Dead Secret, page 36
part #3 of Diane Fallon Forensic Investigation Series
“Sample one, the dirt from the cave, and sample two, the dirt from the bones, are the same. Sample three, the mineral deposits on the bones, is sodium chloride.”
“Salt?”
“Salt.”
“So the bones did come from the cave,” mused Diane.
“According to the dirt,” said Mike.
“I appreciate your analyzing them so quickly.”
“As a show of your appreciation, can I stay here tonight, Doc? Don’t get me wrong, David; I really like your condo, and it was good of you to let me stay there. But I’m going to get a concussion banging my head against the wall,” said Mike.
“MacGregor?” said Diane.
“I like Mac, I really do, but in smaller doses. When we were cleaning David’s kitchen, he sang ‘Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall’—all the way to the end. And then started over again.”
Neva collapsed into giggles with the others and patted him on the back. “Poor baby.”
“Okay, you can stay here,” said Diane.
“Oh, thank you, Doc. You don’t know how I appreciate it. Does your evidence tell you who’s been making the prank calls to us?”
“No.” Diane didn’t say she wasn’t sure the police were looking. She was suddenly filled with guilt. She hadn’t thought about the crank calls since she heard about them. “Did the police tap your phone?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“I’ll check into it.”
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” said Korey. “Why did you empty out the museum? Nobody believes we have a critical environmental system failing. I mean, what exactly would that be?”
“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow,” said Diane.
“Does it have something to do with what happened to you and Mike?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t. They had not been able to match any of the evidence of the knifing or Neva’s break-in to the murders they were working on. Valentine and MacRae had a whole boxful of those surgeon’s gloves they used. Why would they have used another brand to break into Neva’s apartment?
“So it’s a maybe,” said Korey.
“Possibly, but that’s all I’m going to say right now. I know this is terribly inconvenient for you and all the curators.” Especially for botany, she thought. All in all, she had missed three readings on their experiment because of the search.
“I don’t mind the inconvenience.” He shrugged. “Is everything going to be all right?” Both Korey and Mike were looking intensely at her; both wanted reassurance.
“Yes,” said Diane. “That’s my job.”
Korey nodded and smiled. He set down his slice of pizza and grabbed up the folder he had laid on the desk behind him.
“I don’t know why you even bothered to build a crime lab. I can do everything in my conservation lab that you all can do.” He opened the folder and took out a piece of paper that looked like a photograph of an electrostatic copy of … something.
Diane craned to see the page. “What is it?”
Korey held it to his chest out of her sight. His dreadlocks fell forward, shielding his face.
“All in good time. You know those magazines found in the submerged Plymouth?”
“Yes,” said Diane cautiously. “This had better not be Miss October, 1942.”
“Just wait,” Korey said, motioning with his hand. “Most of them were pretty much pulp. When we dried them, what we got was very thick handmade paper … impossible to separate into pages.”
Jin looked disappointed.
“But,” continued Korey, “it was good practice for my technicians.”
“You got something, though?” said David.
“On one of the magazines that we could separate from the rest, there was a shape just under the cover, which was translucent by this time. It looked like a piece of paper—something I recognized—was stuck in the magazine. I used various lighting, even X-rayed the thing. That didn’t work, by the way. But light did, and by slicing the magazine paper off what was under it, I was able to bring out writing on the piece of paper inside the magazine.”
“You’re going to stretch this out, aren’t you?” said David.
“As long as I can,” said Korey.
He handed the photograph to Diane. She was audibly startled when she looked at the page.
“What is it?” said Jin.
“It’s a receipt,” said Diane. “From Cash or Casher General Store, made out to D. W. Russell for a carbide lantern, forty feet of rope, and two Moon Pies—three dollars and sixty cents.”
Neva’s eyes grew wide and she sucked in her breath. “You have got to be kidding.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said David.
“Way to go, Korey.” Jin pounded the table with the flat of his hand. “You’re right: What do we need the crime lab for?”
“When I read the list,” said Korey, “it rang a bell, since I’d seen all of Caver Doe’s things. It was the Moon Pie wrappers that cinched it for me. You think maybe this D. W. Russell is Caver Doe?”
“The probability is high,” said Diane.
“Has to be,” said David. “Jewel Southwell and Dale Wayne Russell disappeared at the same time, supposedly ran off together. Here is a receipt made out to D. W. Russell in the car with Jewel Southwell for the very items we found with the body of Caver Doe, which we know to have been there since that time period. Caver Doe has to be Dale Wayne Russell.”
Diane could still hear the dominoes clicking against one another as they fell. “Korey, this is excellent work. I don’t know what to say. I’m just amazed.”
A scenario was forming in Diane’s mind. Actually, several, but she kept weeding them out when one or the other piece of evidence didn’t fit. But what it looked like to her was that a crime of opportunity had led to a crime of premeditation.
Diane sent the others home for a breather. David went to check his condo. Neva went to help Mike pack a few clothes. Jin and Korey went to the conservation lab so that Korey could show Jin how he had revealed the writing on the receipt.
