Dead Guilty (12 page)

When
the car door unlocked, the dome light illuminated
the interior. As she reached out to open the door, she
saw a bouquet of red roses lying on the backseat. Diane
smiled. Frank must be back. She looked around the lot
but didn’t see his car. Why hadn’t he come into the
museum?
She
took
the
flowers
into
her
arms
and
smelled one of the roses, a bud just barely open.
Nice
.
The card was slipped between the flowers and the tis
sue wrapping—no name, simply two words printed in
a script font that read:
TO JUSTICE
.

Frank’s
side must have won the case,
she thought.
Diane slid onto her car seat and put the flowers on
the passenger’s seat. The aroma of the bouquet filled
the
car.
It
was
odd,
though,
not
like
Frank
to
just
leave flowers. Perhaps Star, his adopted daughter, put
him
up
to
it.
Diane
started
the
engine
and
drove
home.
She lived in a huge old Greek revival house con
verted into apartments. It had a good feel to it. Once
inside, she put the flowers in a vase of water, kicked
off
her
shoes
and
headed
for
the
shower.
The
cool
water felt good, a relief from the heat. The landlady
still had not fixed the air-conditioning.
Out of the shower, Diane turned on the ceiling fan,
slipped into a nightgown and started to set her radio
alarm for the morning when she noticed the red blink
ing
light
on
her
answering
machine.
She
crawled
in
bed, hit the replay button and
lay back to listen to
the messages. The first was from Frank.
‘‘Hi. Since you’re not there, you’re probably work
ing
yourself
to
the
bone,
so
I
won’t
try
your
cell
phone. I’m still in San Francisco, but I’m catching a
plane tomorrow. I’ll call. Get some sleep.’’
If he was still in San Francisco, who sent the flowers?
Diane wondered as she listened to the next message
play nothing but road noise. She deleted it, and the
machine
cycled
to
the
third
message.
A
deep
male
voice she didn’t recognize spoke.
‘‘Why
won’t
you
talk
to
me?
I’ve
tried
your
cell
phone,
your
E-mail
and
your
home.
I
need
to
talk
to you.’’
Wrong number?
She checked the caller ID. One call
came from San Francisco; that was Frank. The next
two
were
from
Denver,
Colorado,
and
Omaha,
Nebraska.
Denver. ‘‘I wonder if that’s the same number as the
cell
phone
call
earlier
at
the
lab,’’
she
said
aloud.
‘‘Who do I know in Denver?’’
Couldn’t
be
a
wrong
number;
he
had
tried
both
phone numbers and her E-mail. She didn’t know any
one in Omaha either.
She shrugged, deleted the message and lay back in
bed, thinking that perhaps Frank had the flowers de
livered. But who put them in her locked car? Andie?
Made sense. Had she given Andie a key? She drifted
off to sleep.
Diane awakened abruptly at the sound of the ring
ing telephone. She looked at the clock—6:00
A
.
M
. Her
radio came on as soon as she reached for the phone.
She shut it off as she picked up the receiver.
‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘Diane,
this
is
Lynn
Webber.
I
hope
I
didn’t
wake you.’’
Lynn’s voice sounded strained, and Diane was sud
denly
wide
awake,
wondering
if
something
else
had
happened.
‘‘No, you didn’t. Have they found another body?’’
‘‘I had a very disturbing conversation with Sheriff
Braden yesterday.’’
Diane waited.
‘‘He told me you contradicted my time of death in
the
Cobber’s
Wood
murders.
That
was
very
in
appropriate.’’
‘‘What? What are you talking about?’’
‘‘Those
bodies
were
not
far
enough
advanced
to
have been out in the woods more than a week.’’
‘‘Why are you calling?’’ said Diane.
‘‘My reputation is important to me. I am very con
scientious
in my
work. To
have someone
who’s not
even an expert go to the sheriff and contradict me is
unacceptable.’’
Diane was so surprised at the outburst, she didn’t
quite know what to say.
‘‘I didn’t go to the sheriff. The chief of detectives
brought him by the crime lab to discuss the two cases.
I simply brought him up to date on what we had dis
covered so far.’’
‘‘Now Sheriff Braden doesn’t know what to think.’’
Then I made progress with him,
thought Diane, but
figured
it
would
not
be
a
good
idea
to
voice
that
thought.
‘‘I’m sure he’ll read both reports and come to his
own
conclusion.’’
Diane
wondered
if
she
should
be
biting her tongue so hard.
‘‘You’re simply wrong about the time of death. This
isn’t even your field of expertise.’’
Time to quit biting.
‘‘I’m
not
wrong,
and
yes,
it
is
in
my
purview
of
knowledge
and
authority.
If
you
like,
I’ll
send
you
some research on the retarding of decay in hanging
victims.’’
