DF08 - The Night Killer (15 page)

“If I had better photographs, I might find more,” said Diane. “It’s just a matter of looking for clues—and knowing what is a clue.”

“You’ve really impressed me. You know, I’m gonna feel guilty taking credit for your work.”

“Don’t,” Diane said absently. “One thing you might consider is that the Barres may have known their killer. I didn’t see evidence that anyone broke in the front door. Do you know if anyone broke in the back?”

Travis shook his head. “It didn’t look like it. But the Barres were such friendly people. You know—build your house by the side of the road and be a friend to everybody. That was them. They might let a stranger in.”

“If he looked like he was in a space suit?” said Diane.

“You have a point there,” he said. “Is it easy to get those suits? That’s Tyvek, like the envelopes, right?”

“Yes,” said Diane. “There was also a cigar box missing.”

“Cigar box?” he said.

Diane went to the panorama of the living room and highlighted the hutch where Roy Barre kept his collection. “I remember he showed me a cigar box filled with rocks. I don’t really remember what kind of rocks. Frankly, I wasn’t paying attention. But his children should know.”

Travis nodded, staring unblinking at the photograph. “Roy Jr., their son, he lives in Helen. He’s been up to the place since the killings. Said he didn’t notice anything missing, but he was all freaked out. I could take him through the place again after the funeral. Roy’s kids’ll probably remember the box. Ol’ Roy liked to talk about the stuff he collected. His other kids, Christine and Spence, are coming in today or tomorrow. Christine lives in Virginia, I think, and Spence . . . somewhere in Tennessee.”

“I’d like to speak with them,” said Diane.

Travis nodded. “You thinking this box was a trophy?” he asked. “I mean, do you think this is one of them serial killers you hear about?”

“I don’t know,” said Diane. “Maybe.”

“I was gonna ask about Roy’s stuff—you know, the diaries. I was wondering if you read anything in them that might help. But now that the Watsons have been murdered, well, ain’t no use, it seems like.”

“Never close off an avenue of investigation until it has been exhausted. Looking at the diary is not a bad idea. I’ve got a call in to Jonas Briggs to tell him about the Barres. He’s away right now on a dig and can’t be reached easily. He has the diary with him.”

“Don’t make much difference now, I guess. What could the Watsons have to do with it?” said Travis.

“Did the Watsons and the Barres know each other?” asked Diane.

“Sure. Not many strangers in our county. They went to the same church—First Baptist. So they were of the same spiritual attitude as the Barres. They didn’t get along with Daddy and the rest of the deacons in our church. Truthfully, I’d like to go to their church, but Daddy would be upset, and we’ve just started getting along since he gave me the job as deputy—I was a bit of a handful growing up. Our deacons think the First Baptists are leaning toward the side of sin just a little too much.”

Diane tried to call up in her mind what the First Baptists could be doing to earn such a description, but couldn’t imagine it.

As if he understood what she might be thinking, Travis continued explaining the nuances of religious point of view in his county.

“They want a little more progress in the county—and they allow dancing.” He laughed. “I know how backward we must sound to you guys down here.”

“Could anyone in your church or another church be so worried about people from First Baptist that they would start killing them?” asked Diane.

Travis looked at her, startled. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I can’t imagine it. That’d be cold.” He shook himself, as if trying to get rid of the thought. “I’ll tell you this: It’s an idea Daddy won’t entertain at all, and I don’t know how I’d ask around.”

“Would your dad be willing to ask the GBI or the FBI in, especially if there are any more killings?” asked Diane.

“You’re joking, right?” he said. “No.”

“Then you are going to have to figure out a way to ask the tough questions,” said Diane.

Izzy appeared with a suitcase and handed it to Travis. “One crime scene kit to go. If you like, I’ll go over everything with you,” he said.

“That’d be real nice of you,” Travis said.

“I’ll be getting back to the museum,” said Diane. “Call if you need anything.”

“I will. Thanks. I really do appreciate the help here. I’d like to know what you think of the Watson crime scene,” Travis said.

