Scattered Graves, page 25
part #6 of Diane Fallon Forensic Investigation Series
‘‘What in the hell did the two of you do?’’ said Chanell. ‘‘Stop for coffee?’’
‘‘One of the doors was blocked by that delivery truck,’’ said one of the guards. ‘‘There was a storage container in front of the door on the loading dock. We had to go around to the restaurant’s back entrance.’’
‘‘That’s the truck I told those guys not to leave unattended?’’ said Chanell.
‘‘Well, they did leave it,’’ said the other guard. ‘‘It was backed up against the door.’’
‘‘I’ll get on it right away, Dr. Fallon. I told those guys they had to unload and move the trucks, that they couldn’t block the doors.’’
‘‘Is that the material for the new exhibits?’’ said Diane.
‘‘Yes, ma’am,’’ said Chanell.
‘‘They were supposed to go to the east wing loading dock with that anyway,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Don’t I know it. These guys are stubborn and hard to deal with,’’ said Chanell. ‘‘They’ve been giving our workers a fit.’’
‘‘Then I’ll cross them off our list of shippers,’’ said Diane. ‘‘What was wrong with the outside door in the Arachnid Room?’’ said Diane.
‘‘That room’s being redone and it was locked off,’’ the guard said. ‘‘We thought we could get out the restaurant door quicker. We’re just really sorry.’’
‘‘We can sort the access problems out tomorrow,’’ said Diane. ‘‘What happened here?’’ Diane gestured toward Mickey and his wife. The two were huddled together.
Another of the security guards stepped forward and started to speak just as the police arrived, headed by Detective Janice Warrick. Out of the corner of her eye Diane saw Frank walking across the parking lot.
‘‘What happened here?’’ said Warrick.
Diane allowed Chanell to explain to Janice what had happened. Chanell and the security guard who had released Mickey told Janice the story, from the sound of the alarm, to the almost apprehension of the perpetrator, to releasing Mickey.
Frank came and stood by Diane. He looked at her face for several moments and gave her a handkerchief to replace the Kleenex.
‘‘Do you need to go to the emergency room?’’ said Janice.
‘‘No,’’ said Diane. ‘‘The last time I was there they offered me a season pass.’’
Everyone smiled or snickered except Frank.
‘‘Where are the others?’’ Diane asked Frank in a low voice.
‘‘With the computer in your office. Izzy wanted to come with me, but I told him if he wanted to work for you he had to start following your orders. I was under no such constraints. Are you all right?’’
‘‘Yes. I’ve had worse scrapes in a cave,’’ she said.
‘‘I know,’’ said Frank.
Diane listened to the stories. Mickey and his wife walked over together and told Janice what happened. The wife had been grabbed at home as she was getting groceries out of her car. The man, whose face she never saw, told her he had a partner at her parents’ home who would shoot them if she didn’t come with him to the crime lab. At the lab she was forced to get her husband, Mickey, to open the door. When she did, the masked man pushed his way in, slapped Mickey on the side of the head with his gun, and made Mickey’s wife cuff her husband with disposable restraints. The perp then restrained her and took the elevator to the third floor. He was there for several minutes before he came down and demanded the code to the crime lab door. Mickey, of course, didn’t know it. The guy didn’t believe him and was threatening Mickey’s wife. Mickey told him help would be coming soon because the guy had set off the alarm by messing with the crime lab door, and that he, in fact, did not know the code for just such occasions. The perp cut the wife’s ties and told her to open the door an inch and if she tried anything she was dead. That’s when he burst out the door holding her.
Chanell explained the rest of the events, including Diane offering herself in exchange. Diane cringed. She knew Frank would be angry.
‘‘Why did you do that?’’ said Janice.
‘‘I could see Mickey’s wife was frightened and I thought that if I could convince the guy I knew what he was looking for and could get it for him, he would let her go and we could get the upper hand. Then she grabbed his ankle, tripped him up, and bit him, and from there things got out of control.’’
‘‘He threatened my family,’’ said Shara. ‘‘He hit my husband and he touched me. Nobody touches me.’’ She folded her arms under her breasts.
