett. ‘‘I’ll be in the lab if you need me.’’

  Diane motioned for Kingsley to sit down. She felt oddly uneasy about being interviewed by him. So much for the myth of her fearlessness.