Dead Guilty (14 page)

Diane
drove her car to the address David had given
her.
Briarwood
Lane
was
a
cul-de-sac
of
old
frame
houses and large mature trees in a mixed neighbor
hood of Hispanics, whites, and blacks, many of whom
were standing in their yards, looking in the direction
of
the
asphalt-roofed
house
with
gray
shaker
siding
where several emergency vehicles were parked.

David,
Jin and Neva had arrived just ahead of her
and were just emerging from their van. Chief Garnett,
Sheriff Braden, Whit Abercrombie, and several others
were standing beside a car that Diane recognized as
Lynn
Webber’s.
Great,
thought
Diane,
another
confrontation—and this isn’t even Lynn’s jurisdiction.

As
Diane approached, Garnett turned toward her
and
she
caught
sight
of
Allen
Rankin,
Rosewood’s
pathologist. She stopped abruptly when she saw Lynn
Webber sitting sideways in the driver’s seat with her
feet on the asphalt road, sobbing.

‘‘I
don’t understand this,’’ Lynn was saying. ‘‘What
is this about?’’
For a moment Diane thought that Lynn was, of all
things, under arrest...and it hit her all of a sudden.
The neighborhood. Lynn Webber sobbing. She looked
at Garnett.
‘‘It’s Lynn’s diener, Raymond, isn’t it?’’ She didn’t
even know his last name.
Garnett nodded. ‘‘Raymond Waller. He came home
for lunch and didn’t come back. When he was late,
Dr. Webber called his home and his cell. When she
couldn’t
get
in
touch,
she
came
to
his
house
and
found him.’’
‘‘She came to his house?’’
‘‘She said she has several bodies backed up, and he
was always reliable.’’ Garnett lowered his voice. ‘‘She
can get kind of feisty when she’s let down. I take it
she was going to bring him back to work.’’
Diane
had
experienced
some
of
her
feistiness.
It
wasn’t
how
she
would
have
described
it.
‘‘Was
he
murdered?’’
‘‘Yes. Hit on the back of the head. Somebody threw
water in his face. Maybe an attempt to revive him.’’
‘‘This is really odd.’’ There it was, that word again.
‘‘Odd
.
.
.
at
least.
Look,
I
have
no
idea
what’s
going
on
here,
but
I
want
everyone
involved
with
those hanging victims to be extra careful. I’m going
to send a squad car by everyone’s home, but maybe
you can get your museum security to help with your
people.’’
‘‘We’ll come up with a plan. Chief, I’ve had a couple
of other disquieting things happen.’’
Garnett frowned as
she handed him the
note she
had printed out and told him about the flowers. While
she
spoke,
her
gaze
darted
at
the
various
people
watching, looking to see if she recognized anyone she
might have seen in the museum or the parking lot. No
one looked familiar.
‘‘You replied to the E-mail. You should have talked
to me first.’’
‘‘I thought it was museum business.’’
‘‘And you don’t know who left the flowers?’’
‘‘I’ve asked everyone that I know.... I just assumed
you didn’t,’’ she added, with half a smile.
Garnett chuckled. ‘‘No.’’
‘‘Why
are
you
two
laughing?
You
think
this
is
funny?’’ Lynn Webber flew out of her car and stood
before them, anger flashing in her red-rimmed eyes.
‘‘Dr. Webber—’’ began Garnett.
‘‘I’m sorry, Lynn,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We were just trying
to deflect some of the tension. We are very disturbed
by all this. I met and worked with Raymond and liked
him. Of course I don’t think it’s funny. Neither does
the chief.’’
Lynn Webber shook her head, as if trying to shake
out some thought. ‘‘I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know
what’s wrong with me.’’
‘‘Why don’t you let me take you home?’’ said Sher
iff Braden. ‘‘You don’t need to see any more of this,
and those bodies in the morgue can wait a day or so.
They aren’t going anywhere. I’ll ask one of the police
men here to follow in your car.’’
‘‘That’s
a
good
idea,
Dr.
Webber,’’
said
Garnett.
‘‘We’ll keep you apprised.’’
Lynn
nodded.
‘‘Raymond
has
family
in
Philadel
phia. I’ll call them. It would be better coming from
me.’’
The sheriff left with Lynn; Officer Warrick followed
in Lynn’s car.
‘‘Why
is
the
sheriff
here?’’
said
Diane.
‘‘This
is
Rose County.’’
Garnett shook his head. ‘‘He must have heard the
call on the radio and wanted to come to Dr. Webber’s
rescue.
I
assume
his
interest
in
her
hasn’t
escaped
your notice.’’
‘‘No, it hasn’t.’’
‘‘I need to ask you—about the hanging victims’ time
of death...you can back up your numbers?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Webber’s real certain.’’
‘‘So am I.’’
‘‘When
are
you
going
to
be
finished
with
the
bodies?’’
‘‘Today. My team will work this crime scene. I’m
going back to the lab. I’m going to do some analysis
that will tell us which region of the country they grew
up in, and that will take longer. But we’ll have a re
