Chapter 30
Ross Kingsley let his gaze wander around her office before bringing his attention back to Diane. Diane’s eyes never left Kingsley.
‘‘Your office is very Spartan,’’ he said.
Interesting choice of words, she thought. Sparse, bare, cold, perhaps, but not Spartan—the places to sit were far too comfortable.
‘‘It’s relatively new,’’ she said.
‘‘Garnett told me you suffered a great tragedy doing human rights investigations in South America.’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘And you don’t want to revisit it. I can understand. What do you do for fun?’’
‘‘Why are you profiling me?’’
Kingsley shifted in his chair. ‘‘Because this man who may be the killer has focused his attention on you. I want to know why, so I can understand him.’’
‘‘I enjoy caving.’’
‘‘Exploring caves?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘You like dark places, then.’’
‘‘I always carry at least three sources of light.’’
He laughed. ‘‘But caving is dangerous.’’
‘‘It can be.’’
‘‘What is it that you like about it?’’
‘‘I enjoy cave mapping. I like exploring a new world. I also like dangling on the end of a rope.’’
He laughed again. ‘‘Why do you think your office is so devoid of personal items?’’
‘‘Because I haven’t put any in yet. I spend more time in the labs here or in my other office.’’
‘‘Other office? At the station house?’’
‘‘How much about me did Garnett reveal to you?’’
‘‘Not a lot. That you are a forensic anthropologist who used to do human rights investigations. We lis tened to the tapes of you and the caller. Most of my time so far has been spent looking at the reports of the crime scenes.’’
‘‘I have an office in the museum. That’s where you’ll find personal items, including a rather nice photograph of me dangling on the end of a rope.’’
‘‘In the museum? This one connected to the crime lab?’’
‘‘Yes. I’m the director.’’
That caught him by surprise. Diane wondered why they hadn’t told him. Perhaps Garnett just hadn’t con sidered it pertinent. She could almost see Kingsley revising his profile of her.
‘‘I see. Well, that’s certainly interesting. You must be a busy woman.’’
‘‘I am.’’
‘‘You don’t have any cognitive’’—he waved a hand in the air—‘‘dissonance switching from one job to the other?’’
‘‘No. Actually, they go together better than you might expect. I have within a couple of floors experts in a great many fields—geologists, biologists, entomol ogists, archaeologists. Sometimes my duties overlap. For instance, we just inherited a mummy. He’s getting the same analysis that a modern body would. For me and my forensic staff, being next to the museum has very definite benefits. After working a gruesome crime scene, it’s amazingly calming to go look at the collec tion of seashells, or at the giant dinosaurs.’’
‘‘I’ll bet it is. This is interesting. Very unexpected. So, why do you think this guy is calling you?’’
Diane wasn’t fazed by his abrupt change of subject. She suspected that was why he did it—to see if she really could switch attention on a dime.
‘‘I don’t know. He says he wants me to understand his position. It sounds like he wants my approval. I don’t know why.’’
‘‘Do you think it was he who attacked you last night?’’
‘‘In the last conversation with him, I had a sense he was frustrated that I wouldn’t tell him he was right. I assumed it was him, but I don’t know. Nor do I know who else might have done it.’’
‘‘That’s a good question. Did you get a sense of how old the caller is?’’
‘‘Twenties was my impression. I’d say not much into his thirties, if that old. But that is just an impression.’’
Kingsley looked at his notes. ‘‘You say that the per son who tied the ropes that hung the people in the forest wasn’t the same person who tied the ropes that hung the guy in the house. Is that something you’re sure of?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Would you explain that to me?’’
Diane went through the same explanation that she gave Chief Garnett and Sheriff Braden about how the knots were tied.
‘‘So the person who tied’’—he looked down at his notes—‘‘Chris Edwards’ knots did not know how to tie a proper knot?’’
‘‘No. He tied a granny knot.’’
