Dead Guilty (30 page)

They
sat in the waiting room near the critical care
unit. Sheriff Braden was twirling his hat in his hands,
not saying much.

‘‘Apparently,
someone came in and slit his throat,’’
said
Garnett.
‘‘The
nurse
had
just
left
to
check
on
another
patient.
She
remembers an
orderly.
It
must
have happened quickly. When she got back, he was
bleeding out. They tried to save him, but he had lost
too much blood. And what with his other injury, well,
he didn’t make it.’’

‘‘Somebody
is mighty desperate for something.’’
‘‘If we can identify the victims,’’ said Braden, ‘‘I can
close this damn case. Are you any closer to finding
out who they are?’’ he asked Garnett.
Garnett looked annoyed, and she guessed that he
and Braden had had a disagreement. Cobber’s Wood
was the only one of the crime scenes in Braden’s juris
diction, and she got the idea he probably didn’t care
if Garnett solved his cases or not, even if they were
all related.
‘‘I may know who they are. I’ve been trying to call,’’
said Diane.
This got Braden’s attention.
‘‘The sheriff and I were called back here as soon as
we got back to our offices,’’ said Garnett. ‘‘They made
us turn off our cell phones inside the hospital, so we
didn’t get your call. You know who the victims were?’’
‘‘Maybe. I told you about the discussion boards and
lists Neva was checking on the Internet. She got a hit
from a plastic surgeon in upstate New York. He sent
photos of two of his patients, and I have to tell you,
they look a lot like our victims.’’
‘‘She get names?’’
‘‘Yes.’’ Diane related the entire story she got from
Neva. ‘‘When I couldn’t get you on the phone, I called
the
numbers
the
doctor
gave
her
for
them.
Justin
Hooten’s family wasn’t home. Ashlyn Hooten’s father
brushed me off. I think that they’ve had some dealings
with the law before.’’
If Braden or Garnett were angry at her initiative,
neither showed it, so she pressed on. ‘‘I’d like to try
again.’’
‘‘Be my guest,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘The sooner this is
out of my hair, the better.’’ He rose and stalked off
toward the restrooms.
‘‘What’s that about?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘I was pretty hard on Lynn Webber. I was thinking
that
maybe
the
diamonds
were
on
Chris
Edwards’
person—hiding
in
his
underwear,
some
place
an
in
truder might not look. And then I thought, if not Ed
wards’
clothes,
why
not
the
hanging
victims’?
She
seemed to take offense at my tone of voice. She told
him about it. I tell you, the guy’s hopeless.’’
Diane was only half listening to what Garnett was
saying.
What
had
caught
her
eye
was
a
poster
for
colon cancer screening.
‘‘She
was
saying,’’
continued
Garnett,
‘‘that
you
were
there
when
they
removed
Blue
and
Green’s
clothes and you took them with you, and Red’s clothes
were bagged immediately. It seemed to me like a way
to connect up Braden’s murders with mine.’’
‘‘And
it
was,’’
said
Diane,
staring
at
the
poster.
‘‘There was something Raymond did by himself that
wasn’t in sight of either me or Lynn Webber.’’
‘‘What was that?’’
‘‘He cleaned the bones.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Before I do a thorough analysis of bones, they are
cleaned by a process that dissolves all the flesh and
cartilage.
Raymond
is
the
one
who
cleaned
them.
When he strained the solution to capture any of the
small bones that might be trapped in it, that’s where
he found the diamonds. I’ll bet one of the victims had
swallowed the diamonds, maybe to smuggle them, like
they do cocaine.’’
‘‘You know, that makes sense. Raymond had never
been in trouble, even as a teenager. It bothered me
that he would suddenly turn to something this big. But
if he found them, he probably counted himself lucky—
poor fellow.’’
‘‘That
would
also
explain
why
he
was
targeted.
Someone
out
there
knew where
the
diamonds
were
hidden,
and
with
a
little
asking
around
about
what
happens to bodies, could have figured out Raymond
was the one who had them.’’
Diane felt more comfortable with this explanation
of how Raymond Waller got the diamonds than she
did with the idea of his being in league with Edwards
and Mayberry. She turned it over in her mind as she
drove back to the museum.
If
Raymond
happened
upon
diamonds,
why
not
Chris Edwards and Steven Mayberry? They were out
doing their timber cruises all over the woods for days.
From their explanation of what a timber cruise is, they
walked over every inch of ground. What if they also
had the misfortune of stumbling across more of the
