Diane gave him her address at the crime lab. She also gave him contact information for Chief Detective Garnett and Sheriff Braden, as well as the plastic sur geon’s name and address in Buffalo.
‘‘He has X-rays of both Ashlyn and Justin. Thanks for talking to me. You’ve made a lot of things fall into place.’’
‘‘Glad to do it. I’m just sorry this turned out so badly for everyone. Have you caught Everett?’’
‘‘Yes, it appears that we did. But he’s been mur dered also.’’
‘‘I’ll be damned. You do have yourselves a situation down there.’’
‘‘That’s a bit of an understatement.’’
‘‘I’ll contact the Canadians. Like I said, they want to keep crime out of their diamond field—and they’ll want their diamonds back if they turn out to be stolen.’’
‘‘Sure. Just have them call me or Chief Garnett. Thanks again.’’
Diane sent a JPEG photo of John Doe to Detective LaSalle, then called the tech school and left a message asking for an appointment to talk with Joseph Isaac son. On her way home, she called Garnett and re peated everything LaSalle had told her.
‘‘So we know who they are and why they were killed. You were right. Our John Doe was angry. This was about revenge—or maybe justice, as he saw it. I’ll call Braden and the profiler. He’ll have to revise his profile again.’’
Diane heard him laughing as he hung up his phone. * * *
Joseph Isaacson was a small man with short white hair and salt-and-pepper eyebrows and moustache. He walked with a slight stoop. Diane wondered if it was from years of bending over his work. He reminded her of their mummy—they called him a scribe, but he could have been an artisan like Joseph Isaacson. He spoke with a slight accent.
Isaacson closed the door to cut out the sound from the adjacent polishing and cutting equipment of the classroom, moved a stack of papers and invited her to sit.
His office was cluttered with books and papers. He had an old rolltop desk against the wall and a table in the middle. It was the table he actually used as a desk. Behind him was a photograph of a large spar kling diamond.
‘‘I’m looking for someone who cut a diamond for a young man named Chris Edwards,’’ she said. ‘‘He was a student at Bartram University.’’
Diane explained briefly that Edwards had been murdered, perhaps for the diamond.
‘‘You think one of my students may be a murderer?’’
‘‘Oh, no. I’m hoping you or one of your students cut the diamond and can tell me about it.’’
‘‘Aren’t you the director of the museum?’’
‘‘Yes, and I run a crime lab.’’
‘‘Such opposites.’’
‘‘Often very complementary.’’
‘‘A very yin and yang life you lead, my granddaugh ter would probably say. I did not cut a stone for the young man, but let’s ask my students.’’
He rose, and the two of them walked into the class room. He clapped his hands.
‘‘Students, listen.’’
They stopped what they were doing and looked up. ‘‘This nice woman is Dr. Diane Fallon of the RiverTrail Museum of Natural History. She’s looking for information. Did any of you cut a diamond for a man named Chris Edwards?’’
The students looked at each other and back at the professor, except for one male student who kept look ing at his work.
‘‘Kurt. You look like you can help us.’’
‘‘Yes, sir.’’ His voice almost cracked.
Kurt looked very young and miserable as he fol lowed them back into the office. He brought a leather notebook with him and he held it close to his body like a shield.
‘‘Don’t look so forlorn, Kurt. We just want to ask you some questions.’’
‘‘I should have come forward sooner, sir, when I heard about Chris. I didn’t know if his death had any thing to do with the diamond, but it might have.’’ He slumped into the chair Isaacson offered him.
‘‘Sit up straight and answer Dr. Fallon’s questions, Mr. Martin. She’s not here to devour you.’’
Kurt straightened up in his chair.
‘‘Tell me about the diamond,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I knew Chris Edwards. We lived in the same apart ment building for a while until he moved. He called and said he had inherited a diamond from his grand mother and wanted it cut into a stone for his fiance´e. Well, I said sure. But when I saw the diamond—well, I was afraid at first, but Chris insisted he wanted me to do it.’’
‘‘You’re doing fine, son,’’ said his teacher.