Kingsley referred to his notes again. ‘‘You mention that all the knots tied by the person who tied the hanging victims in the forest had... what did you call it?...a stopper knot on the tail end of each?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Would you call this compulsive behavior? I mean, why did he do this with all the knots he tied?’’
‘‘No, I wouldn’t call it compulsive. One thing you have to make sure of is that the end of the rope doesn’t slip through the knot you just tied when weight is put on the knot. That’s what a stopper knot is for. This guy used a stevedore’s knot. I use a figure eight when I need a stopper knot. A stevedore is like a figure eight, just with an extra turn. It might say something about where he learned to tie his knots.’’
Kingsley nodded. ‘‘And this length of rope you found. You actually re-created the knot that was once tied in it?’’
‘‘I found a knot that I could make correspond to the kinks left by previous knots and that also corres ponds to a specific spiral wear pattern on the rope. That’s not to say I am right.’’
He smiled. ‘‘I appreciate your careful use of words. Say you were right. You mention that it is a knot used by truckers.’’
‘‘I don’t know how commonly it is used by them, but it is a knot used by that group. It’s a knot for tying up and securing a load. When the tension is released, the knot is easy to untie. In knots, being able to untie them is almost as important as being able to tie them.’’
‘‘I find this interesting. This is the kind of thing I don’t usually get from evidence. Tell me this. Suppose for a moment that the person who is calling you is the one who killed the victims in the forest. Is he smart enough to try to fool you?’’
‘‘Dr. Kingsley, anyone is smart enough to try to fool me.’’
‘‘I guess you’re right. Let me rephrase. What I’m getting at is, would this person tie the wrong kind of knot on purpose at a second crime scene just to throw you off track?’’
‘‘He could, but how would he know that we would even look at the knots?’’
‘‘Perhaps in the TV interview...’’
Diane shook her head. ‘‘I never mentioned the knots—just bones. Most people don’t even know there is such a thing as forensic knot analysis.’’
‘‘Good point.’’ He rose. ‘‘According to the report I read, you haven’t found any physical evidence that links any of the crimes together.’’
‘‘That’s true—none.’’
‘‘You have been very helpful. I assume I can call on you if I need any more information?’’
‘‘Of course.’’
Diane opened a drawer and handed him a card. On it she wrote her cell phone number.
‘‘Another thing. I don’t think this was in any of the reports exactly, but it just occurred to me. He seems to know how to avoid having his calls traced to him—that is, he uses calling cards, or someone else’s E-mail ac count. That took some cheek—one of the E-mail mes sages came from inside the museum in the Internet cafe downstairs from here. He apparently waited for some one to leave their computer a moment and just slipped in and sent his own E-mail. I understand he knew enough to erase it from the person’s sent file.’’
‘‘That’s interesting. You’re right, that wasn’t in the report—not
in that way.’’
‘‘Why do you think he is calling me?’’
‘‘I think you are right and that for some reason he wants your approval. I don’t know if you remind him of his mother, sister or the nun who used to rap his knuckles. He might simply think you look like a sym pathetic person. I’m not sure yet.’’
‘‘How should I handle the conversations? Should I push him for information?’’
Kingsley hesitated for a moment. ‘‘Handle it the same way you’ve been doing it—as the firm but kind teacher. I may change my mind when I’ve been over everything.’’
They shook hands, and Diane walked with him to the lab, where they found Chief Garnett engrossed in what was apparently a lengthy explanation from Neva of how one arrives at the shape of a nose from skele tal remains.
Diane had to go to a Raymond Waller’s. She’d and left the museum just before noon to go home and change into a dark navy suit. Elwood Jefferson of the AME Church was conducting the funeral. When she arrived, she sat down by Lynn Webber.
‘‘Raymond had a lot of friends,’’ said Diane. ‘‘He did,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘I’m proud to count myself among them. You know, I work with death all the time and I still don’t understand it. Why do people do it? It’s not something you can take back.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘Raymond was just the nicest, funni est man.’’
