‘‘I’m making pancakes,’’ she said and heard him mumble something like, ‘‘Great… won’t be long.’’

  She poured batter on the griddle—always a messy operation for her. As the pancakes were cooking, she opened a drawer to dig for a spatula. Frank kept all his kitchen utensils in one big drawer. Diane kept meaning to straighten it out but had never gotten around to it. She searched for the particular spatula she liked to use. She pulled out a pair of ice tongs and put them down on the counter. She saw the spatula she wanted, pulled it out, and flipped the pancakes. She looked down at the tongs. Great. She had laid them in pancake batter she had dribbled on the counter. She picked them up and stared at the pattern the batter made on the counter. She had seen a similar pattern before, and she knew why she had dreamed about lightbulbs all night.

  39

  After breakfast, and after explaining her epiphany-bad-dream idea to Frank, and after she downloaded crime scene and autopsy photos, and after Frank drove her to the museum to get her SUV, Diane went to the police shooting range and asked to see the logbook.

  The sergeant on duty was reluctant, even with Diane’s freshly minted ID. He was torn, she could see. He liked Garnett and he knew that even though Diane was back at the crime lab and officially neutral, she was working in Garnett’s favor. But he also had liked Harve Delamore.

  Diane smiled in the friendliest manner she could muster and said if he needed it for his paperwork, she could call the chief of police for authorization. Grudgingly, he showed her the book. Diane wanted to ask him why he and others who felt the way he did thought it was all right for Delamore to try to kill her. Why was that okay with them?

  She didn’t understand it, even accounting for the male-bonding thing. Surely morality should kick in and tell their conscience that Delamore was wrong to try to do what he did. Obviously it wasn’t rational. It was just their feelings. They liked Delamore and now he was dead and Diane had something to do with it.

  Diane examined the logbook and found something, though it was not exactly what she was looking for. It only added another link in the chain, but at least it didn’t destroy it. She had to do a little rethinking of the sequence of events. Obviously, if she was right, there had been a change in plan along the way, a change in the intended target. Who could it have been?

  Diane thanked the sergeant sincerely and drove to the city jail, where they were keeping Garnett. She didn’t have any trouble seeing him. Odd, thought Diane, one would think he would be better guarded than a logbook at the gun range.

  Garnett didn’t look good. There were dark circles under his eyes and his whole body seemed to sag under the weight of his situation. Then again, he probably looked better than she did.

  ‘‘There’s something wrong.’’ He began talking before Diane could say what she came for. His reticence with Janice apparently didn’t roll over to Diane. His feelings poured out of him.

  ‘‘Something’s wrong. I didn’t kill Edgar Peeks. I don’t know who to trust. These are people I’ve known for a long time, and I can’t believe they would be part of a conspiracy. But they have to be. I didn’t shoot him. Not even my own lawyer believes me. Even my family is doubting me. This is a nightmare.’’

  ‘‘I know,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I believe you and I’m working on proving it. Let me tell you what I think happened.’’

  There was more surprise on Garnett’s face than relief. He stared at Diane, not speaking.

  ‘‘I shouldn’t be speaking to you, but just in case you may be able to remember something that will help, you need to know what’s going on. You also need to have some hope. It must be like you’ve entered the Twilight Zone, or fell into a Kafka novel.’’

  ‘‘You can explain this?’’ he said after a moment.

  ‘‘I think so,’’ said Diane. ‘‘The main problem you have is that a bullet from your gun was in Peeks’ head. Janice and Izzy, both good, reliable witnesses, saw Shane East-ling remove it from Peeks’ brain. And when they arrested you, you had your gun with you,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘In a nutshell, yes, that’s my problem. But they’ve made a mistake—’’

  Diane held up a hand. She wasn’t sure where to start. She couldn’t really tell him that she got the idea from fiddling with a loose rock in her fountain, or changing a lightbulb. But that was what triggered her idea: taking something out and putting something back in.