‘‘Mr. Isaacson, you should have seen it. It was beau tiful. I’ve never seen a stone like that. I studied it for a couple of days and it was like you said—some stones just tell you how to cut them. The diamond yielded two one-carat stones. He wanted them round, so I did an ideal cut.’’ He pulled out his notebook and took out several photographs and gave them to his teacher. ‘‘I took pictures.’’
Isaacson looked at the photographs, then looked at Kurt over his glasses. ‘‘You are right, this is a fine stone, Kurt. And you did a beautiful job. What did you name them?’’
‘‘The Star Princess and the Princess Kacie,’’ he said, sitting straighter in the chair. Suddenly, he slumped again. ‘‘I suppose I should have said something to somebody. I knew they were valuable stones.’’
‘‘It’s all right. This is America, Kurt. We don’t in form on people because they have nice things,’’ said Isaacson.
‘‘Did you believe he inherited it from his grand mother?’’ asked Diane. ‘‘Did you get any sense that it may have come from somewhere else?’’
‘‘Was it the museum’s?’’ asked Kurt.
‘‘No.’’
He looked relieved. ‘‘I sort of thought he probably did inherit it. I mean, he was a forestry student, not a world-class cat burglar. How could he possibly even steal a stone like that?’’
‘‘That’s a good point,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Thank you for your time.’’
‘‘Am I in trouble?’’
‘‘No. The detective in charge of Chris’s case may want to talk to you, but that’s only to try to figure out how he acquired the stone.’’
‘‘So it didn’t come from his grandmother?’’ ‘‘Probably not.’’
‘‘May I keep the photos, Kurt?’’ asked Isaacson.
‘‘Yes. I made copies for you. I was just trying to figure out how to tell you about it.’’
‘‘You can go back to your work now.’’
‘‘Thanks.’’ Kurt hurried out the door as if Diane might change her mind at any moment and decide to devour him.
‘‘He was not at fault,’’ said Isaacson. ‘‘Diamonds are alive, you know, and they talk to you. Kurt’s dia mond spoke to him, and the temptation to cut such a stone is more than anyone can resist. See that stone?’’ He pointed to the photograph of the diamond that hung on the wall. ‘‘That is the Arctic Star. It’s my stone.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘Some Japanese businessman has it in a vault somewhere, but it will always be mine. I studied it, I cut it. Fifty-five carats. Stunning stone. Kurt isn’t in any trouble, is he?’’
‘‘I would not think so.’’
‘‘Where did the diamond come from? It was not a blood diamond, I hope.’’
‘‘From Canada, I believe.’’
‘‘Oh, the Ekati mine. Beautiful diamonds. Very white.’’
‘‘Thank you for your time.’’
‘‘My pleasure. You know, you could use some nicer stones in your gem collection at the museum.’’
‘‘We’re working on it.’’
Chapter 43
It was four in the morning, and in thirty minutes Diane would be getting up to go caving with Mike, Neva and Mike’s friend who had gotten them access to the cave. She had her backpack ready and had checked her batteries and ropes.
‘‘Would you like to go caving with me?’’ she said, giving Frank a kiss.
&nbs
p; ‘‘No, nor do I want to go skydiving, bungee jump ing, or solo climbing.’’
‘‘You don’t know what you’re missing. There’s no peace like the depth of a cave.’’
‘‘You have a little bit of insanity running in your family, don’t you?’’
‘‘Possibly. What are you going to be doing this weekend?’’
‘‘I’m taking Kevin and Star to the Atlanta Raceway.’’
‘‘Now, see, that’s crazy. Is Star looking forward to that?’’
‘‘Sure, she loves it. Star knows quite a bit about cars.’’
Diane got out of bed and put on her clothes. She was lacing up her boots when Frank put his arms around her waist and kissed her on her jaw. ‘‘Watch where you’re going.’’
‘‘Always.’’
She loaded her gear in the SUV and drove to pick up Neva. The two of them were dressed similarly— jeans, tee-shirts and flannel shirts over them, lace-up boots. Neva stored her gear in the back and got in the front with Diane.
‘‘Excited?’’ said Diane.