She looked at her watch. In just three hours, security of the museum would be turned over from Chanell’s personnel to Emery’s people. In the woods the police were watching the building. Everything was calm. She went up to her lab with Mike’s notes. She had just enough time to call John Rose and give him a preliminary report on his bones.
She entered her osteology lab to find it dark, but not so dark that she couldn’t see a gun in her face.
Chapter 44
“Lane Emery,” said Diane in a voice that was far calmer than she felt. “Jin’s not going to be happy. He bet a lot of money that you weren’t going to do this tonight. You’re early, you know. I expected you much later.”
Even in the relative darkness of the night lighting in the lab, she could see that Lane Emery held a Glock 20 five feet from her chest. Diane didn’t doubt that he knew how to use it. There was no way she could outrun it or dive for cover, even in the dim light. She thought she saw his hand shake, and that sight made her heart beat harder. The sound of blood pulsing in her ears was already deafening. The only thing she could think of was that the Glock held lots of bullets. She closed her eyes and opened them again, trying to regulate her breathing. From the sweat on his brow and upper lip, he wasn’t happy either.
“You really took me by surprise, setting a trap for me,” he said, “bringing in the bomb squad last night. How did you know? What tipped you off?”
“Just my own paranoia. I never believed that Valentine and MacRae could gain access to the museum past your security system and have free run of the place without some inside help. The only question was, Who on the inside was helping them? When we were in the staff meeting discussing what to do, hearing you talk about shutting down the museum—that just didn’t sound like you. Your record is of a man of action and courage who would secure and protect, not someone who would take cover at the first sign of threat. And you introduced the prospect of an incendiary bomb, almost as if you were trying to scare the staff. I just thought to myself, If the museum is shut down, what an opportunity to destroy the evidence the two bunglers didn’t.”
As Diane spoke, she tried to think of what to do. She hadn’t a clue.
“How did you know about the museum security sweep last night?” she said.
“One of my men told me. That kind of thing is hard to keep secret. I was trying to avoid your trap. If I came early tonight before the changeover of security, I just might get away with the evidence.”
“Are you really going to kill me?”
“This isn’t something I enjoy, but I’ll do what it takes. I have a museum van parked by the outside elevator. All I need to do is load the evidence into it and drive away. Your security people won’t stop a museum van. But then I discovered that you’ve moved all the evidence. Where is it? In your vault?”
“I can’t tell you that. Were you in with Valentine and MacRae?”
“No, you were wrong about that. I wasn’t even approached until after they failed. They’re buffoons. All they know is computers and electronics. It wasn’t me who helped them. But your paranoia served you well.”
“Why are you doing this? You’ve always had a good record—an exemplary record. No one—including me, really—believed you’d do this.”
“That’s a fair question. I want you to know: It’s for my family. I got a bad diagnosis from my last physical. I want to leave them something. A large bank account in the Cayman Islands is too good to pass up.”
“How about leaving them a history of being a good man?”
“One of the things I’ve discovered is that there’s no reward for being a good man. It’s never bothered me until recently, you know, goodness being its own reward and all, but this happened… .”
He tapped his abdomen as if that was where the offending illness was seated.
“I had to take a good hard look at things—at what I had to leave my kids. No offense, but after all my years of hard, honest work in the military, I end up guarding a museum?”
“A crime lab, actually. It’s something we value. That’s why we tried to get the best person we could for the job. And even if it were the museum, it’s something worth protecting. It’s history and learning, a repository of good things that should not be lost or destroyed.”
“Please spare me. Are you trying to flatter me into believing that this job has some real merit?”
“No. I suppose I’m trying to save you. Is this what you want your kids to remember you by?”
That may not have been the right thing to say either. From the hardening of his face, she saw that she had hit a nerve.
“I told you I’m doing it to help my children. They wouldn’t have known about this if you hadn’t figured out my plan.”
“What, did you think you would steal the evidence, turn it over to the Taggarts, collect your money and it would all just be forgotten? We’d have figured it out sooner or later. It’s what we do.”
“So you know who it is,” he said.
Her suspicion had been confirmed again, but naming the Taggarts was probably a mistake, she thought.
“They were right; they figured there might be something that points to them.”
“They told you about their involvement in the murders?”
“Not much. Just enough. They were probably confident that I would accept their offer. Desperation has a smell all its own.”
I ought to be getting ripe then, thought Diane. If I keep him talking long enough, won’t someone eventually come looking for me? He’s not going to let me go.
“Is there any way I can buy myself out of this? What if I paid you more than the Taggarts are paying you?”
“They offered me”—he shook his head as if amazed by their offer—“a lot of money. I told them that they should offer the money to the museum, that you’d probably take it. I told them everyone knows you’re devoted to the museum.”
“Really? What did they say?”
Diane wondered if it would do any good to ease away in some direction. He would just track her with the gun and it would probably make him nervous. She didn’t want that—a nervous trigger finger. In the back of her mind she thought she knew that Glocks didn’t go off with a nervous shake; it took a deliberate action. But she didn’t really know that much about guns.
