vindication. She felt a bit ashamed of herself for it.

  ‘‘Did the campaign worker tell you anything useful?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Not at first. But then he told us he’d noticed Peeks was spending a lot of time talking to kids in chat rooms. He didn’t know about what or which chat rooms. He only got a glance or two over his shoulder, but he read enough of the screen to see that Peeks was buttering up someone who was obviously much younger than he was.’’

  ‘‘What did he do with the information?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘There’s the problem,’’ said Loraine. ‘‘Nothing. He quit a few weeks later when he was verbally reprimanded rather harshly by Bryce for a mistake he made in a mailing. We thought the guy might be just a disgruntled volunteer. It happens in all campaigns. Some people think because they are volunteers they don’t have to abide by a work ethic.’’

  ‘‘Where is he now? Will he talk to me?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘He’s a manager at Wal-Mart. And, yes, Mother, I go to Wal-Mart sometimes. I like their craft section.’’

  She smiled at her mother, who, Diane gathered, wouldn’t be caught dead in a discount department store.

  ‘‘Buckley and I got together to talk about what to do. The problem was, we really didn’t have any information. Just vague suspicions about something that could be very innocent. Then Buckley remembered about Jefferies’

  business in Atlanta. We knew they made commercials—they would have film equipment. It occurred to us that he might be into, well, into porn with these kids. I know it was a stretch. But could we take a chance?’’

  ‘‘Oh, no,’’ said Mrs. Sutton. ‘‘Tell me you didn’t investigate that?’’

  ‘‘Well, yes, Mother, we did. That is, Buckley did. He said, being the candidate’s daughter, I should stay out of it.’’

  ‘‘Well, thank heaven for that,’’ said her mother.

  ‘‘Buckley knew someone who was having a commercial made by Jefferies’ company. He went with them a couple of times and nosed around. Jefferies wasn’t there. He has…had someone else run his business for him. Buckley couldn’t find anything that suggested any kind of illegal activity at all. We thought it was a dead end. But Buckley wouldn’t let it go.’’

  Diane didn’t quite see how they arrived at the notion that Jefferies was making porn from that scant evidence. It sounded to her like the beginnings of a smear campaign that Sutton’s people had hoped to start. His supporters were known for planting malicious innuendos about political opponents, turning the most innocent things into something suspicious. Sutton himself had even helped spread rumors about Diane when she wouldn’t agree to move the museum and sell the property. It was their bad luck that Jefferies was better at vicious campaigning than they were.

  ‘‘What did Buckley do?’’ said Diane. Her body was starting to ache from sitting in one position for so long. She was more sore than she thought she would be.

  Loraine looked at her father. ‘‘You know how loyal Buckley is,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Oh, Lord, what did he do?’’ said her father.

  Loraine turned to Diane. ‘‘Dad’s volunteers are very loyal to him. They know they are working for someone who has Rosewood’s best interests at heart and they want to see him elected.’’

  ‘‘I take it Buckley was at the forefront of loyalty,’’ said Diane, smiling.

  ‘‘He was. He followed one or the other of Jefferies or Peeks. He didn’t stalk them or anything, but he’d follow them as they were leaving their headquarters, and if they didn’t go home, he’d keep following. He wasn’t really routine about it. Just when he had time. About the third time, he saw Peeks meeting with some kids. Two boys and a girl this time. He wrote down the license plate of their car. He found out who owned it and went to see him. The kid wouldn’t talk with him at first except to say that he met Peeks at a job fair on campus. Buckley contacted the campus. You know you have to sign up to be at the job fair. We knew Peeks worked for a recruitment agency in Atlanta and we did find out that he placed several college students in jobs. They were legitimate jobs. We checked—

  phone company, banks, insurance offices, government agencies—all good jobs at legitimate places. We were at a dead end and decided to let it go. Then several days later the kid with the car called and told Buckley he wanted to meet with him.’’

  ‘‘What did he want?’’ asked Diane, leaning forward.

  ‘‘Don’t know. The kid didn’t show and he wouldn’t answer Buckley’s calls. Buckley went over to his house, but he wouldn’t answer the door. That was it.’’