diamonds? But if she were right and Blue, Green and
Red Doe had swallowed theirs, then where would the
ones
have
come
from
that
Edwards
and
Mayberry
might have found?
Her head was beginning to ache. When she got back
to the museum, she changed into the running clothes
she kept in her museum office. If she was going caving
on the weekend, she needed to start exercising again.
She hadn’t done anything in a week.
‘‘Andie, I’m going for a run on the nature trail. Go
ahead
and
lock
the
offices
when
you
leave.
I
have
a key.’’
‘‘Sure. See you tomorrow.’’
The nature trail made a tangled loop a little over
half a mile long around the back of the museum. It
was
an
exhibit
in
itself
and
Diane
considered
it
an
important part of a museum of natural history. It was
a
wooded
trail,
full
of
more
species
of
trees
than
Diane could name. When the leaves turned in the fall,
it was dazzling. In the spring and summer, it was the
flowers and shrubs that shined: rhododendrons, aza
leas,
bluet,
violets,
trilliums.
She
tried
to
remember
the names as she passed the plants. Late summer, the
museum
staff
liked
to
pick
blackberries
that
grew
along the trail, and Diane was thinking about having
a staff blackberry picnic in July. The crowning jewel
of the nature trail was the swan pond in the center—
a
small,
quiet
lake
that
could
have
come
from
a
fairy tale.
She never tired of running the nature trail and she
always
saw
something
she
hadn’t
seen
before.
Nor
mally, there were many people running in the evening,
but it had been so hot that a lot of people headed for
the
treadmills
in
an
air-conditioned
gym.
She
was
mainly
alone,
only
occasionally
spotting
a
runner
through the trees.
She wanted to run five miles. That usually took her
anywhere from thirty-five to forty minutes, depending
on how leisurely she wanted to make it. She looked
at her watch. It wasn’t too late.
Today,
she
felt
like
running
fast.
She
sprinted
through the trail. Her heart beat fast. It felt good. She
thought she heard the steady rhythm of footfalls be
hind her.
Another runner,
she thought. It sounded like
a runner. She barely heard it, but she felt the rhythm.
She speeded up her pace. The rhythm was still there.
She glanced back, but she’d just passed a turn and the
trail behind her was hidden by rhododendrons.
Recent events had made her paranoid, and she was
starting to become a little worried. She rounded an
other turn, stopped and stepped behind a cluster of
forsythia bushes and waited for several seconds. She
heard the footfalls coming. She stepped back farther
in the bushes, ready to run. Around the turn, passing
her, ran Mike Seger.
‘‘Mike,’’ she called.
He stopped and turned, breathing hard.
‘‘Dr. Fallon. Damn. You are hard to catch up with.
You run fast for an old lady. Andie told me you came
for
a
run.
I
run
here
every
day
too,
but
usually
in
the morning.’’
Diane walked back onto the trail and started run
ning again, but at a slower pace. He caught up with
her.
‘‘So, is this your second run today?’’ she asked.
‘‘No, not today. I had to proctor a makeup exam at
the university this morning. What are you doing out
here by yourself anyway?’’
‘‘The guy who attacked me is dead.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
They
ran
almost
a
half-mile
loop
without
talking.
While
she
ran,
Diane’s
mind
kept
turning
over
the
diamonds—cut and uncut.
‘‘Tell me,’’ Diane asked, ‘‘where’s the closest place
to have a diamond cut?’’
‘‘I’d say New York. No. There’s a guy who teaches
at the tech school. They have courses in diamond cut
ting. Just started last year, one of the very few places
you can learn in the United States.’’
‘‘What’s his name?’’ asked Diane.
Mike
thought
a
moment.
‘‘Joseph
something.
Jo
seph Isaacson. I think he’s from Belgium.’’
‘‘Thanks.’’
‘‘In my car I have a map of the cave we are going
to visit.
I brought
you a copy.
I thought
you might
like to see it. It’s just the easy section, but that’s all
we are doing this time. Maybe later we can map the
wild
sections.
Like
you
said,
that
would
be
a
good
project for the club.’’
‘‘Great. How far do you usually run?’’
‘‘I usually make about twenty laps.’’
‘‘Then why are you breathing so hard?’’
‘‘I told you, trying to catch up with you. I have a
friend opening up a new gym in town. It has a great
rock-climbing wall. You might check it out.’’
‘‘I
might
do
that.
I’ve
let
my
weight
training
go
this week.’’
‘‘I wouldn’t worry. You still have some pretty hard
deltoids.’’
He
reached
over
and
touched
her
bare
shoulder.
Diane ran faster.