‘‘Yes, he was.’’ Diane gazed around at the people gathered to say good-bye to Raymond Waller. Most funeral that afternoon— borrowed Andie’s Honda of the people she didn’t know. About a third of them were white and the rest black. There were several peo ple from the neighborhood that she recalled seeing standing on the side of the road. She saw Chief Garnett and Ross Kingsley in the back. She wondered if Raymond’s murderer was there.
Reverend
Raymond’s
Jefferson gave a stirring eulogy about life and the wickedness that took him early. As moving as it was, Diane was glad when it was over.
The small church was hot, and Diane was relieved to finally get outside. The church had its own ceme tery, and that was where Raymond was buried. A little less than half of the congregation left before the graveside service. Diane stayed. She and Lynn walked together to the grave site and stood across from the family. There weren’t many of them. An older man and woman who looked like they were probably hus band and wife. Two younger women with men who were probably their spouses, and a boy of about thirteen.
After the family said their last farewells and the casket was being lowered, Diane walked with Lynn to give their condolences to the family.
‘‘Have you met them?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘No. Raymond didn’t talk about them much. I got the idea that not everyone got along.’’
Diane held out her hand to the first family member, a very pretty woman dressed in a black cotton suit. She had a head full of dark spirals, brownish green eyes and skin slightly lighter than Raymond’s. She looked like she was probably in her early-to midthirties. Diane introduced herself and was in the middle of expressing her sympathy when the other woman, who appeared to be an identical twin, stepped forward.
‘‘I heard somebody tell us to get in touch with you. You have Raymond’s things. I want you to know, we expect to get them back. Don’t think you are going to get away with them—no, ma’am, we’re going to get them back.’’
‘‘Hello,’’ the first woman interrupted. ‘‘I’m Kather ine Markum and this is my sister, Elisabeth—also known as my evil twin. We’re Ray’s cousins. Momma here was Ray’s momma’s sister. We appreciate your not leaving his valuables in the house to get stolen.’’
‘‘Speak for yourself,’’ said Elisabeth.
‘‘They’re at the museum. My head conservator cata loged them when they were stored,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We also have Mr. Waller’s journal of photographs describ ing his holdings.’’
‘‘We had no idea that Raymond had anything valu able,’’ said Katherine.
‘‘One of my employees tells me that it’s a very good collection.’’
‘‘Don’t you be thinking you’re going to get your hands on it.’’
‘‘Elisa, please,’’ said her uncle. ‘‘This is Ray’s funeral.’’
She ignored him. ‘‘I’ve already had people call wanting to buy them. We’ll be picking them up right now.’’
‘‘We who?’’ said her sister. ‘‘Ray has a will, and I know he wouldn’t leave anything to you. It’s not like you and he were friends.’’ Katherine turned to Diane. ‘‘I am sorry to be airing our dirty linen in front of you, a perfect stranger, but at least you don’t have to live with her.’’
Diane was beginning to regret telling Garnett that it was all right to store the baseball collection at the museum.
‘‘One thing I don’t understand,’’ said Katherine. ‘‘Why did the museum work Raymond’s crime scene?’’
Diane started to explain when a tall middle-aged black man stepped forward and spoke to the family.
‘‘Excuse me. I’m Russell Keating, Raymond’s attor ney. I have his will. You should have gotten a letter from me. We’ll be meeting tomorrow in my office.’’ He turned to Diane. ‘‘I think, right now, a museum is a good place to hold his collection. I understand you have it in an environmentally controlled room.’’
‘‘Yes, we do.’’
‘‘Humph,’’ said Elisabeth. ‘‘We have airconditioning.’’
Katherine lowered her head. ‘‘Please, Momma, tell me I don’t have the same DNA as this woman.’’
‘‘Kathy, I’m getting really tired of your snide little comments,’’ said Elisabeth.
‘‘We can clear all this up tomorrow,’’ said Keating. ‘‘In my office at ten A.M.’’
Diane gave her condolences to the rest of the family and walked with Lynn Webber to her car.