‘‘Has anyone heard from your parents?’’ Janice asked Shara. ‘‘Are they okay?’’
‘‘Yes, the first thing I did was call them,’’ said Shara. ‘‘They’re fine. The jerk was lying. There wasn’t anyone at their house.’’
‘‘Let’s focus on the perpetrator,’’ said Janice. ‘‘Dr. Fallon, you think he was after the computer?’’
Diane nodded. ‘‘He seemed to be. When you find him, he’ll have a bite mark on his right leg, and his left thumb will be broken. And I imagine he’ll have a few minor cuts and scrapes from the fall on the pavement.’’
‘‘Do you have any idea who he might be?’’ said Janice. ‘‘Could he have been the shadowy figure in the video?’’
There was that sword hanging over her again. Diane had almost forgotten about it.
‘‘No,’’ she said. ‘‘This guy was smaller.’’
Diane quickly gave a description of the man’s build and his truck, hoping Janice wouldn’t bring up the shadow man again.
‘‘I know who I’d look at,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Curtis Crabtree. He was the same size, and he figures in all this in some way. Plus, he seems to lack good judgment. I’d at least have a look at his ankle and thumb.’’
Frank insisted on taking Diane to the emergency room when they finished. She didn’t argue, saving her words for when the real argument would come later. They waited an hour in the emergency room. It took another two hours for the tests that told her she was fine, just banged up.
She was standing outside waiting for Frank to drive around with the car when Shane Eastling, the ME, walked up to the door and started to enter. He stopped when he saw Diane. A shock of brown hair blew over his freckled face. He didn’t shove it out of the way. She thought he was going to give her the kind of sympathetic comments she had gotten from everyone who saw her face—especially now that she looked even worse. He didn’t.
‘‘I don’t appreciate you trying to tell me how to do my job,’’ he said. ‘‘And I don’t intend to do yours for you.’’
‘‘What on earth are you talking about?’’ she asked.
‘‘The watch that was on backward or upside down, or whatever. That Warrick woman was all over me about it and was questioning me about anything else I didn’t put in my report. I autopsy bodies. If you can’t do your little observations at the crime scene, don’t ask me to do them for you. Who in the hell do you think you are?’’
‘‘For one thing, I’m the person who was not working the mayor’s crime scene. That would be Bryce. Did you know him in school?’’ asked Diane. She looked at his finger for a signet ring. There was none.
‘‘What?’’ Eastling looked annoyed and puzzled. ‘‘No. Why would you ask that?’’
‘‘You recommended Dr. Jeffcote-Smith to him,’’ she said.
‘‘No,’’ he said slowly as if to a child. ‘‘It’s she I went to school with once upon a time. Bryce mentioned he was looking for a good forensic anthropologist. I immediately thought of Jennifer.’’
‘‘Look, Dr. Eastling, from here on out our paths are going to cross, and there will be times when we will have to work together. I would like to be able to do that as civilly as possible. If I have offended you, then I apologize. It was certainly not my intention.’’
He looked at her for a moment as if surprised. ‘‘As long as you understand what your job is, I don’t see why we can’t get along,’’ he said.
‘‘Good,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Let me ask you, did you know any of the mayor’s friends?’’ she asked. ‘‘They were all very well educated.’’
‘‘Were they? I went to Cal State as an undergraduate and Chicago for med school. Where did they go?’’ He smirked as if expecting her to say Podunk U. Maybe he didn’t know them.
‘‘University of Pennsylvania, Wharton School of Business,’’ she said.
His smirk faded. ‘‘Really? What the hell were they doing being policemen here? Did they flunk out?’’
‘‘No, they did quite well. I was hoping you knew them and could answer that question—what were they doing here? Puzzling isn’t it?’’ she said.
‘‘It is,’’ he said. ‘‘Bryce go to school there too?’’
‘‘Bryce had the best grades of all of them,’’ she said.
‘‘I wouldn’t have thought that,’’ he said.
‘‘Probably because he was working outside of his discipline,’’ said Diane.
Eastling shook his head and thought for a minute as if processing the new information.