‘‘Sarcasm and insults are unnecessary. I’m just tell
ing you, when it comes to matters of time of death on
bodies
that
lie
on
my
autopsy
table,
my
conclusion
takes precedence and you are to fall in line.’’
Dr. Webber hung up before Diane could respond.
‘‘Great,’’ said Diane to the dead phone. ‘‘She’s in a
snit
and
will
probably
call
Garnett,
upset
him,
he’ll
call me and worry me to death about how we can’t
make any mistakes and definitely cannot offend any
one of importance.’’
While
Diane
had
the
phone
in
her
hand,
she
checked
caller
ID
for
the number
Frank
had
called
from, dialed his hotel and asked for his room. When
she heard his sleepy voice, she remembered the threehour time difference.
Shit
.
‘‘I’m sorry. I forgot about the three time zones.’’
‘‘Diane. You sound good—anytime.’’
‘‘I got your message. Did you by any chance send
me flowers?’’
‘‘Flowers? Was I supposed to? Did I miss an anni
versary, birthday—no, not birthday. Okay, what was
it?’’
Diane felt the laughter rising up through her body
until
it
reached
her
face
and
made
her
smile.
How
that must sound—calling him at three o’clock in the
morning all the way across the country, asking if he
sent flowers. She scooted back into the pillows of her
bed and crossed her legs.
‘‘No. You didn’t miss anything. Someone left flow
ers in my car yesterday. I found them in the backseat.
I assumed they were from you.’’
‘‘Was there a card with them?’’
‘‘All it said was ‘To Justice.’ ’’
‘‘To
Justice?
I’m
not
much
of
a
romantic,
but
I
could do better than that.’’ Diane laughed again. The
whole thing was silly, and silly felt good.
‘‘Must be from a secret admirer. Do you have one?’’
he said.
Secret admirer. ‘‘No . . .’’ She thought of Mike. Of
course, Mike Seger must have left them.
‘‘You do, don’t you? I’ll bet it’s that guy—the one
with the hair. What’s his name?’’
‘‘The one with the hair?’’
‘‘You know. That modern, just-got-out-of-bed, cool
kind of style. I think he’s a geologist.’’
‘‘Mike? Why do you think it’s him?’’
‘‘That challenging-the-alpha-male look he gives me.
Admittedly, I haven’t gotten the look for a while, now
that I’ve been an adult for a number of years, but I
remember that provoking stare with a touch of amuse
ment behind it. You and he go caving, don’t you?’’
‘‘Well, yes.’’
‘‘Yes. It was him, though I figure he could also do
better
than
‘To
Justice.’
Don’t
you
keep
your
car
locked?’’
‘‘It was locked. Someone must have borrowed my
key from my office, or opened the door with one of
those things.... What do you call them?’’
‘‘A slim jim?’’
‘‘Yeah, one of those. Oh, maybe I forgot to lock it.
I’ve had a lot on my mind.’’
‘‘That’s interesting.’’
‘‘How are things in San Francisco?’’
‘‘Nice. Good weather. Looks like they’ll convict our
guy, unless the jury’s just nuts. I’m looking forward to
getting home. I hear you’ve been busy.’’
‘‘We’ve had a few murders.’’
‘‘Scuttlebutt says you have a serial killer.’’
‘‘Too early to tell, but it doesn’t feel like it. But I
didn’t wake you up in the middle of the night to talk
about murder.’’
‘‘Really. Phone sex?’’
‘‘Funny. So, you’re coming home tomorrow?’’
‘‘I hope. I like it by the ocean here, but it’ll be good
to get back home.’’
Diane
didn’t
talk
long.
Guilt
for
waking
him
up
gnawed at her throughout the conversation, but he’d
made her laugh and she liked to start the day laughing.

Andie
was already in the office when she arrived.
She wore a tailored denim suit and had her abundant
curls pulled up on top of her head, and they shook and
jiggled as she zipped about in quick little movements.

‘‘Andie,
do you know anything about a delivery of
flowers to me yesterday?’’
‘‘Nope. Somebody send you flowers?’’
‘‘Yes. The card wasn’t signed. I thought maybe you
were here when they came.’’
‘‘I was here, but I didn’t see them.’’
‘‘Doesn’t
matter.
Someone
will
ask
about
them
sooner or later.’’
‘‘Wasn’t Frank, was it?’’
‘‘No, I talked to him this morning.’’
‘‘Wasn’t Mike, was it?’’ she said, with a wink and a
teasing grin.
‘‘That’s what Frank said. Why does everyone think
it was Mike?’’
‘‘Oh,
nothing. You
know, just
the way
he’s ga-ga
around you.’’
‘‘That’s ridiculous. There is nothing there. He’s just
a kid.’’
‘‘All
right.