While
she waited for a decent time to call the Hooten
household again, Diane sat at her desk, studying the
map Mike had given her of the cave they were going
to explore. It was not a particularly well-done map.
In fact, it was amateurish. She should have suspected
by his grin when he showed it to her. It had its own
way of describing features, drops, slopes and escarp
ments,
instead
of
using
any
of
the
normal
mapping
conventions. But it also had its own charm. It was sort
of like an old-fashioned treasure map. Diane had to
fight the urge to copy it off on parchment paper. But
it did have entrances and branches clearly labeled, and
it
showed
tunnels
and
passages
in
ways
that
were
probably recognizable—with names such as Fish Scale
Way, the Silo, Crawl-Belly Tunnel.

The
section they were going to traverse included a
half mile of easy cave. Neva was a novice, and Diane
wanted it to be easy. But the easy part was still inter
esting. It included several turns and several different
elevations. The mapper had clearly marked the branches
that
led
to
the
wild
parts—Abandon
All
Hope
and
There Be Dragons passages.

She
looked at her watch—a little after 9:00
P
.
M
. She
picked up the phone to call, but instead of dialing the
Hooten residence, she thought better of it and got the
number for
the Buffalo police. She called and intro
duced
herself
and
explained
that
she
was
trying
to
identify three bodies that she had reason to believe
originally resided in Buffalo. The person on the other
end listened patiently.

Justin
Hooten?’’ she said finally.
‘‘Hold the phone, ma’am.’’
She
held
the
line
for
a
full
ten
minutes.
Finally,

Detective
LaSalle had a very friendly voice. Diane
hoped that also meant he would be helpful. She ex
plained again what she was after.

‘‘I’m
very
familiar
with
little
Ashlyn
and
Justin
Hooten. Stereotypical ignored rich kids who get into
trouble and their parents get them out, but other than
that, don’t pay any attention to them. They have the
reputation
of
being
bullies.
You
say
you
think
they
are dead?’’

‘‘I
don’t know. I’m trying to identify the remains of
three
individuals.
Two
of
them
fit
their
description.
The
bodies
were
badly
decomposed
and
we
did
an
artist’s reconstruction of their faces. One had plastic
surgery. That’s how we got a lead.’’

‘‘Nose
job on Ashlyn, right?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Diane.
‘‘Damn, this doesn’t look good.’’
Diane went on to describe the other characteristics

they
had
discovered—tattoos,
heart
condition.
She
also described Red Doe, her tattoos, ballet, back prob
lems and the fact she was probably half Asian.
‘‘I realize I’m grabbing at straws here,’’ she said.
‘‘No,
I
don’t
think
you
are.
They
have
a
friend.

Cathy
Chu. She wore a back brace for a while. And
you say the parents don’t know they’re missing. That’s
not surprising.’’

‘‘I
need some X-rays to make a positive identifica
tion. The plastic surgeon was very forthcoming, but as
you can understand, he was reluctant to send X-rays
without permission.’’