port and facial reconstruction for the sheriff shortly.’’
‘‘Facial reconstruction? You can do that?’’
‘‘Of course ...I assume that’s why you sent me
Neva Hurley.’’
‘‘Neva?’’ He stopped a moment and looked at Neva,
who was donning a pair of gloves. ‘‘Oh . . . yes . . .
of course.’’
Diane smiled inwardly, but made sure it didn’t reach
her face.
‘‘Any sign of Steven Mayberry?’’ she said.
‘‘No.
And
I’m
worried.
We
can’t
afford
to
have
wholesale murder going on and not be able to do any
thing about it. The media will jump all over this.’’
‘‘Perhaps they won’t know where the bodies were
autopsied.’’
‘‘Why wouldn’t they?’’ said Garnett. ‘‘It looks like
the murderer did.’’
‘‘I
know
this
is
quite
a
coincidence,’’
said
Diane.
‘‘But I just don’t see any reason behind the murders
that would establish a connection. Not yet.’’
‘‘Neither
do
I.
Perhaps
it
is
just
that.
A
coinci
dence.’’ He did not sound convinced.
‘‘The evidence will tell us if there is a connection.
I’m going back to it.’’
Diane gave her
team instructions and left
for the
lab, relieved not to have to look at Raymond’s dead
body. It would be bad enough when she looked at the
photographs. She drove back to the lab and parked in
the crime lab parking area, a gated lot to the side of
the enormous museum building. She took the lab ele
vator to the third floor, bypassing the museum.
Suddenly, it looked like she was bringing crime into
the museum, and that was something she had no de
sire to do and couldn’t afford to do. She would close
the lab and take Rosewood to court about the taxes
before she would allow that to happen.
But crime labs are not dangerous places. She knew
of no cases where perps had targeted crime labs or
the people who worked in them. After all, the people
just analyze data. Why, then, was this happening? Per
haps it wasn’t. Perhaps the flowers were from someone
connected
with
the
museum,
or
even
a
fan
of
the
crime lab. Perhaps the E-mail note meant nothing.
Green Doe was where she had left him, waiting for
her on the table. She measured the skull, made notes
of his orthodontic work, examined and measured his
long
bones.
His
left
radius
had
been
broken
and
healed well. She examined the ribs and each vertebra.
There were no nicks or cuts on any of his bones, ex
cept, as in Blue, his terminal phalanxes were missing.
Of the damaged medial phalanxes, only one showed
the surface striations that she had seen on Blue. But
that was enough. Diane entered all of Green Doe’s
data into the computer.
Her team hadn’t returned yet. They could be out
all night. She went to her office. Andie was gathering
her things to leave for the day.
‘‘Hey, you got a message back from that weird Email about the dead being guilty. I printed it out.’’
She grabbed it off Diane’s desk and handed it to
her.
Diane read it aloud. ‘‘ ‘I didn’t send this. Who are
you anyway? Don’t bother me. My father’s a police
man.’ Well, this is interesting. Sounds like a kid.’’
‘‘That’s what I thought,’’ agreed Andie.
‘‘Hey, anybody home around here?’’
‘‘Frank. When did you get in?’’ Diane gave him a
hug and held him a little tighter than she felt comfort
able with in front of Andie.
‘‘My plane landed a few hours ago. I stopped by to
see Star and Kevin.’’
His
thirteen-year-old
son,
Kevin,
lived
with
his
mother.
Star,
his
new
daughter,
stayed
with
them
while Frank was gone.
‘‘Cindy wanted Star to stay the weekend so that she
and David could go out. I thought maybe we could
get some dinner. Have you eaten?’’
‘‘No,
and
I’m
starved.
The
museum
restaurant
is
open for a while yet. Mind if we eat there?’’
‘‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’’ said Andie, going out the
door. ‘‘Good to see you, Frank. Miss you at karaoke.’’
‘‘Bye, Andie. Thanks,’’ called Diane.
‘‘You
want
to
eat
at
the
museum?
Sounds
like
you’re planning a late night working.’’
He stepped close and drew her into a kiss. Frank
felt good—and safe, like home. She wanted to hang
on to him, but she let go.
‘‘I’ve got to get the last skeleton done.’’
As Diane checked her E-mail and looked through
the messages Andie had left for her, she told Frank the
whole
story—the
Cobber’s
Wood
hanging
victims,
the
timber cruisers who found the bodies, and now Ray
mond, the diener. She tacked on the E-mail note to
her narrative.
‘‘Damn. I can’t leave you alone at all.’’
‘‘Can you trace the E-mail?’’
‘‘Probably.’’
‘‘I’d appreciate that . . .’’ The ringing of her office
phone
cut
her
off.
Diane
grabbed
it
midring.
‘‘Fallon?’’
‘‘Finally.
We
can
talk.
You’re
a
hard
woman
to
reach.’’
The
voice
was
rough
textured
and
unfamiliar
to
Diane. He talked slow, with a south Georgia accent.
‘‘Who is this?’’
‘‘Did you like the flowers?’’