‘‘Well, they’re a pair,’’ said Lynn. ‘‘I’ve never seen twins who look so much alike and are so different. Raymond told me a little about them. He liked Kathy, couldn’t stand Elisa.’’ Lynn stopped at her car and opened the door. ‘‘I’m glad I’m not going to be at the reading of the will. He told me he wanted the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum in Kansas City to have his collection.’’
‘‘You’re right. I’m glad to be missing that too. I have an appointment at the hospital in about thirty minutes to have a CT scan done on our mummy. Would you like to attend?’’
Lynn stared at her for a long moment. ‘‘A mummy? Oh yes, you told us about him.’’
‘‘We inherited him. We don’t have any provenance on him, but we’re all excited just the same—hoping he doesn’t turn out to be a fake.’’
‘‘That’d be interesting.’’ Her eyes misted over. ‘‘That’s the kind of thing Raymond would have just loved. He’d have had me and him front row seats before you even knew you had a scheduled date. I am sure going to miss him.’’
As Diane spoke with Lynn, she caught sight of Garnett and Kingsley as they got in Garnett’s car to leave. She wondered if Kingsley got any information of im portance from the gathering.
Garnett reached for his cell in his breast pocket and put it to his ear. She felt her phone vibrating in her purse. She took it out and looked at the display. It was David.
Chapter 31
Diane said good-bye to Lynn Webber and headed toward her car a few feet away, punching up David’s cell number as she walked.
‘‘What’s up?’’ she asked.
‘‘We have another murder.’’
‘‘Anyone we know?’’ Diane was half joking, half
expecting it to be Steven Mayberry.
‘‘It’s Kacie Beck.’’
Diane was stunned. ‘‘Kacie? I just spoke with her.’’ ‘‘I’m on the way to work the scene. Neva’s with me.
The two of us can do it. Don’t you have an appoint ment at the hospital for the mummy’s CT scan?’’ ‘‘Yes, but...’’
‘‘You go on with that. Give us a head start on
the crime scene. Maybe we’ll know something by the time you get there.’’
‘‘Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I finish at the hospi tal. David, she was wearing a diamond engagement ring when I saw her. Look for it.’’
‘‘Will do.’’
Diane got in her borrowed car and sat there for a moment before starting the ignition. Damn, she thought. Damn. Another murder victim with a connec tion to the Cobber’s Wood murders. What’s this about? Surely the killer left some piece of physical evidence that would connect at least some of the crime scenes. But she hadn’t been able to find it.
The caller had her believing he was a serial killer. Run-of-the-mill killers usually don’t try to engage the crime lab director in dialogue. But Diane had a sense that there was something more to it than just a crazy person.
When she arrived at
Korey was already there
the radiology department, with Jonas, waiting in the hallway with the mummy. Korey leaned against the wall, and Jonas sat on a chair that he apparently dragged from an adjacent waiting room. Next to the wall on a gurney was the mummy, strapped to a board by several layers of plastic wrap that enveloped him from head to foot.
‘‘I imagine you caused a stir bringing him in,’’ said Diane
‘‘We did indeed,’’ said Jonas. ‘‘Everyone here is quite excited.’’
‘‘So, this is your mummy.’’ Lynn Webber arrived, changed from her dark dress to a white lab coat and slacks. ‘‘I’ve never seen one up close.’’ She stood over the gurney and scrutinized him. ‘‘Nice clothes. I like these plastic wrappings much better than the dingy linen ones you usually see on them.’’
Diane introduced everyone to Lynn Webber. Jonas stood and offered her a seat.
‘‘No, please stay seated.’’
But Jonas rose and joined Lynn next to the mummy, explaining to her what they had discovered so far and how it came to be in their possession.
Korey handed Diane a file. ‘‘Jonas and I examined him with an endoscope. We took these pictures. We also took some tissue samples and sent them off for analysis.’’
Diane opened the folder and photographs. ‘‘These are good.’’
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