‘‘I’ll
see
that
you
get
what
you
need.
Jeez,
what
goes around comes around.’’
‘‘What do you mean?’’
‘‘The
father
probably
thought
you
were
calling
about
an
incident
that
happened
a
couple
of
years
ago.
I
don’t
know
exactly
what
happened—it
was
hushed up—but
I can give
you some good
bits and
pieces.’’
‘‘Please do. We’ve had other murders that may be
connected. Do you know if they were involved with
uncut diamonds?’’
‘‘Oh, Jesus, they did get in over their heads. I knew
it would happen. The three of them went to the Uni
versity of Pennsylvania. Thought they were really slick
customers. Got involved in smuggling contraband out
of
Canada.
Small
stuff
at
first—cigarettes,
clothes.
They
thought
they
were
really
into
a
sophisticated
racket. Had a few close calls with customs, but nothing
their parents couldn’t take care of.
‘‘They started getting a little more daring and got
involved with some dangerous people. This is where it
gets a little murky. They got involved with something.
Maybe it’s diamonds. You have diamonds, then?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Well, damn. I thought it was tobacco. You know
about Canadian diamonds?’’
‘‘Not really.’’
‘‘There’s a big diamond mine in Canada, the Ekati
mine. Produces nice white diamonds, and the Cana
dian
authorities
work
hard to
keep
organized
crime
out of the rough-diamond trade. But you never can
completely.
Rough
diamonds
are
harder
to
identify
and they
are easy
to smuggle. On
top of
that, they
have
a
high
profit-to-size
ratio.
A
dream
for
orga
nized crime.’’
‘‘This is what they got into?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘I’m not sure. It wouldn’t surprise me. Like I said,
I thought the big trouble two years ago was tobacco.
What I do know is that something happened and they
got in way over their heads. They may have tried to
strike out on their own and crossed the wrong people.
That’s where Alice Littleton comes into the picture.
She
was
a
freshman
at
Penn—from
Georgia.
That’s
probably the connection their father made when you
called
him.
From
what
I
can
tell,
Alice
was
a
little
southern girl who was really impressed with the bigcity
sophisticates
from
New
York,
although
Buffalo
isn’t exactly Manhattan. No offense.’’
‘‘None taken.’’
‘‘Like I said, I’ve had to piece together what hap
pened. Alice wanted to
fit in. Followed Ashlyn and
her crowd around like a puppy. When Ashlyn, Justin
and Cathy got into trouble, they sent little Alice in
their
place
for
some
kind
of
delivery,
and
she
got
killed. Ashlyn and her friends got religion after that.
They
went
to
classes
and
played
good.
I
thought
maybe they had learned their lesson. It looks like they
got themselves into deeper trouble. Diamonds. Jeez.’’
A thought struck Diane. ‘‘Did Alice Littleton have
a brother?’’
‘‘Is he in this too? You bet she did. Everett Littleton.
That’s
why
I
know
so
much
about
it.
The
poor
guy
traveled back and forth from Pennsylvania to here, to
Ontario
and
back,
trying
to
find
out
what
happened.
Hounded us to death about the Hootens. But there was
nothing we could do. Nothing that happened was in our
jurisdiction.
There’s
times
I’d
like
to
arrest
people
on
general
principles,
but—how
do you
folks
say
it?—we
didn’t have a dog in that fight. Everett was several years
older than Alice. Raised her after their parents died.’’
‘‘Can you tell me what Everett looks like?’’
‘‘Sure. About six feet. Brown hair and eyes. About
thirty-two.
Drives
a
truck,
as
I
recall—had
his
own
private one-truck business.’’
‘‘I think he was the one who killed Ashlyn and Jus
tin Hooten, and Cathy Chu.’’
‘‘You don’t say? Took the law into his own hands.
This thing was tragic all the way around.’’
‘‘If I send you a picture, can you identify him?’’
‘‘Sure thing. Just JPEG it on up here.’’ He gave her
his E-mail address.
‘‘Was
there
another