‘‘Can’t help you with any of them.’’
He brushed past her and went on in.
She watched him through the glass doors and saw him meet Jennifer Jeffcote-Smith, who must have been there ahead of him. They stood for a moment talking. It became clear to her now, he was smitten with Jennifer. From the body language, Diane wasn’t sure if it was reciprocated. That’s why he found her a job here. And possibly why he was so pissed with Diane. She had spoiled all his plans by being the rightful occupant of the osteology lab. They headed toward the cafeteria. An odd place for an assignation, but probably a safe one. Who would suspect a hospital cafeteria as the site for a romantic rendezvous?
Frank drove up and Diane got in the car. She was not looking forward to the ride home. Frank was very slow to anger, but she sensed she had crossed his threshold.
38
They drove back home in silence. Diane dozed along the way and awoke with a start when the car stopped, realizing that her own vehicle was still parked at the museum.
Frank built a fire while Diane took a shower and put on a warm nightgown and robe. She sat on a sofa and watched the flames dancing in the fireplace. Occasionally the wood popped and tiny sparks flew onto the rock hearth. She smelled the hot chocolate Frank was making—one of his ultimate comfort foods for cold nights of fighting crime and maniacs. He’d made it for her more than once.
Frank came from the kitchen with two cups and gave her one. He sat down on the sofa opposite hers.
‘‘How are you feeling?’’ he asked.
His voice always made him sound even tempered. It was one of the things Diane admired about him, but now she found it a bit annoying.
‘‘Physically, I feel fine. I’m a little weary of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know you’re angry with me.’’
‘‘Yes,’’ he said, ‘‘I am. Why did you go running out after that guy? Why did you offer to exchange yourself for the hostage? You should never do that. Why didn’t you just wait for the police to arrive? You have no training in that kind of physical police work.’’ His voice wasn’t as calm now. He set his cup down without
taking a drink.
‘‘I thought I could handle the situation,’’ said Diane.
She jumped as a lightbulb blew out in the table lamp beside the sofa, plunging them into a darkness broken only by the firelight. Frank got up and turned on the overhead chandelier. Before he sat down again, he got a bulb from the closet in the hall. Diane watched him unscrew the old bulb and screw in the new one, an act that strangely tickled her brain and oddly reminded her of the loose rock in her desk fountain. Frank laid the old bulb on the table, turned off the chandelier, and sat back down.
As Diane watched him, she realized that was another idiosyncrasy she had always liked in Frank. He took care of problems in his house immediately. If a light blew, he replaced it. If a faucet dripped, he repaired it himself or had it fixed right away. If a door sagged, he had it straightened. If you wait, he said, it’ll only get worse and you’ll have a bigger repair. Consequently, his house was always in order—though not necessarily always neat. He did have a high tolerance for paper clutter, especially on the dining room table, that bothered Diane. But the house always worked. Nothing was ever broken for long.
That’s what he was doing now. Fixing his home before the problem got worse. Frank’s arguments were never accusations or recriminations, not like her ex-husband’s arguments. Frank’s were always about fixing things, sorting through things, getting to the bottom of things. He didn’t like to go to bed angry. But sometimes Diane thought it was best to let matters alone. Sometimes they did just fix themselves.
‘‘What was it about the situation you thought you could handle? Was it the gun in his hand, or the choke hold on the hostage?’’ said Frank.
Diane set her cup down. She hadn’t taken a sip either. Hot chocolate just didn’t fit her mood.
‘‘Look, Frank, do you really expect an answer to that? I did what I thought was right at the time. Was it the best thing? I don’t know. We’re all alive, no shots were fired, but we don’t have the perp, so I guess it’s just half and half.’’
‘‘Diane, I know the directors of several state crime labs, and none of them ever have the … the incidents that you do. Why is that?’’
‘‘I don’t know, Frank. I really don’t. Do you think it’s my fault Delamore attacked me?’’
‘‘Is that what you think this is about?’’ He wrinkled his brow. ‘‘Do you feel guilty over his death?’’
‘‘He died. Of course I feel guilty.’’