  ‘‘I think someone got hold of one of your spent bullets when you were qualifying at the gun range. They killed Peeks with their gun, dug out their bullet with a pair of forceps, and replaced it with your bullet.’’

  Garnett looked surprised and disbelieving, even though this would show him to be innocent. It was too farfetched, he was probably thinking. And it was far-fetched. But he said nothing. He just waited for Diane to explain herself.

  ‘‘I wondered why your bullet wasn’t a through-andthrough. Your gun has enough power to shoot a bullet all the way through the head at the close distance from which Peeks was shot. It didn’t—but that can happen. Then I thought, what if he was really shot with a much smaller-caliber gun—something like a .22 would be powerful enough to pass through the skull bone and lodge in the brain, but would not be strong enough to break through the bone on the other side of the head. And there was the question of why there was so much damage to the brain tissue. There was no ricocheting of the bullet inside the skull cavity, just one straight path, with more damage to the brain tissue than you would expect. That can happen too.

  ‘‘But all that got me to thinking. I began with the assumption that everyone around here is telling the truth. If that’s the case, what happened?’’

  ‘‘Do you have any evidence?’’ said Garnett.

  The wistfulness in his voice was pitiful, thought Diane.

  ‘‘Jin and David found a bloodstain on the floor under the chest in the foyer where Peeks’ body was found. It had a pattern in it. I think the pattern was made by a pair of bloody forceps.’’

  She didn’t mention that ice tongs and pancake batter make a similar pattern.

  ‘‘Pendleton told me he saw Rikki Gillinick pocket something shiny at the crime scene. I think she found the forceps. Either she killed Peeks and was reclaiming evidence she left behind, or Bryce did it and she collected the forceps for him, or perhaps to keep and hold over him. If that’s the case, the forceps are somewhere and we can find them. The forceps in our crime scene kits have a nice solid, shiny, flat place at the top that is great for fingerprints. And they would leave a pattern like the one Jin and David found in the blood.’’

  Garnett looked a little less skeptical. In fact, he seemed to be warming up to the idea.

  ‘‘How did they get one of my spent bullets?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘At the shooting range,’’ said Diane. ‘‘The logbook at the range shows that the last two times you were there, the only other person shooting was Edgar Peeks. Both of those times were before Jefferies and Peeks were killed. I think Peeks retrieved your bullets from a target after you left because he and his fellow conspirators were planning to kill someone and to frame you. Somewhere along the line the shit really hit the fan and the plans changed.’’

  ‘‘I see where you’re going with this,’’ Garnett said. ‘‘Let’s suppose they did need bullets fired from my gun. If it were me doing it, I’d find a way to get into the reference collection that’s kept by Ballistics. They keep spent bullets from every officer’s gun on file for comparison with bullets fired during a police action.’’

  ‘‘Good idea,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I should have thought of that.’’

  ‘‘All this is plausible,’’ he said. ‘‘But how can we prove it?’’

  ‘‘Bryce and Rikki are the keys,’’ she said. ‘‘We have to find out from them somehow.’’

  Garnett was silent a moment, quietly nodding his head. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

  ‘‘At least this gives me some hope,’’ he said. ‘‘I know how paranoids feel now. I was thinking that Izzy and Janice were in on some plot against me, along with everyone else.’’

  Diane smiled. ‘‘Just keep the faith. We’ll figure this thing out.’’

  Garnett looked better when she left than when she had arrived—a good sign. Diane went to find Janice Warrick. Janice was at her desk going over some of the same crime photos that Diane had pored over earlier. Diane pulled up a chair and sat down.

  ‘‘Do you know what this is?’’ Janice showed her a picture of the bloodstain under the hallway chest.

  ‘‘I think so. That’s why I wanted to talk with you.’’

  Diane went over the scenario again. It was received better each time she presented it. Frank thought she was nuts at first. Garnett was cautiously optimistic. Janice was excited about it. Either she was getting really good at explaining her theory or Janice knew something Diane didn’t.

  ‘‘I hope this is helpful,’’ said Diane, silently urging her to share.