Shit, what am I going to do? She couldn’t think of anything. She felt sweat running from her hairline down her forehead. Sweat stung her armpits. She had to concentrate to keep her breathing normal.
“They said they sized you up at that old gal’s funeral and decided you wouldn’t go for it.”
“Really,” Diane said again. “What was it they saw that caused them to make such a major decision in so short a time?”
“I don’t know. Now, will you tell me where you moved the evidence? Is it your idea that you can keep me talking until help arrives? All your help is outside and, frankly, your crime scene people aren’t up to it.”
She could see in his eyes and his body tension that he was approaching a decision point, and it didn’t look like a change of heart, but she kept trying. A man who loved his children must still have a soft spot somewhere inside. Maybe just soft enough to let her off the hook if she could offer him what he really wanted.
“I was hoping to offer you more money. That way you could save your reputation, get rich, I’d keep my evidence and we’d all be happy.”
“You don’t have that kind of money. We’re talking about a lot.”
“I have access to a lot of resources. I know people with a lot of money. Isn’t your reputation worth at least thinking about it?”
“You know, Dr. Fallon, I wish I believed you, because I would like to take you up on your offer. It does appeal to me, but there’s just no way that can work out. Once I leave here, all deals are off. I know that, and so do you.” He waved the gun at her. “Now quit stalling and tell me where you moved the evidence.”
Diane said nothing.
“Okay, let’s look in your vault. Open it up,” he said, advancing on her.
Diane started for the vault. “Can we at least turn on the lights?”
“I tried. They’re out.”
“Out? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Quit stalling.”
Diane was confused. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light, so it wasn’t really a problem, but the night lighting shouldn’t be on at this time. She wondered if it was that way all over the museum. She wondered if it was a harbinger of a fire to come—someone tampering with the electricity. Diane punched the first three codes into the door security pad.
“Don’t burn down the museum.” She felt her voice crack as she spoke. “You don’t have to do that.” Her voice sounded pleading to her ears. She wondered if she sounded weak and pathetic to him.
“I hadn’t planned to.”
“What’s the thing with the lights, then?”
He was showing exasperation and impatience now. “I told you, I don’t have anything to do with the lights. Why are you going on—”
Emery abruptly stopped speaking, and Diane looked at him. He stood motionless, holding the gun on her, looking bewildered. There was something familiar about the expression. As he dropped to the floor she saw the same expression on Emery’s face that she had seen on Mike’s when he was stabbed.
Chapter 45
Diane was paralyzed with confusion and fear. Her six-foot-four-inch head of crime lab security lay limp, facedown on the floor. There was a wet, dark stain on the back of his jacket. In his place stood a much smaller man. In his right hand was a long knife dripping with Emery’s blood. The bad aroma she’d detected earlier wafted through the air. Not for even a moment did she believe she had been rescued.
A cold fear clutched at Diane’s heart, worse than what she’d felt with Emery. It was a primal fear that choked her in its grip. The thought passed through her mind that he wasn’t a man at all, but some demon rooted up from the bowels of the museum subbasement.
He was dirty. She could see that and smell it, but it wasn’t just body odor. Another smell clung to his dark, mangy clothing. His coat, perhaps at one time a wool suit coat, too warm for their weather, had been on his body so long it had merged and transformed and become a part of him, like scales or a molting skin. But it wasn’t his odor, the filthy clothes or his short, ratty hair, but his eyes that frightened her the most. They were flat-black, almost dead eyes devoid of humanity—or any emotion found in the human world.
She had once looked into the eyes of Ivan Santos, the man who slaughtered her daughter and her mission friends and hundreds of others during his horrific reign. In his eyes she thought she had seen the devil. But as she looked at this man, she realized that what she had seen in Santos’s eyes that one time was arrogant, self-centered hatred and anger. He was evil, but this man before her now was something different, something beyond that. Looking into his eyes was looking into a dull, black … nothing.
“Who are you?” Diane found a fragment of her voice. It was shaky, but audible.
He kept staring for a long moment. Diane looked at the knife in his hand. His fingers. The tips of his fingers on his left hand were deformed, curved in some funny way, and the nails were thick and split, some of them missing. One finger on his right hand was severely deformed, and on that hand he wore a ring with a red stone.
In a flash, Diane put it together, the thing that had been nagging at her that she couldn’t remember—the bloodred ring and injured finger of the man the Odells had seen at the graveside service, the impression in the clay from Neva’s break-in showing a deformed finger. The evidence had pointed to the same person, but she had missed it until now. He was the one who had wrecked Neva’s house. He was the one who had stabbed her and Mike at the cemetery. But who was he, and what possible motive could he have for the brutal and murderous things he was doing?
Diane moved her fingers slowly to punch the remaining numbers to her vault, hoping to rush in, lock the vault door and call for help. He slashed out at her hand. She pulled back quickly, his blade just missing her fingers. She backed away, looking for a table to put between them. But the tables were too far away.
