One Grave Less (14 page)

Diane and Frank made Gregory a breakfast of eggs, pancakes, sausage, and fresh fruit salad. After Frank left for Atlanta, Diane and Gregory headed for the museum.

“What do you think is going on?” Diane asked Gregory as they pulled out of Frank’s driveway.

“I’m not sure. I think you and David are right—it hinges on Simone. That thing she said bothers me a bit.”

“David and I have this awful feeling that one of our group was involved in something bad.”

“You say the objects were in some sort of woven fabric handbag soaked in a drug?” asked Gregory.

Diane nodded. “XTR25. It’s a new variant of ecstasy, according to Neva. I expect the DEA to interview me anytime now. This is just a nightmare for the museum.”

Gregory looked over at her and smiled. “Can’t be too pleasant for you personally, either,” he said. “We’ll sort it out. We’ll follow the clues, like always. Does David still have his talent for getting into databases?”

“Of course,” said Diane. “It’s like a compulsion for him.”

“Good. That may serve us well. We need to do a background check on all of the people on our team,” he said.

Diane looked over at him, frowning.

“I know. I share your distaste for spying on them,” Gregory said, “but I don’t see we have a choice. We’ll particularly look for movements of large amounts of money. Money itself, not simply the love of it, really is the root of all evil. Especially these days when there is so much of it to be made from doing bad things.”

“I know that. Still . . . ,” said Diane.

“They are our friends. I understand,” said Gregory. “But something is going on and we have to find out what it is.”

He took a notebook from his pocket and began writing. Diane knew he was listing the names of all the people they had worked with in South America—the interviewers, the crime scene personnel, Diane’s assistants. It was not a short list. Most of them had survived the massacre because they had been in the field with Diane.

Others, like Oliver Hill, Simone’s fiancé, were in the mission when it was attacked. They were support personnel who had administrative duties, handled paperwork. They were all casualties, and they’d had the least dangerous jobs.

“Do you have an office I can use?” asked Gregory.

“Yes, I’ll have David set you up,” said Diane. “Knowing David, he already has one set up.”

“Oh, good. I’ll get to be M to his Q, then,” he said.

“Be careful what you wish for,” said Diane.

“How is David doing?” Gregory asked.

“Good,” said Diane. “Often remarkable.”

“That’s good to hear. I did worry about everyone,” he said, almost to himself.

“None of it was your fault either,” said Diane. “I think we all blamed ourselves for not seeing some warning. But in truth, there was none.”

“I’ve turned my memories over and over looking for a sign I might have missed. There was nothing in the intelligence I was getting. I tracked Ivan Santos constantly while we were working there. He was always well away from us.” Gregory shook his head. “But there was obviously something I missed—something that Simone or Oliver turned up. We will have to find it.”

“Who did Simone confide in?” asked Diane.

“Unfortunately, the people she was close to—Oliver, Sister Katherine, Marta—were all killed.”

“No best friends here in the United States?” asked Diane.

“Friends, yes. However, she said to me that none of them understood her choice of career. I don’t believe she would have confided in them. Family either.”

“How are we going to find out what she discovered?” asked Diane as she turned onto Museum Road.

“With luck, we’ll ask her when she is able,” said Gregory.

The huge multistoried granite structure had come into view.

“My goodness,” he said.“This place never fails to impress. It’s a palace compared to my not insubstantial offices.”

“We’re very fortunate. It suits us well and we have a lot of room to grow,” said Diane as she pulled into a parking space.

Diane and Gregory climbed the steps and were let in by the security guards on duty. They took the private elevator down to the restricted part of the basement where the DNA lab was located and where David had his own private office and research space.

“You gave him a lab, did you?” said Gregory.

“I did. And he’s done some interesting things,” said Diane, laughing.

“Indeed, has he? I can’t wait,” said Gregory.

David was just coming out of the DNA lab when the elevator doors opened.

“I have you an office set up,” said David.

“That was fast,” said Gregory. “Did you sleep last night?”

“Enough,” said David.

David led them first into his own inner sanctum, a cave-like room lined with books and computers, with a darkroom through one door. David taught photography courses, the old-fashioned way, as well as digital, for the museum on occasion. And for that, Diane had given him office space in the basement that was undergoing renovations. Like the proverbial camel, David had, inch by inch, claimed more space. And he had put it to good use.

David opened one of the other doors and stood back for Diane and Gregory.

“Good God,” exclaimed Gregory upon entering.

He had come face-to-face with the enormous mandibles of a spider.

“That’s Arachnid,” said David.

“No kidding. What a screen saver,” Gregory said.

“He means the program,” said Diane. “It’s one of David’s pet projects, and quite secret. There are only a handful of us who know of its existence.”

Gregory glanced over at David and narrowed his eyes. “Taking this secrecy thing a bit seriously, aren’t you? What does it do?”

“David has combined web image search with facial recognition software,” answered Diane. “At least that’s what it did the last time we used it. He’s been tinkering with it.”

“You have to admit that it worked quite well,” said David.

“Yes, it did,” said Diane. “The problem is, when we find anything useful, we have to figure out what other way we could have come by the information so we can keep his secret.”

Gregory shook his head. “David, I’d forgotten how much I have missed you.” He chuckled. “Isn’t this a bit of Big Brother? Must cause you a bit of a split in your conscience.”

“I do have a lot of guilt over it,” he said.

And Gregory laughed again at his seriousness.

“I have you an office here.” David opened another door.

This room had two computers with printers, a couple of telephones, a fax machine, an oak desk and office chair, and a large flat-screen television. Two stuffed chairs sat in the corner with a small table between them.

“I could rule the world from here,” said Gregory.

“Not yet,” said David.

Just as Gregory looked at him to see if he was joking, Diane’s cell rang. It was Andie.