“Was their house broken into?” asked Diane.

“Don’t believe so,” said Travis. “I didn’t look at the whole thing. Daddy went through it. I’ll find out from him. I was kind of hoping it was a stranger—like that guy you met in the woods. I sent Jason over to the rangers’ station to ask about campers. I’d like it to be somebody like him. It’d be real bad if it’s somebody from Rendell County. Real bad.”

Diane didn’t like the direction of his thinking. However much Travis tried to be different from his father, he was thinking like him now. He was in danger of pinning it on a stranger. Maybe not on purpose, but she doubted that his dad did it on purpose, either. She needed to solve this before some miscarriage of justice was meted out by the Conrads.

“If you can keep me informed,” she told Travis, “I’ll give you all the analysis we have at our disposal.”

“That’d be just real nice,” he said. “They’d all be so surprised if I solved this.”

Andie was late getting back from lunch. Diane didn’t mind. A love story was far better to have close by than the murders that occupied most of her thoughts right now. In Andie’s absence Diane had routed the phones to one of the secretaries while she worked at her desk going over ideas from the exhibit planners for a new ocean exhibit.

She heard a rustling in Andie’s office, then a knock at her door.

“Enter,” she said, looking up from her work.

“Dr. Fallon, I’m so sorry to be late. I just . . . time just got away. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

Diane smiled at her. “Did you have a good time?”

“Oh, yes.” Andie pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning her forearms on Diane’s desk. “I think I’m falling in love. It’s too soon, isn’t it?”

Diane closed the folders in front of her and gave Andie her attention.

“Two days—yes, but it’s not too soon to fall in love with the possibility of being in love. I caught a glimpse of ... What is his name, by the way?”

“William Dugal. He goes by Liam. You saw him. Isn’t he gorgeous?” Andie said, her auburn curls bobbing as she nodded her head.

“From what I could see, definitely,” said Diane, smiling at her. “I was hoping to meet him, but I had to run over to the crime lab.”

“I’m hoping he’ll be around awhile,” said Andie, unconsciously dipping her fingers into Diane’s desk fountain and letting the water run over them.

“What does he do?” asked Diane. “You mentioned something about the military?”

“He recently retired from the military and is thinking about going to school,” said Andie. “He’s been looking at different universities.”

“Retired?” said Diane.

“Yeah, he’s kind of older than I am—by about twelve years,” she said, making the kind of face that Diane knew meant she was afraid Diane was going to disapprove.

“He certainly looks a lot younger,” said Diane. “Obviously keeps in shape.”

“He definitely does that.” Andie grinned.

“Did you say he is interested in museums?”

Andie nodded. “I gave him one of our booklets on museology. He likes the traveling part especially. I think he’d enjoy acquiring pieces for a museum. He’s particularly interested in geology and archaeology. I thought I’d introduce him to Mike and Jonas when they get back. He really enjoyed the exhibits in their departments. He was impressed with Mike’s organized approach, and thought our mummy was cool, but wanted to see more Native American artifacts. I told him we had a collection of points donated to us that were very striking. I didn’t talk about the Barres.” Andie’s face grew solemn. “That didn’t seem to be appropriate.”

She paused and, as if just realizing she had a hand in Diane’s fountain, she snatched it away. Diane handed her a tissue to dry her fingers.

“Anyway,” Andie continued, “we’re going to have dinner and a movie tomorrow evening in Atlanta. And I’m talking a lot, aren’t I? I hope I don’t do that with him.”

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” said Diane.

Andie bobbed her head up and down again. “Me too. It’s so nice to have someone who likes to listen to me go on about the museum. Speaking of the museum, I was wondering if I could have tomorrow off. I know I didn’t put in ahead of time, but . . .”

“Sure, just have someone cover for you here,” said Diane.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it. Thank you. Oh, by the way, the first of the T-shirts arrived today. They are really cool. Very detailed and sparkly.”

“Which ones arrived?” asked Diane.

“ ‘Geology Rocks,’ ‘Archaeology Is a Thing of the Past,’ ‘Seashells by the Seashore,’ and the
Vitruvian Man
,” said Andie.