person
involved
with
them?’’
asked Diane.
‘‘Besides
the
Hooten
cousins
and
Cathy
Chu?
I
don’t know of any. Could’ve been, though. Why?’’
‘‘There was a fourth, unused noose where we found
the bodies.’’
‘‘A noose?’’
‘‘They were hanged.’’
‘‘Jesus. Did it up right, did he? There might have
been some known associates. You got a description?’’
Diane almost said no, but she remembered her at
tacker.
The
right
age,
and
identity
unknown.
‘‘He
might be about the same age. Roughly six feet. Dark
hair. Muscular. Prone to violence. But could be some
one different.’’
‘‘I can ask around. I’m going to have to talk to the
parents anyway. Give me your address and I’ll send
you X-rays, dental charts, whatever we can get.’’
Diane gave him her address at the crime lab. She
also gave him contact information for Chief Detective
Garnett and Sheriff Braden, as well as the plastic sur
geon’s name and address in Buffalo.
‘‘He has X-rays of both Ashlyn and Justin. Thanks
for
talking
to
me.
You’ve
made
a
lot
of
things
fall
into place.’’
‘‘Glad
to
do
it.
I’m
just
sorry
this
turned
out
so
badly for everyone. Have you caught Everett?’’
‘‘Yes, it appears that we did. But he’s been mur
dered also.’’
‘‘I’ll be damned. You do have yourselves a situation
down there.’’
‘‘That’s a bit of an understatement.’’
‘‘I’ll contact the Canadians. Like I said, they want
to keep crime out of their diamond field—and they’ll
want
their
diamonds
back
if
they
turn
out
to
be
stolen.’’
‘‘Sure.
Just
have
them
call
me
or
Chief
Garnett.
Thanks again.’’
Diane sent a JPEG photo of John Doe to Detective
LaSalle, then called the tech school and left a message
asking for an appointment to talk with Joseph Isaac
son.
On
her
way
home,
she
called
Garnett
and
re
peated everything LaSalle had told her.
‘‘So
we
know
who
they
are
and
why
they
were
killed. You were right. Our John Doe was angry. This
was about revenge—or maybe justice, as he saw it. I’ll
call Braden and the profiler. He’ll have to revise his
profile again.’’
Diane heard him laughing as he hung up his phone.
*
*
*
Joseph Isaacson was a small man with short white
hair and salt-and-pepper eyebrows and moustache. He
walked with a slight stoop. Diane wondered if it was
from
years
of
bending
over
his
work.
He
reminded
her of their mummy—they called him a scribe, but he
could have been an artisan like Joseph Isaacson. He
spoke with a slight accent.
Isaacson closed the door to cut out the sound from
the adjacent polishing and cutting equipment of the
classroom, moved a stack of papers and invited her
to sit.
His office was cluttered with books and papers. He
had an old rolltop desk against the wall and a table
in the middle. It was the table he actually used as a
desk. Behind him was a photograph of a large spar
kling diamond.
‘‘I’m looking for someone who cut a diamond for a
young man named Chris Edwards,’’ she said. ‘‘He was
a student at Bartram University.’’
Diane
explained
briefly
that
Edwards
had
been
murdered, perhaps for the diamond.
‘‘You
think
one
of
my
students
may
be
a
murderer?’’
‘‘Oh, no. I’m hoping you or one of your students
cut the diamond and can tell me about it.’’
‘‘Aren’t you the director of the museum?’’
‘‘Yes, and I run a crime lab.’’
‘‘Such opposites.’’
‘‘Often very complementary.’’
‘‘A very yin and yang life you lead, my granddaugh
ter would probably say. I did not cut a stone for the
young man, but let’s ask my students.’’
He rose, and the two of them walked into the class
room. He clapped his hands.
‘‘Students, listen.’’
They stopped what they were doing and looked up.
‘‘This nice woman is Dr. Diane Fallon of the RiverTrail
Museum
of
Natural
History.
She’s
looking
for
information. Did any of you cut a diamond for a man
named Chris Edwards?’’
The students looked at each other and back at the
professor, except for one male student who kept look