“There’s these two DEA agents for you,” she said. “I have them here in my office.”

“Offer them coffee. I’ll be right up,” she said and flipped the phone closed.

Diane sat at her desk. The two DEA agents, Stewart and Bailey, sat in the stuffed leather chairs in front of her desk, looking a lot like the Men in Black. Diane expected more of an L.L.Bean kind of look—casual jacket with DEA patch and maybe Dockers.

There were subtle differences in the expressions on their faces—one countenance looking vaguely sympathetic, the other looking vaguely bad cop-ish.

So this was not a law-enforcement-professional-to-professional visit. It was to be an interview with someone they considered a person of interest—her. Diane relaxed in her chair and picked up a pencil. Gregory once gave her that bit of advice. He told her that you can sometimes acquire a psychological edge by putting a desk between you and them and trifling with a pencil. “In Western cultures,” he had said, “it’s subconsciously associated with authority figures such as teachers, principals, doctors, psychiatrists, and lawyers.”

Diane put on her best “I’m your teacher” face and rubbed the pencil between her palms.

“How can I help you?” she said.

If they were intimidated, they didn’t show it.

“Do you know why we are here?” said the slightly good agent, Bailey.

“No,” said Diane.

“Really?” said the slightly bad agent, Stewart. “You have no clue?”

“Why don’t you fill me in?” she said, steepling her hands in front of her with the pencil between them.

“We’re here about the drugs found in the museum,” said Stewart.

“There were no drugs found in the museum,” said Diane. “There was a cloth bag with drug residue, which we discovered and reported. My criminalist, Neva Hurley, contacted your department about it.”

“Residue,” said Stewart. “Is that how you would describe it?”

“I’ve seen the report and, yes, that is how I would describe it,” said Diane.

“Are you aware that soaking fabric in a liquid version of a drug is one way of smuggling it into the United States?” said Bailey.

“I have heard of that method, yes,” said Diane.

“We understand you were involved in drugs while you were in South America,” said Stewart.

“No,” said Diane, “I was not.”

Stewart raised his eyebrows. “That is not the information we received.”

“Your information is false,” said Diane easily.

“You don’t seem to be curious as to where we got the information,” said Bailey.

“One of my board members received a call recently from a travel reporter from the
AJC
asking about something of the sort. In addition, someone hacked my e-mail account and sent romantic assignation requests to many of the male board members, museum contributors, and members of the Rosewood Police Department. An anonymous person called my fiancé and told him I entertain men at his home when he is gone. I have no idea where this blitzkrieg of slander is coming from, nor why. However, I have people looking into it. I assume that whatever information you received came from the same malicious source.”

Diane sat back in her chair, trying to maintain the impression that she was completely comfortable. She had to make an effort to keep her face blank and free of emotion when, in fact, she hated this.

“Why did you say you didn’t know why we’re here?” asked Stewart. “We are from the DEA. Drugs were found in the museum. You know of the accusation against you.”

“No, you misstate the situation. Drug residue was found on an object some unknown person brought into the museum and was connected with the attack on the museum that is currently under investigation by the Rosewood Police Department. As to the answer to your question, if your interest had been about the fabric bag, I just assumed you would have gone to Chief Garnett, who is in charge of the investigation, or to the crime lab, but certainly not to the museum to discuss it. All the files related to the analysis are in the crime lab. The crime lab is under the purview of the City of Rosewood, not the museum.”

They hesitated a moment too long and Diane continued.

“Since you began by questioning me as if you had stopped me for running a red light, I had no idea what you wanted.”

“The drug found in the bag is particularly bad. It has been knocking around Asia and Europe for about four years and is just now making its way into the United States,” said Bailey. “We are concerned that some found its way to you. Add that to the, ah, information we received about your time in South America. Well, you can see our interest.”

“I’m sure you received no more than the barest hint of rumor about me. There is simply no information to be had unless someone made it up. I had no drug dealings in South America whatsoever, not on either side of the law.”

“Weren’t you trying to apprehend a man who was known to deal in the drug trade?” asked Stewart.

“No,” said Diane. “We weren’t trying to apprehend anyone. We knew where Ivan Santos was. We were gathering evidence of human rights violations—mass murders, in particular. We had no interest in what other criminal activity he was involved in.”

The two of them looked briefly at each other and Diane could barely resist asking them if they had done this before.

“Do you have any idea why someone might be trying to ruin your reputation?” asked Bailey.

Stewart shot him an irritated glance. Diane supposed he thought that Bailey was letting her off the hook.

“None whatsoever. If you received one of these calls, I was hoping you could track it down, if only to get more information about me.”

“She’s in a meeting.”

Andie’s voice outside her door brought all their heads around. The door opened and Edmond Carstairs walked in with a bouquet of flowers. Diane dropped her pencil and put her head in her hand for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Fallon,” said Andie.

“Diane, dear, I won’t interrupt you long. . . .”

“Mr. Carstairs,” said Diane. “I didn’t send you any e-mail. Someone hijacked my account and sent those terrible e-mails to everyone, and I’m sorry about the inconvenience. Please, let Andie show you what you can do with those lovely flowers.”

“But . . . ,” he began.

“In fact,” said Diane, “these gentlemen from Home-land Security are going to help discover who is behind this dreadful misunderstanding.”

“Mr. Carstairs,” said Andie, taking his arm, “please come with me. I’ll explain everything.”

Andie managed to steer him out and close the door. Diane sat back and rubbed her hands down her face.

“If you find the person who is fueling the drug rumor, I’m betting it will be the same person who is behind the other rumors. I can’t have acquired two stalkers at the same time. I don’t think it was the reporter, but he probably knows who his source is. If you find out who it is, give me some time alone with him.”

Bailey managed a small smile. Stewart appeared to not know what to think.