Diane smiled. She was particularly interested in seeing
Vitruvian Man
. That was the design she had picked out for the primate department. Diane had asked every department to submit designs for T-shirts for the docents to wear and to sell in the museum shop. Her staff was very big on T-shirts and jumped into the project with such enthusiasm she thought that overnight they had become couturiers.

“I hope the dinosaur shirts arrive soon,” said Andie. “I think they are going to be really popular. The designs are very dramatic.” She stood up abruptly. “I’d better get back to work.” She started to leave, but hesitated. “I appreciate the time off on short notice; really, I do. Thanks.” She darted out of the office before Diane could say anything.

Diane finished reviewing the ideas for the ocean exhibit that was to combine collections from several of the museum’s departments. She wrote up her comments on the computer and sent them to the planners.

She sat at her desk a moment before summoning up the strength to go to the crime lab and look at the newest crime scene photos. She told Andie she was crossing over to her other job and walked to the Dark Side, as her staff liked to call the section that housed the crime lab and her osteology lab. She went to her vault to view the photographs, cocooned in her own secure space.

David had already entered the photographic information into the crime scene reconstruction program. She knew he would do it quickly. She looked at the photograph of the Watsons in their dining room. Variation on a theme. Same poses, different people. Pine dining room set instead of mahogany.

The photographs of the Watson crime scene were clearer than the ones she took with her camera phone at the Barres’, and there were close-ups. She noted the hair first. There was the same ruffled-up hair on the tops of their heads, as if the killer had grabbed their hair with one hand, pulled back the head, and slit their throats. Next she looked at the blood splatter. It was remarkably similar to the Barre pattern. They were tied with duct tape to their chairs, same as the Barres.

Both the Watsons were in their nightwear. It looked like they—just as had the Barres—had let the killer in while they were dressed in their nightclothes. If there was no break-in, then they had to know their assailant. Diane didn’t care how friendly these people were; you didn’t let strangers into your house in the middle of the night. Not dressed in your nightclothes.

Their eyes were closed and they were leaning back, as if in comfortable repose.

Why was that? Was that something the killer did? Then why didn’t he close the Barres’ eyes? Someone else closed their eyes and repositioned the bodies, perhaps? Someone found them dead and closed their eyes, thinking they were showing respect by doing it?

Something to ask Travis about. Diane hoped it wasn’t someone in the sheriff’s office who did it. Perhaps it was just a difference in the way the Barres and the Watsons had approached their deaths and it meant nothing.

She searched the room, grid by grid, the way she had with the Barre photographs. Nothing stood out. She didn’t find any footprint stains on the rug. No indication how the killer left.

Diane took a breath and examined the close-up photographs of the Watsons. The wounds were deep—deeper than the Barres’ appeared to be. Sharper knife, or more confidence? She looked for any indication of tool marks that might be used to identify the weapon. There was only blood and flesh to be seen in the photographs.

Leaving the close-ups, she called up the virtual tour David had put together. She explored the living room, but found nothing that stood out. She’d never been in the Watsons’ house and she had no way of knowing whether anything was missing. She looked for any place on a table or shelf where something might have been, but now was gone. Nothing. She noted that in both the living room and dining room, there were no doors or drawers left open. Everything was closed. What did that mean? Anything?

No more photographs. Travis had taken pictures only of the dining room and living room, as she had at the Barres’. She had limited herself to taking only those photos because she wasn’t free to walk about the house in someone else’s crime scene. Travis was under no such restriction. She shook her head. He really was in over his head.

Diane left the photographs and the vault. She’d had enough of grisly murder for the day. She locked up, checked in with David and Izzy, and drove home. All the way there, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being followed.

Diane got out of the car and looked back at the road, watching the vehicles go by, but nothing jumped out at her. No one slowed down; no one leaned out the window with a gun. But then, it was dark and almost all she could see were headlights. She smiled at herself and went inside. “Slick Massey has made me paranoid,” she whispered to herself as she locked the door behind her.