  ‘‘What do you think that was about?’’ asked Diane.

  Loraine shrugged. ‘‘Who knows? He was unreliable. He was one of those kids who, well, he dressed in ragged jeans, had a ring in his nose. Somehow you don’t expect that from Asian kids, but there you are.’’ Loraine stopped and looked at Diane. ‘‘Are you all right?’’

  31

  Diane must have gone pale, but there it was—Asian, nose ring, teenager. They all were staring at her. She put a hand to her cheek and gently rubbed it. ‘‘My face is hurting a little bit. It does that. I’m fine, really.’’

  ‘‘Honestly, a man who would hit a woman,’’ said Mrs. Sutton. ‘‘And he called himself a policeman. May I get you some ice?’’

  ‘‘I’ll be all right. It’s probably just healing twinges.’’ Diane smiled at them and changed position in her chair.

  ‘‘Do you know the kid’s name?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘No, but I can find out. Just a minute. I’ll call Buckley.’’

  ‘‘An address and phone number for him would help a lot,’’ said Diane.

  Loraine stood up and went into an adjoining room. Diane heard her calling and asking for the name. There was a long silence. Diane imagined he was getting the information. They didn’t talk long, but from what Diane heard, she guessed they probably had dated. May still be dating. There was a friendly playfulness to her voice usually reserved for someone close. Loraine didn’t tell Buckley what it was about. Diane was grateful for that, but she had a feeling Loraine might call him back when she left.

  ‘‘Count on Buckley for keeping good notes,’’ Loraine said, coming back into the room.

  She gave Diane an index card containing two names.

  One had an address and phone number in Atlanta. The other had a local phone number.

  ‘‘Malcolm Chen is the kid. Sid Larkin is the manager at Wal-Mart,’’ said Loraine.

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ said Diane, taking the card and pocketing it. ‘‘This will be a big help. I appreciate all of you speaking with me. And thank you for the refreshments. I appreciate your hospitality.’’

  ‘‘Glad to help,’’ said Sutton. ‘‘I’m always glad to help.’’

  They all rose as Diane stood. She was relieved to be leaving. She was starting to feel smothered by a room with so much fabric.

  ‘‘Are you going to be all right to drive back?’’ asked Sutton.

  ‘‘I’ll be fine. I’m mostly just sore,’’ she assured him.

  ‘‘I’m glad Edward has taken the helm,’’ he said. ‘‘He’s a good man.’’

  ‘‘He is,’’ Diane agreed, edging toward the door.

  Sutton cleared his throat. ‘‘Tell me, do you think he will run for mayor in the special election?’’

  Ah, thought Diane, fishing for information about another potential rival.

  ‘‘He hasn’t said anything to me, but I’ve always had the impression that if Edward were elected mayor, the first thing he would do is demand a recount.’’

  Their laughter was far heartier than the joke warranted. Diane suspected it was mainly relief. There was no way that Walter Sutton could defeat Edward Van Ross in an election.

  ‘‘Please come by again,’’ said Mrs. Sutton.

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ said Diane.

  Diane finally made it out the door and felt a distinct relief as it closed behind her. She climbed in her SUV and drove to Spence Jefferies’ house.

  At the entryway she pulled coveralls over her clothes and donned shoe and hair covers.

  Whereas Mayor Sutton’s house had been all fabric, tapestries, and deep colors, Mayor Jefferies’ house was white marble and dark wood. Paintings of war and conquest were in abundance, all in classical Greek and Roman style, mounted in simple metal frames. There was the bust of Alexander the Great. And in the center of the dining room table was a sculpture of Bucephalus, Alexander’s horse.

  He was like a kid, thought Diane, pretending to be a great conqueror.

  ‘‘Hey, boss. I thought I heard someone come in.’’ Jin met her in the hallway.

  She knew they would have processed the foyer first and would have made a safe walkway through the house—a trail that had been scrutinized for all the evidence they could discover.

  ‘‘How are things going here?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘Real good. David found something interesting. He’ll tell you about it. Actually we could have found it in the lab, but we just now got to taking a closer look at the pictures.’’