  ‘‘It is.’’ Janice leaned closer. ‘‘One of the things we found in Peeks’ apartment was a small jar of spent bullets. We gave them to Ballistics, but they weren’t a priority. It just looked like he collected used bullets. But now … I’ll check the Ballistics reference collection for anything missing.’’

  Diane felt a remarkable sense of relief. Secretly, she herself had thought she was a little nuts.

  ‘‘I spoke with Garnett,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I thought he needed a boost, and I know you have to walk a pretty fine line. Actually, I do too, but they watch you more closely.’’

  Janice’s grin surprised Diane. She was all geared up to defend herself for meddling.

  ‘‘I was also hoping Garnett would remember something. We’ll see,’’ added Diane. ‘‘Did you get a chance to speak with Curtis Crabtree?’’

  ‘‘Haven’t been able to find him. We have an APB out.’’ Janice grinned again. ‘‘I feel this coming to a good end.’’

  Diane could see that a good end included commendations to Janice for solving Rosewood’s case of the decade. Diane hoped it came to pass.

  ‘‘I need to talk to Chief Monroe. Do you think he’s in?’’ said Diane.

  Janice looked a little suspicious. Diane was sure Janice didn’t want her thunder stolen. Diane didn’t blame her. Janice had to work hard in a sometimes hostile male-dominated police force to get to where she was. She needed credit when credit was due her.

  ‘‘I think he is,’’ said Janice. ‘‘He’s been fielding calls from reporters. Having two leaders killed within a couple of days has brought us a lot of attention. It’s very high profile. The chief is thinking about letting the FBI take a look at Jefferies’ computer.’’

  ‘‘Anyone who can crack it will be good,’’ said Diane. She didn’t say that it would piss David off, not to mention Frank.

  Diane went upstairs to the office of the chief of police. Acting mayor Edward Van Ross was with him.

  40

  ‘‘I’m glad you came by,’’ said Mayor Van Ross. ‘‘I was going to call.’’

  Even though it was Chief Monroe’s office and the chief was sitting behind his desk, it was Edward Van Ross who motioned to a chair and indicated for Diane to sit down.

  ‘‘I haven’t spoken with Vanessa yet,’’ said Diane, taking a seat. ‘‘Already, the ‘Danger, Will Robinson’ part of the contract has been violated.’’

  Edward smiled. ‘‘That has something to do with science fiction, right? Mother said you are a fan. We got a lot of science fiction at the family reunion.’’

  ‘‘So I understand,’’ said Diane.

  He seemed bemused by the whole idea.

  ‘‘Didn’t the report say you’re having to rewire the security cameras back into the grid Bryce had disconnected?’’

  said Edward. ‘‘I think we can call this a grace period—adjusting back to your rule.’’

  My rule. An interesting phrase, thought Diane. ‘‘The cameras will be back in the security net tomorrow,’’ she said.

  ‘‘What I came to talk about is Izzy Wallace,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’d like him to be part of my team. I need someone to replace Jin in the crime lab, and Izzy has expressed a desire. He’s also been very helpful and has shown a willingness to learn the process.’’

  Chief Monroe nodded his head as though he liked the idea. Diane thought it was probably a done deal as far as the police were concerned. She suspected that perhaps Izzy had already set everything in motion.

  ‘‘We have an officer who’s injured and we want to put him on a desk job,’’ said Chief Monroe, ‘‘so this will be a good move. Izzy’s a good guy. It’s a shame what happened to his family. What happened to a lot of families,’’ he added.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Diane. ‘‘That was one of Rosewood’s worst times.’’ Worse than now, she thought, because it was young people who died then.

  ‘‘I’ll put through the paperwork,’’ said the chief.

  Diane went back downstairs. She spotted Izzy carrying a file to one of the detectives and waved to attract his attention.

  ‘‘I’ve cleared it with Monroe,’’ she said when he walked over to her. ‘‘If you want to back out, now’s the time, before he gets the paperwork in.’’