ing at his work.
‘‘Kurt. You look like you can help us.’’
‘‘Yes, sir.’’ His voice almost cracked.
Kurt
looked
very
young
and
miserable
as
he
fol
lowed them back into the office. He brought a leather
notebook with him and he held it close to his body
like a shield.
‘‘Don’t look so forlorn, Kurt. We just want to ask
you some questions.’’
‘‘I
should
have
come
forward
sooner,
sir,
when
I
heard about Chris. I didn’t know if his death had any
thing to do with the diamond, but it might have.’’ He
slumped into the chair Isaacson offered him.
‘‘Sit up straight and answer Dr. Fallon’s questions,
Mr. Martin. She’s not here to devour you.’’
Kurt straightened up in his chair.
‘‘Tell me about the diamond,’’ said Diane.
‘‘I knew Chris Edwards. We lived in the same apart
ment building for a while until he moved. He called
and said he had inherited a diamond from his grand
mother and wanted it cut into a stone for his fiance´e.
Well, I said sure. But when I saw the diamond—well,
I was afraid at first, but Chris insisted he wanted me
to do it.’’
‘‘You’re doing fine, son,’’ said his teacher.
‘‘Mr. Isaacson, you should have seen it. It was beau
tiful. I’ve never seen a stone like that. I studied it for
a couple of days and it was like you said—some stones
just tell you how to cut them. The diamond yielded
two one-carat stones. He wanted them round, so I did
an ideal cut.’’ He pulled out his notebook and took
out several photographs and gave them to his teacher.
‘‘I took pictures.’’
Isaacson looked at the photographs, then looked at
Kurt
over
his
glasses.
‘‘You
are
right,
this
is
a
fine
stone, Kurt. And you did a beautiful job. What did
you name them?’’
‘‘The Star Princess and the Princess Kacie,’’ he said,
sitting
straighter
in
the
chair.
Suddenly,
he
slumped
again.
‘‘I
suppose
I
should
have
said
something
to
somebody. I knew they were valuable stones.’’
‘‘It’s all right. This is America, Kurt. We don’t in
form on people because they have nice things,’’ said
Isaacson.
‘‘Did
you
believe
he
inherited
it
from
his
grand
mother?’’ asked Diane. ‘‘Did you get any sense that
it may have come from somewhere else?’’
‘‘Was it the museum’s?’’ asked Kurt.
‘‘No.’’
He looked relieved. ‘‘I sort of thought he probably
did inherit it. I mean, he was a forestry student, not
a world-class cat burglar. How could he possibly even
steal a stone like that?’’
‘‘That’s a good point,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Thank you for
your time.’’
‘‘Am I in trouble?’’
‘‘No. The detective in charge of Chris’s case may
want to talk to you, but that’s only to try to figure
out how he acquired the stone.’’
‘‘So it didn’t come from his grandmother?’’
‘‘Probably not.’’
‘‘May I keep the photos, Kurt?’’ asked Isaacson.
‘‘Yes. I made copies for you. I was just trying to
figure out how to tell you about it.’’
‘‘You can go back to your work now.’’
‘‘Thanks.’’
Kurt
hurried
out
the
door
as
if
Diane
might change her mind at any moment and decide to
devour him.
‘‘He
was
not
at
fault,’’
said
Isaacson.
‘‘Diamonds
are alive, you know, and they talk to you. Kurt’s dia
mond spoke to him, and the temptation to cut such a
stone is more than anyone can resist. See that stone?’’
He
pointed
to
the
photograph
of
the
diamond
that
hung
on
the
wall.
‘‘That
is
the
Arctic
Star.
It’s
my
stone.’’
He
shrugged.
‘‘Some
Japanese
businessman
has it in a vault somewhere, but it will always be mine.
I studied it, I cut it. Fifty-five carats. Stunning stone.
Kurt isn’t in any trouble, is he?’’
‘‘I would not think so.’’
‘‘Where did the diamond come from? It was not a
blood diamond, I hope.’’
‘‘From Canada, I believe.’’
‘‘Oh,
the
Ekati
mine.
Beautiful
diamonds.
Very
white.’’
‘‘Thank you for your time.’’
‘‘My pleasure. You know, you could use some nicer
stones in your gem collection at the museum.’’
‘‘We’re working on it.’’