  ‘‘That sounds intriguing,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Anything else?’’

  ‘‘Gee, boss, you expect a lot.’’ Jin grinned. ‘‘I’ve mapped the blood pattern and taken lots of samples. I was just getting ready to go back to the lab. I checked the rest of the house for blood. I found some in the guest bathroom sink on this floor. There’s a guest room back in the corner off the living room. Anyway, I think the shooter got a little spray on him and he washed up. The last team in here didn’t think to check all the bathrooms for blood.’’ Jin sounded cocky on the last comment.

  ‘‘That’s why we’re here,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I knew you would be thorough. Think maybe the shooter was hoping the guest bathroom would be skipped?’’

  Jin nodded. ‘‘That’s what I think. There’s a divider in front of the door, so it’s kind of hidden—in a way.’’

  ‘‘You have any luck with Sutton?’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘Yes. Quite a bit. I’ll tell all of you about it later,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Sure thing, boss. We’ve done the downstairs, so you can walk freely. The front stairs are done and they have half the second floor done. The others are up there now. They’re teaching Rikki about search patterns. Izzy’s in the study going through the books. He wanted to help, so David set him to work there.’’

  ‘‘What is Izzy doing here?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘He just showed up. I thought you told him to come,’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘No. I suppose the chief of police sent him,’’ said Diane. ‘‘How is Rikki doing?’’ she asked as she walked back to the front door with Jin.

  He took off his coveralls and removed the covering on his shoes and head and put them in a disposable bag from his crime scene kit.

  ‘‘Complaining. But she’s doing what David and Neva tell her.’’ He lowered his voice. ‘‘Has anyone really looked at her educational background? I can’t believe she had a minor in biology but has no concept of scientific method—

  and I can’t believe she’s ever had a course in criminology.’’

  ‘‘You know, I haven’t checked. We need to do that.’’ Diane shook her head. ‘‘My brain’s not working,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Probably from being hit on the head,’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘Thanks.’’

  ‘‘Sure, boss. See you back at the lab.’’

  He started for his car, then suddenly turned around.

  ‘‘I’m glad to have you back in charge of the crime lab,’’ he said. ‘‘We all are, especially David. This guy’’— Jin gestured at the Jefferies’ house—‘‘he knocked the world off its axis for a lot of people. You’re going to make it right again.’’ Jin turned and went to his car.

  Righting the world. Diane wished she could. She feared that her people expected more from her than she could deliver. She closed the front door and turned her attention back to the crime scene.

  Jefferies’ study and library was just to the left of the foyer. It had been labeled as a parlor on her floor plan. The door was half closed. She opened it and went in. Izzy, dressed in the coverings they wore to protect the crime scene from contamination, sat at a library table looking through books. He looked quite different in a shower cap. Unlike the rest of the house, the study was mainly wood. The bookcases, paneling, desk, and library table were all rich brown colors of various kinds of woods buffed to a high sheen. The glass doors to the banker’s bookshelves were raised and slid back into the case. The shelves were empty. Most of the books were stacked on the floor, table, and desk. She remembered it being like this when she was here before with Colin Prehoda—when they had discovered Edgar Peeks’ body with Garnett standing over it.

  ‘‘Hi,’’ Izzy said. ‘‘David put me to work down here among the books.’’

  ‘‘I’m surprised to see you,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Janice is working with another partner on this now. This has priority in the department, so I’m helping.’’

  Diane noticed that his answer was a tad carefully worded for Izzy. He never really said who sent him. Curious.

  ‘‘We’re looking for some kind of list that Bryce and Rikki thought Jefferies had,’’ he said.

  Diane nodded. ‘‘It’s what Pendleton said they were looking for. I have no idea what kind of list or what it looks like.’’

  ‘‘Anybody asked Rikki?’’ he said.

  ‘‘Not yet,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We will later.’’

  ‘‘She went through the books, too,’’ said Izzy. He pointed to scraps of paper littering the floor. ‘‘There’s bookmarks, envelopes, pieces of paper. I think what Rikki did was shake everything to see what fell out.’’