  Izzy grinned. ‘‘When do I start?’’

  ‘‘Chief Monroe will let you know. I imagine it will be right away,’’ she said.

  Izzy rubbed his hands together and looked around the room grinning. Diane realized this was his end run around the politics and bureaucracy that hadn’t let him become a detective. He wouldn’t be a detective now, exactly, but he would look like one and on occasion would get to do what detectives do. She really hoped this was the right course of action.

  Janice motioned for Diane to come to her desk. She held a phone next to her ear and looked as if she was waiting.

  ‘‘At first it looked like all Garnett’s reference bullets were accounted for,’’ Janice said. ‘‘But the clerk noticed that his file had been tampered with. I told him to verify all the bullets again. I also called the gun range and asked if Edgar Peeks liked to collect rounds. He did. Interesting, huh?’’ said Janice. She looked happy.

  ‘‘This looks like a good lead, then,’’ said Diane.

  Janice nodded. ‘‘I’ll let you know when I find out anything.’’ She got back on the phone and Diane left for the museum.

  The desktop screen with all the little rows of software icons was still showing on Jefferies’ computer when she walked into her office sitting room. It looked as if David and Frank had not made any progress. But they both looked upbeat. There were several flash drives lying beside the computer. She pulled up a chair. Frank reached over and squeezed her hand.

  ‘‘The two of you look happy,’’ she said.

  ‘‘We’re making progress. David and I pooled our decryption tools,’’ said Frank. ‘‘David has written some impressive ones himself.’’

  ‘‘Is that what’s on all the flash drives?’’ she said.

  Frank nodded. ‘‘We had an idea. Neva’s gone over to the crime lab to get a gadget the mayor had.’’

  ‘‘A gadget?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘You’ll see,’’ said David. ‘‘At first we thought it was a webcam. Actually it is a camera, but I noticed the other day it is also something else. In the meantime, Frank and I have been able to get into several programs. Unfortunately, none of which does us any good unless we want to play solitaire or work in Photoshop. We can’t get into word processing, spreadsheets, calendars, or anything that might have useful information in it.’’

  Neva came through the door carrying a box and handed it to David. He opened it and took out what indeed looked to be a webcam. The labeling on the box said it was an iris scanner.

  ‘‘Iris scanner?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘The mayor liked gadgets. He had a lot of them. Most of them we left in the house, but we brought all his computer gadgets here. The picture on the box looks like a webcam and I didn’t actually read the box. Or rather, it didn’t register until now. Frank and I were talking about all the kinds of security measures that could be in effect, and it just hit me,’’ said David. ‘‘Did you get the photographs too?’’

  ‘‘Of course,’’ said Neva. She handed Frank a folder.

  ‘‘Photographs?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Of all the principals involved,’’ said David.

  Neva pulled up another chair, and they all sat around the computer.

  ‘‘Where is Rikki?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘She requested the day off to show a friend the museum,’’ said Neva. ‘‘David, being in charge in your absence, gave it to her. She’s probably lurking somewhere here in the museum. The crime lab is being cleaned. Jin agreed to babysit it while TechClean’s in there doing their thing.’’

  David connected the camera cable to the USB port and immediately the software came up on the screen.

  ‘‘This is good,’’ David said.

  ‘‘Very good,’’ said Frank.

  ‘‘What are you going to do?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘We’re going to see if the camera will recognize Jefferies’ iris pattern,’’ said Frank.

  ‘‘It doesn’t seem like it would be much use as a security device if you can use a picture instead of the real person,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘It’s not made for unsupervised applications,’’ said Frank. ‘‘If the pictures are high-resolution enough, we should get some action.’’ He smiled at her.

  Frank apparently enjoyed this part of his job— decryption. In that respect, he and David were two of a kind. David selected a full-face glossy publicity photo of Jefferies. He put one eye in the photo in front of the camera lens. A large image of the eye appeared in one window of the software. Another window printed a message and played accompanying music—the first line of the song ‘‘Bad Boys.’’

 

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