‘‘You
put the flowers in my car?’’ Diane looked at the
caller
ID
on
her
office
phone.
NO
DATA
.
She
had
picked up the receiver too soon. ‘‘Why didn’t you sign
the card?’’

Frank
stood,
took
his
cell
phone
from
his
pocket
and backed out of her office while he dialed. She as
sumed he was having the call traced.

‘‘It
was unnecessary.’’
‘‘What does ‘To Justice’ mean?’’
‘‘Just
that.
I
saw
on
TV
that
you
are
a
sincere

‘‘Is
that
why
you’re
calling—to
make
sure
I
understand?’’
‘‘The thing you said on the TV—about all murder
ers being evil.’’
‘‘That’s not exactly what I said.’’
‘‘It’s
close
enough.
That’s
what
you
meant.
You
can’t say things like that without knowing all the cir
cumstances. Sometimes it’s the so-called murder vic
tim who’s evil. The so-called murderer is just seeing
that justice is done.’’
Diane tried to stall for time. ‘‘First of all, you need
to know the television interview was some old stock
footage they had from when we opened the crime lab.
I was talking about murder in general.’’
‘‘I know. That’s just the thing. You can’t talk about
murder
in
general,
unless
you
know
all
the
circum
stances all the time, and you don’t.’’
‘‘I know that everyone deserves their life.’’
‘‘Then
you
don’t
believe
in
giving
murderers
the
death sentence?’’
‘‘I believe in following the law.’’
‘‘You’re just playing with words.’’
‘‘It
sounds
like
you
have
some
personal
experience . . .’’ She heard a click. Damn. She hadn’t
handled that well.
‘‘I’m sorry,’’ she said as Frank came into the office.
‘‘I couldn’t hold him on the line any longer.’’
Frank took a pen and scribbled a number on Di
ane’s desk calendar. ‘‘The call was made from this pay
phone at the Rest Aplenty Motel out on 441.’’
‘‘You had time to trace it?’’
‘‘That business about losing the trace if you don’t
keep people talking for several minutes is just a device
used by the movies to keep the detectives from finding
the killer too quickly.’’ Frank pulled his chair closer
to Diane and sat down. ‘‘Phone companies have been
able to trace a call in a matter of seconds for more
than twenty years.’’
‘‘You’re kidding.’’
‘‘No, I’m not. You just have to know who in the
phone
company
to
talk
to.
I
called
the
police
and
asked them to check it out, but I imagine he’s gone
by now.’’
‘‘I
didn’t
know
there
were
any
pay
phones
any
more.’’
‘‘There’s
a
few
still
left,
but
they’re
disappearing.
So, what did this guy say?’’
‘‘Not much.’’
Diane related the conversation almost verbatim. She
watched Frank as she talked. He listened, leaning for
ward
in
his
chair,
his
elbows
on
his
knees,
hands
loosely
clasped
together.
His
short
salt-and-pepper
hair looked steel gray under the lights of her office.
He looked good in his blue jeans and white shirt with
the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. Frank
seemed
to
listen
with
his
blue-green
eyes—he
nar
rowed
them
in
a
way
that
made
them
glitter.
He’d
been
gone
for
a
couple
weeks,
and
she
realized
it
seemed
like
a
couple
of
months.
She
was
glad
he
was back.
‘‘Do you think he’s the perp?’’ Frank asked.
‘‘I
don’t
know.
He
hasn’t
mentioned
the
murders
specifically. Just allusions to justice. We’ve had a lot
of
people
contact
me
to
protest
the
location
of
the
crime lab in the museum.’’ Diane threw her hands up.
‘‘For all I know, I could have picked up a stalker when
I appeared on television.’’
‘‘You need to get some rest.’’
‘‘Does it show?’’
‘‘I wasn’t going to mention it.’’
‘‘You just did.’’
‘‘No. I said you need to get some rest.’’ He gave
her a broad smile.
‘‘The key to solving this is the identity of the vic
tims. I need to finish the last set of bones.’’
‘‘Why don’t I stay with you, drive you home when
you’re done?’’
‘‘You must be exhausted after your trip back from
San Francisco.’’
‘‘Don’t you have a comfortable couch in your office
up in that fancy lab of yours?’’
‘‘Yes. But...’’
‘‘There you have it. Problem solved. Let’s eat, then
go
identify
a
skeleton—I’ve
always
wanted
to
learn
how to do that. I’m pretty good at recognizing clavi
cles now. I’ll betcha I can tell the left from the right.’’