  ‘‘It seems that way, doesn’t it?’’ said Diane, looking at the papers. She picked up a torn envelope and examined it. There was only half of Jefferies’ address on it. The return address had been on the other half. Apparently he tore it for a quick bookmark.

  ‘‘I’ve been flipping through the books,’’ said Izzy. ‘‘I was thinking that if there is some list, he may have written it inside a book on one of them blank pages.’’

  ‘‘That’s a good idea,’’ agreed Diane. And a lot of work, she thought. But she didn’t know any other way to go through them except one by one.

  ‘‘Lot of books here,’’ said Izzy. ‘‘You think he read all these?’’

  Diane picked one up: Aristotle’s Poetics. She looked at the spine and at the edges of the pages. ‘‘No one’s read this one.’’ She looked at the title page. From Rebecca with love. Diane wondered if that was a girlfriend. She examined a couple more: a biography of— who else?—Alexander the Great, and Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, both signed by A. Houten To my favorite student. Both had bent spines and pages that had been turned. ‘‘Somebody read these.’’

  ‘‘Lot of different kinds of books here,’’ said Izzy. ‘‘I don’t read much. Mainly the sports pages of the newspaper. Evie reads sometimes. Daniel was the reader in our house. Sometimes I pick up a book he’s read and I read a page or two just to have something in my mind that was in his.’’ He sighed and looked around at the books. ‘‘A lot of people’s thoughts in here.’’

  ‘‘Yes, there are.’’ She noticed that Jefferies had leather-bound copies of the Hundred Greatest Books, history books, a lot of books on war, biographies—a fairly wide variety.

  ‘‘I thumbed through something by Shakespeare,’’ said Izzy. ‘‘ Hamlet, I think. Saw several phrases I’d heard before.’’

  ‘‘Shakespeare is one of the most quoted of writers,’’ said Diane. She pulled a chair out and sat down.

  ‘‘ ‘To be or not to be’—you hear that one a lot. What does it mean exactly?’’ said Izzy, opening a volume of Hamlet and pointing to a soliloquy.

  ‘‘Hamlet’s life isn’t going well, and he’s contemplating suicide,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘I kind of thought that,’’ he said.

  She took the book and looked at the passage.

  ‘‘He’s wondering if it is better to struggle on and ‘suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’ or to end them and sleep. Sleep means death,’’ she said.

  ‘‘But he worries that if he kills himself, what happens after that might be worse—‘for in the sleep of death what dreams may come.’ ’’

  Izzy was silent for a moment. ‘‘I can relate to that,’’ he said.

  ‘‘That’s one of the reasons Shakespeare is so often quoted. He hit upon truths people can relate to today just as they did in his time,’’ said Diane.

  Izzy Wallace was the last person she thought she would ever be discussing Shakespeare with.

  ‘‘You and me’s suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, haven’t we?’’ he said.

  ‘‘There’s no greater suffering to be had than losing a child,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘No. There’s not,’’ he said. ‘‘That is for sure.’’

  It was an unexpected confidence from Izzy, and Diane didn’t know where to go with it.

  ‘‘Did you ever think about it?’’ he said.

  Diane knew what he meant. She wasn’t sure how to answer.

  ‘‘I never wanted to die. I just wanted to stop hurting,’’ she said.

  Izzy nodded his head. ‘‘I hear you there.’’

  Diane looked up to see David in the doorway. He had several photographs in his hand.

  ‘‘Hey, Diane. Did Izzy tell you what we found in the photographs?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘No. We were discussing Shakespeare,’’ she said.

  David looked from one to the other. ‘‘Oh,’’ he said, as if that didn’t quite compute.

  Diane smiled. ‘‘What did you find?’’

  ‘‘Something that’s rather curious,’’ he said. ‘‘It’s a small thing. I’m not sure what to make of it.’’

  32

  David came into the room and pulled out one of the chairs at the library table. Izzy moved a stack of books and put them on the floor. Diane noticed that Izzy had one of the notebooks they keep in the crime scene kits and was writing down all the names of the books. She wasn’t sure that was necessary, but she wasn’t going to tell him to stop at this point. He looked to be almost finished.

 

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