‘‘Very nervous. My parents think I’m crazy.’’
‘‘Funny, I was just told that too. You’ll do fine. Didn’t I hear that you’re into tai chi?’’
Neva nodded. ‘‘I like it a lot. Very relaxing exercise.’’
‘‘As I understand it, one of the objectives of tai chi is to develop a tranquil mind and become aware of your surroundings.’’
‘‘A lot of people think you learn to zone things out. It’s really just the opposite.’’
‘‘That will really help you caving. You have to be constantly aware of your surroundings, notice where you’ve been and watch for hazards. Once you’ve had enough practice, it’s second nature.’’
‘‘In some of the caver meetings we discussed differ ent methods of walking in caves so you don’t get tired out,’’ said Neva.
‘‘It’s good that you’ve done that. Fatigue is a major enemy. Remember to keep your head as high as you can as you walk. There’s a natural tendency to want to stoop over inside a cave.’’
‘‘Mike said we’re going to start meeting at the museum.’’
‘‘I thought it was a good idea. Up in the rock room, probably.’’
After a pause, Neva asked, ‘‘Who killed the man in the hospital? Everett Littleton, right?’’
‘‘It’s still open. The nurse on duty has a vague mem ory of an orderly coming into the critical care unit. That’s about all. Garnett likes Steven Mayberry for it.’’
‘‘And you?’’
‘‘I don’t know. It was someone who was bold and proficient, or reckless.’’
‘‘Everett Littleton killed the three in the woods?’’
‘‘That’s what it looks like. I think he tried to tell me he executed them, but with him dead, we may never know the whole story.’’
‘‘Did he kill Chris, Kacie and Raymond too?’’
‘‘I don’t know. Chief Garnett thinks either Everett Littleton or Steven Mayberry killed them.’’
‘‘So Steven Mayberry went from forestry student to super ninja serial killer?’’ said Neva. ‘‘A lot of this just isn’t tracking for me.’’
‘‘Obviously, there are a lot of loose ends. But our part is over now. We’ve analyzed the crime scene evi dence and turned in our reports. It’s up to the police and the D.A. to figure it out and make a case, if there’s anyone left to make a case against.’’
‘‘So many dead, and no one to prosecute,’’ Neva said.
Mike Seger and a slightly husky young man with a short straggly beard stood waiting at the curb in front of Mike’s house.
‘‘This is Dick MacGregor,’’ said Mike. ‘‘His cousin owns the land the cave is on.’’
‘‘Yeah, it’s my favorite cave,’’ said MacGregor. ‘‘Did you like my map? I started it when I was a kid. I don’t know much about how cartographers do it, so I just did it my way, as the song says.’’
‘‘The only thing that matters in a map is that it reflects what’s there,’’ said Diane.
Mike shot her a glance as he climbed in the back seat. Diane was not above flattery if it got her access to an interesting cave.
They drove for twenty minutes and MacGregor chatted the whole time. Diane hoped he would tone it down inside the cave.
‘‘Mike told me you’ve done a lot of caving on rope,’’ he said.
‘‘Yes, I have.’’
‘‘I haven’t done much of that. I’d like to learn.’’
‘‘Mike says he has a friend who just opened a gym with a good rock-climbing wall,’’ said Diane. ‘‘That’d be a good place to start working on your climbing muscles.’’
It was just daylight when they arrived at the cave. They piled out of the car, and Diane left her custom ary note and map detailing where they were going. She had also told Frank, Andie, David and Jonas. She never went caving without several people knowing where she was going and how to find her.
They hiked through the woods, through a gate and up a trail. The cave entrance in the side of a rock outcrop was shielded by thick brush and vines growing out of the cracks in the rock face.
At the entrance, Diane hung her compass around her neck and took a reading. They put on their hard hats, turned on their helmet lights and arranged their backpacks comfortably. MacGregor went in first.
‘‘Anybody has claustrophobia, now’s the time to say something,’’ he said, and laughed.
Diane followed him. Neva came right behind her, and Mike brought up the rear.