I
believe
you,’’
said
Andie.
‘‘He’s
too
young for you anyway.’’
‘‘Now, wait a minute.’’
‘‘Just teasing,’’ said Andie, laughing.
She handed Diane a cup of coffee with chocolate,
the way she liked it. Diane took a sip and sat down
behind her desk.
‘‘I saw you approved the velociraptor casts. That’s
exciting. I like those guys,’’ said Andie.
‘‘It’s a good price. The shopkeepers tell me the velo
ciraptor is the best-selling model after
T. Rex
in the
museum gift shop, so maybe having some on display
will
generate
more
visitors.’’
Diane
turned
on
her
computer. ‘‘Call Kendel and Jonas. I’d like them to
go
up
with
me
to
take
a
look
at
the
X-rays
of
the
mummy.’’
‘‘A
lot
of
stuff
is
happening
about
the
mummy.
You’re getting a ton of mail. I’ve sorted it and put it
on your desk.’’
‘‘How is that possible? We just got it.’’
‘‘I think there must be some kind of mummy grape
vine out there.’’
‘‘What are they writing about?’’ Diane said, mainly
to herself.
While Andie called Jonas and Kendel, Diane began
reading the E-mail. The first was a request for a piece
of the mummy for DNA research. She had fifty-two
messages. Several others were from researchers about
the mummy. ‘‘I had no idea,’’ muttered Diane.
Her
phone
rang
as
she
was
scrolling
through
the
E-mail.
‘‘Dr.
Fallon,
Dr.
Fallon?’’
The
voice
was
highpitched
and
nervous
sounding.
‘‘I’ve
been
trying
to
reach you. Did you get my letter?’’
‘‘Who are you?’’
‘‘Dr. Earl Holloway, Indiana University.’’
‘‘Indiana?’’ Not Colorado or Nebraska.
‘‘Yes. Yes. It’s important that I have access to your
mummy. It’s so hard to find mummies these days, de
spite the fact that there are millions of Egyptian mum
mies. They are so jealously guarded. People have such
parochial ideas about dead bodies. It’s almost like the
days when medical schools had to resort to resurrec
tion men.’’
‘‘Exactly what do you want?’’
‘‘Haven’t I said? Haven’t you read my letter?’’
Diane rummaged through the letters until she came
to one from Dr. Holloway.
‘‘Your letter just arrived on my desk. I haven’t even
had a chance to open it.’’
‘‘Yes. Well, you would see, Dr. Fallon, if you had
read
my
letter,
I’m
a
paleoparasitologist.
I’m
doing
postgraduate
research
here.
A
groundbreaking
pilot
study analyzing mummy tissue for drugs and diseases.
It’s
a
prelude
to
a
proposal
to
the
mummy
tissue
bank.’’
‘‘The mummy tissue bank?’’
‘‘Yes. Most researchers are looking into the courses
of diseases in ancient mummies. But I’m looking spe
cifically at Egyptian mummies, since they came from
a culture which had a more sophisticated practice of
medicine. I’m hoping I can discover what they used
to treat ailments we now know were caused by para
sites, such as schistosomiasis, and evaluate the efficacy
of their treatments.’’
‘‘Have you thought about looking at the practices
among the native peoples of South America? Though
not
technologically
advanced,
they
have
a
tradition
handed
down
from
ancient
times
and
have
made
pretty
sophisticated
use
of
the
native
plant
life
for
medicinal purposes.’’
Diane wasn’t sure why she said that. She didn’t usu
ally
question
researchers on
their
methodology,
cer
tainly
not
on
something
that
wasn’t
her
field.
She
supposed it was some gut reaction to defend the skills
of the South American Indians, with whom she was
very familiar.
‘‘Yes, well, I don’t really want to argue the point.
My research design requires Egyptian samples, so you
can see why I’m interested in your mummy.’’
‘‘Yes. You and many others. We just acquired the
mummy. How did you find out about him?’’
‘‘A few months ago, a friend told me about him. I
couldn’t get access, but I kept in touch with its disposi
tion. I assure you, my research isn’t frivolous.’’
‘‘No. I’m sure it’s not. I’m just surprised at the inter
est in him so soon. I’ll read your proposal.’’
Andie led in Mike Seger who was carrying a large
three-paneled poster board. They began setting it up
on the desk in Diane’s office. Andie stepped back to
look at it.
‘‘Look,
Dr.
Fallon,’’
Holloway
continued,
‘‘I
sent
you my list of publications. You don’t propose to eval
uate my research. . . . You are a small museum. . . .’’
‘‘I assure you, size doesn’t matter.’’
This assertion caught the attention of both Andie
and Mike. They looked at each other, then at Diane,
eyebrows
raised,
amusement
written
on
their
faces.
Diane rolled her eyes.