‘‘Don’t. The only difference between Delamore and a murderer is success. He was going to kill you.’’ Frank hesitated a moment. ‘‘It’s not Delamore you’re feeling guilty about, is it? It’s Ariel. It’s this time of year in particular; you feel like you have to save everyone. Even if it means killing yourself. Isn’t that it?’’
Tears came to Diane’s eyes at the mention of Ariel. ‘‘I have no desire to die,’’ she said vehemently. ‘‘None.’’
‘‘But you do feel like you always have to take action. To stop things before they get worse,’’ said Frank. Ariel was Diane’s adopted daughter. Actually the adoption hadn’t gone completely through. It was in progress, stuck in the slowness of bureaucracy. But the feelings Diane had for Ariel weren’t stuck in the process. Ariel was her daughter. She was her heart.
Ariel had simply shown up at the mission where Diane and her human rights team were staying in South America. She had walked out of the jungle—a toddler, dirty, but unhurt, nameless. All efforts to find parents or relatives were fruitless. It was a surprise to Diane that she decided to adopt Ariel. She never thought of herself as particularly motherly, but Ariel had brought that out.
She didn’t take her usual leaves of absence, but lived at the mission with Ariel, working out of there on her job with World Accord International. They had a good life until Diane became too successful at uncovering the evil deeds of a particularly vile dictator.
He retaliated by killing everyone at the mission while Diane and her team were away. She blamed herself for not just taking Ariel away, smuggling her out if the papers weren’t ready. She had the contacts to do it. But she was so involved in doing things the legal way, she didn’t even consider it. This month was the anniversary of the massacre, and it always made both her and David ache with the pain of their losses.
Frank was probably getting to the heart of why she did things the way she did. She didn’t take action then, but she would now. Always take action before things get worse—a subconscious code she lived by. Not so subconscious. Diane wanted to make her corner of the world safe for people to live in.
Tears ran down her cheeks. She looked up at the picture on the mantel of herself and Ariel in their motherdaughter outfits she’d ordered from the States. Frank took her hand, then pulled her to him.
‘‘Sometimes you have to let other people fix things,’’ he said.
‘‘Sometimes they don’t,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I waited for the government to issue Ariel’s adoption papers; they never did. Sometimes you have to do things yourself.’’
‘‘Let’s go to bed,’’ he said.
‘‘Good idea. I’m very tired.’’
Frank got up, closed the fireplace screen, and turned out the lights.
Diane dreamed of changing lightbulbs. All over the house she was changing out the bulbs one after the other. Even if they didn’t need it, she changed them anyway. She woke up with a start.
That was perhaps the stupidest dream I’ve ever had, she thought.
She looked at the clock. It was early. Frank was still asleep. He wasn’t driving into Atlanta until the cybergang case was concluded. His bosses were excited by the discoveries about the mayor and the gang. They smelled a big case about to burst wide open. They, like everyone else, wanted what was hidden on the computer. Diane was lying there thinking that maybe it was a red herring. She had heard by way of Izzy— Janice was talking to him—that nothing was found on the computers of Edgar Peeks. Just business. It was the mayor’s computer everyone had pinned their hopes on. It was the one that had the serious encryption.
Diane remembered she hadn’t asked Frank about the latest on his Black Light hacker. Who was he? It was a fragile link—a message they could see only with a black light. But it was a good one, a good circumstantial clue to add to all the other circumstantial clues they had stacking up but couldn’t verify.
Diane got out of bed and went to the kitchen to make pancakes. They were a favorite of Frank’s. Maybe they would make up for almost getting herself killed—repeatedly.
She had to call Vanessa. Diane wasn’t looking forward to that. She had just got the crime lab back and already the
‘‘danger’’ clause of the contract was violated. Would it always be a risky venture? Frank was right. None of the other crime labs attracted so much danger. Was it because it was in the museum and not at a police station that perps felt safe trying to break in? Maybe she should move it away from the museum and resign as crime lab director. She started mixing the ingredients for the pancakes. As the griddle was heating up, she walked back to the bedroom to see if Frank was waking up. He was in the shower.