The entrance chamber was small and filled with de tritus blown and washed in from the outside. The walls were steep solid rock that curved upward and inward to make a dome-shaped ceiling. The entrance didn’t allow much sunlight to filter in, so the twilight zone— the dim area between the light of the outside world and the deep darkness of the cave—came quickly. Diane saw a black hole in the rear wall. She remem bered on the map it led to a short passage and to a larger chamber beyond—the Tail of the Lizard, MacGregor had labeled it.
‘‘Now entering the twilight zone,’’ said MacGregor, and he hummed the theme song from the TV pro gram. Diane glanced in Mike’s direction. He smiled and shrugged.
They had to duck low to enter the new passage. The limestone walls closed in with smooth, undulating shapes with bulges that curved gently like the begin nings of an arm carved eons ago. They were entering the realm of geologic time where the amassing of years was almost impossible for humans, who have been on earth the mere blink of an eye, to wrap their brains around.
Diane loved everything about caves—the an cientness, the wildness, the ornate shapes, the bejew eled and flowered mineral features, cave creatures and even the absolute velvet darkness. The lights from their headlamps made strange shadow puppets of the shapes and protrusions of the wall. Had any of them been overweight, the passage would have been a squeeze. She glanced briefly at Neva. She looked fine.
The tunnel was short. It led into a larger chamber strewn with boulders of various sizes, the largest being the size of a human. The rock face of one wall leaned toward the chamber, looking like it might fall over on top of them. They were in the dark zone now. Without their lights, they would be as blind as some of the creatures who lived there.
Diane turned and examined the tunnel they had just come through so she could recognize it from the oppo site direction. You have to learn how to see in a cave. You can see only in the direction your head faces because your light is on top of your head and points straight ahead. And in the darkness of a cave, the light beam is quickly swallowed up. You don’t get the panoramic view your peripheral vision gives you up in the world of sunlight.
She took another reading of the marked it in her notebook. They all books. Mike had a camera and snapped shots of the formations, making a quick burst of light with each picture. He wrote things in his notebook that looked like chemical notations, from the brief glimpse Diane got of them. Neva drew sketches in her notebook.
MacGregor looked like he was writing a novel. Per haps he was, and a cave was where his muse talked to him. Diane could understand that.
The easy trail through the cave was a succession of tunnels and rooms like beads on a string, frequently crossed by other passageways. MacGregor’s chatty na ture was useful inside the cave, for he freely explained what was down each passage they crossed.
‘‘There’s lots of mazes in this cave—little twisting passages that all look alike.’’ He laughed, indicating that he’d just told a joke, or quoted something.
‘‘Zork, an old computer game,’’ Mike whispered to her.
Sometimes they took one of the cross tunnels when it was marked as part of the easy route. They came compass and carried note to a passage that MacGregor called Fish Scale passage and was just what Diane thought it would be—a tun nel that once had water moving through it, creating scallops in the ancient streambed as it flowed. The steep side of the scallops was the upstream direction from which the water had traveled. The small size of the scallops and the curviness of the passage told her that it had been a fast-moving stream. Mike snapped pictures, made measurements and explained the water movement to Neva as she rubbed her hand on the water-carved surface.
Diane continued taking compass readings as a pre lude to mapping. Direction gave her an understanding of the cave. That was how she defined a cave—a direc tional space through rock. Her compass readings hardwired the cave system in her mind, giving her a visual image of it. That made it easy when she got down to actually drawing the maps. With every compass bear ing she took a backsight from the opposite direction to check her first reading, in case the cave had mag netic rocks that influenced the compass, or in case she made an error.
Mike moved ahead. Neva followed, and MacGregor walked quickly to catch up with Mike. Walk slowly in a cave, thought Diane, but she didn’t say anything. This particular tunnel was clear of breakdown, jutting or overhanging rocks. Not much to bump into or stum ble over. They came to another cross passage. Diane tried to visualize it on the map. She walked slowly, looking at every feature of the tunnel.
Mike had taken the lead, following the things he was interested in, and they all followed him. He fre quently checked the map to be sure they didn’t stray into a wild zone. MacGregor seemed to be trying to regain leadership.
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