‘‘I didn’t mean to suggest,’’ said Dr. Holloway. ‘‘Of
course, I recognize your competence, but...’’
‘‘Dr. Holloway, if you know about the mummy, then
you know he is without provenance. We don’t even
know if he is actually an ancient mummy or of more
modern origin.’’
‘‘I understand that, but there are tests...’’
‘‘Yes, and we are in the process of running them.
Right now, I’m not prepared to address your request
one way or the other.’’
‘‘You
aren’t
saying
no,
then.
That’s
good.
We’ll
keep the lines open, then.’’
‘‘Kendel
said
we’d
be
getting
requests
from
re
searchers,’’ said Andie when Diane had hung up the
phone.
‘‘Apparently, they’re calling my cell phone and my
home.’’ The calls had nagged Diane, but she felt better
knowing they were probably from researchers. ‘‘Just
a moment,’’ she told Andie and Mike.
Diane decided to return the calls while she was think
ing about it and refer them to Kendel and Jonas. She di
aled the Colorado number and got a recorded message:
‘‘You are returning a call to a prepaid calling service
system,
and
the
party
cannot
be
reached
at
this
number.’’
The Omaha number gave her the same message.
‘‘That’s odd.’’
‘‘What?’’ asked Andie.
‘‘These calls . . .’’ Diane explained the calls and the
recorded message she just reached.
‘‘Calling card,’’ said Mike. ‘‘It’s a standard birthday
and Christmas gift my parents give me, hoping I’ll call
more often.’’
Andie nodded. ‘‘One of a handful of cities comes
up on the caller ID every time you use it.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
She’d just have to wait until they called her again.
She rose and walked from behind her desk.
‘‘What do you have here?’’ she asked Mike.
‘‘An illustration of the earth science exhibit,’’ said
Mike. ‘‘The entrance starts here.’’ He pointed to the
upper-left part of the poster. ‘‘The crust is divided into
the horizons. We’re working on mechanical devices—
kind of like Disney World stuff—that look like insect
and parasitic life found in the soil. It will be large—
the visitors will seem like they’ve shrunk.’’
‘‘I like that,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Next we have the mantel, the convection currents,
then the core. It’s all pretty straightforward. The ex
hibit designer and I are trying figure out the best way
to display all of this. One option is to have it on video
as they descend the exhibit. But we also had the idea
of building a mechanical device that will move a vis
cous substance around in a tank to illustrate the man
tel, its convection currents and how the crust floats on
top. We plan to reference everything with the current
exhibits in the geology hall.’’
‘‘Cool,’’ said Andie.
‘‘I’m thinking something like the tunnel in an aquar
ium,’’ said Mike. ‘‘A place where the visitor can de
scend into the exhibit and have the earth all around
him.’’
‘‘You need to make it wheelchair accessible,’’ said
Diane.
‘‘We know. We’ve discussed a winding ramp, an ele
vator sort of thing. We have a lot to work out.’’
Diane
looked
at
the
depiction
of
the
soil
layers,
fossils, the molten mantel, the dense core. Mike had
made notes on the display indicating what would hap
pen to you if you were able to actually journey to the
center
of
the
earth—becoming
very
hot
and
finally
turning into something the size of a marble under the
enormous pressure of the core.
‘‘This is coming along nicely. I don’t suppose you
have a cost?’’
Mike winced. ‘‘No. Not yet.’’
‘‘Okay. Tell the designer that I like the plans. Just
remember the budget as you work.’’
‘‘Sure.’’
The
phone
rang,
and
Andie
ran
to
her
office
to
answer it.
‘‘I’m looking forward to seeing the model when it’s
built. By the way, did you leave anything in my car?’’
asked Diane.
‘‘Your
car?
Like
what?’’
Mike
was
a
head
taller
than Diane and stood just at the edge of her comfort
zone. He smelled of aftershave.
Diane backed up a step. ‘‘Like anything.’’
‘‘No. Was I supposed to?’’ He raised his eyebrows
and smiled. He
actually had dimples. She
didn’t re
member noticing them before.
‘‘No. I was just asking.’’
‘‘Was something left in your car?’’
‘‘Have
you
talked
with
the
guy
about
the
cave?’’
she asked.
‘‘I’m meeting him tomorrow for lunch. I think it’s
a go. Would you like to come to lunch with us?’’
‘‘I’ll probably still be analyzing skeletal remains.’’
‘‘How are two full-time careers working for you?’’
‘‘Keeping me busy.’’
‘‘Too busy for a social life?’’
‘‘I have a social life.’’
‘‘Can’t be much of one.’’ He gave her that look that
Frank might have described as challenging.
‘‘Kendel and Jonas are going to meet us in the con
servation
lab,’’
Andie
called
from
her
office,
saving
Diane from answering the challenge.