DF08 - The Night Killer (35 page)

“There was a glare on the water,” said Mike. “I missed it. And yes, we were coming back when we found it.”

“We both missed it the first time,” said Liam. “He’s right. With the glare, we couldn’t see under the flowing water.”

“Just wondering,” said Diane, stifling a smile.

When she and Neva finished recording the find, Diane rolled up her jeans and waded into the water to retrieve it. She had on latex gloves and the chill of the water came through immediately. It was colder than she expected and the phrase
cold mountain stream
came to mind. The drawstring of the pouch was hung up. Diane tried to push the rocks aside to release it. It proved harder than she expected, but she finally unseated one of the rocks and the pouch came free.

Diane waded out of the water to the bank. Neva had spread out a large envelope she had cut open to make it even larger.

“I thought you’d want to see what was in it right away,” said Neva.

“You did, did you?” said Diane.

The four of them—Frank, Mike, Neva, and Liam—gathered around Diane as she opened the bag. Diane sniffed it first, just to make sure it wasn’t something unpleasant, like someone’s old lunch. Not much of a smell. She looked inside. It looked like rocks. She poured the contents out on the paper Neva had provided.

A glittering array of what appeared to be gold nuggets tumbled out onto the paper. The stones were mostly solid gold but some were clearly quartz with gold flecks.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Liam. “They did find gold—I suppose this is theirs.”

“No,” said Mike, “it’s not gold. It’s pyrite. Or, as some call it, fool’s gold.”

“It’s not gold?” said Neva.

Mike looked over at her. “And here I thought you’d spent a lot of time studying my reference collection in the museum,” he said.

Neva rolled her eyes. “Every chance I get,” she said.

“It’s pyrite—iron sulfide,” he said.

He took a slender stick and divided up the rocks.

“These shiny square pieces are pyrite in its isometric crystal habit.”

“What’s that in layman’s terms?” asked Liam.

Mike smiled at him. “Crystal pyrite. This piece here that’s amorphous in shape is what’s called massive pyrite.”

“What about this?” Liam pointed to the quartz that had the gold flecks.

“Pyrite in quartz,” said Mike. “Like gold, pyrite often occurs in combination with quartz.

“No gold?” said Liam.

“Gold is also found in association with pyrite,” said Mike, “but I don’t see any here in this cache.”

“I hope they weren’t killed over this,” said Frank.

Mike stood up and walked to the creek to an accumulation of sand that had been dropped by the flowing water where it slowed down in a curve. He scooped up a handful of the sand and came back. Over the grassy bank of the creek he picked through the wet sand in his palm.

“We’ve got a lot of quartz, feldspar, magnetite—that’s these black grains. When you’re panning for gold you look for magnetite. It and gold are heavy and they settle out together in streams, and the magnetite is more plentiful and easier to spot.”

He moved his fingers over the sand, looking.

“Here we go.”

They stood around Mike so they could see what he was pointing to.

“I don’t see anything,” said Neva.

“Here, that tiny flake. That’s gold.”

“That’s it?” said Neva.

“That’s pretty good,” said Mike, “for just one handful of sand. Panning for gold is labor-intensive.” He dropped the sand on the bank of the creek and dusted off his hands.

“How sad,” said Neva. “Do you think they thought all this was gold?”

“Probably,” said Mike. “Unless they were rock hounds too.”

They looked inquiringly at Liam.

“They probably thought it was gold,” Liam said. “Life was a fantasy to Larken, and Bruce was sure he was going to find a treasure.”

They took the evidence back with them to the primary site. Somehow the couple’s deaths seemed all the sadder to think they were chasing windmills.

Diane went home with Frank to shower and change clothes. Her muscles ached from fighting with the drunkards in Conrad’s jail the day before. She dressed in an emerald green blouse and gray linen trousers with a matching jacket.

“You look beautiful,” said Frank.

“I feel clean,” she said. “I’m not much either for running around in the thickets.”

“My grandmother used to wash herself down with kerosene after going blackberry picking,” said Frank.

Diane wrinkled her nose. “Seems like that would be harmful,” she said.

“She lived to be eighty-six. I don’t know if she would have lived longer if she hadn’t doused herself with kerosene every summer.”

Diane put her arms around him. He smelled fresh and clean. “What are you going to be doing the rest of the day?” she asked.

“I’m going to check on what Gil Mathews is up to. He’s a good friend but the GBI likes to take the lead on cases they’re involved in, and I’d like to make sure my division gets its due. You got something better in mind?”

“Yeah, I do, but I have to get back to the museum. I thought maybe we could have a late date tonight here at home—maybe dinner and a movie,” she said.

Frank embraced her tighter. “I like it when you call this home. That sounds like a terrific idea. I’ll bring food back and a movie.” He held her at arm’s length and looked at her. “You all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m still angry about what Conrad did to me. Do you know how many instances of that behavior I investigated in other countries? And it happened here. I wonder what else he’s done in his little fiefdom. I’m glad the GBI is working so fast,” she said.

“They have been looking at him for quite a while, according to Gil. Intimidation is a big part of the way Conrad defines his job. Don’t take this to heart, but the GBI is kind of glad he did what he did to someone who has clout and credibility. It gives them a lot of ammunition,” he said.

“I can see their point, but . . .” She let the thought trail off.

Frank pulled her back to him. “I’ll give you a call when I can get away,” he said.

“Me too,” Diane said.

Diane went to her museum office. First thing she wanted to do was call Lynn Webber. Diane had just sent her two bodies without asking her or giving her a heads-up.

Andie was in her office sporting Diane’s
Vitruvian Man
T-shirt. The tee was parchment color with a dark brown image of the page out of Leonardo da Vinci’s journal and highlighted with a special pale burnt-orange glitter.

“How does it look?” said Andie.

“Great,” said Diane. “I really like it.”

“I put one in your office. I think these T-shirts are going to be popular. I hope so, anyway. I like them a lot,” said Andie. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” said Diane. “I’ll be in my office. I have to make a few calls.”

Diane went to her office and sat down behind her desk and dialed Lynn Webber’s number.

Hector answered the phone at the Rosewood morgue. That was a relief to Diane. She had asked the GBI agent taking the bodies to the morgue to request that Lynn Webber call Hector and Scott and have them come and take tissue samples. That meant the agent had remembered, Lynn had made the call, Hector and Scott were there, and the autopsies were probably in progress.

“This is Diane Fallon, Hector. Is Dr. Webber available?”

“Oh, hi, Dr. Fallon. She’s kind of in the middle, literally. I’ll ask,” he said.

While Diane waited on the line she checked her e-mail. There was a mountain of it she needed to deal with personally and she began sorting through it until Lynn came on the phone.

“Diane, so sweet of you to call,” Lynn said.

“Lynn, I’m sorry about the surprise. I was in the woods with no cell service and, of course, when we found the condition of the bodies, well, I told the agent in charge he needed to give them to you. This is a big case and there is no one I trust like I trust you with it. I’m also grateful for your getting in touch with Scott and Hector.”

“I’m happy to help out,” said Lynn. “Actually, I think I can get a paper out of this. Interesting series of bodies—all killed the same way. I’m not finished yet, but I’d be willing to bet my job that we’re going to find these two were killed with the same weapon as the others. Really interesting.”

“
Puzzling
would be my choice of words,” said Diane.

“That too,” Lynn said.

“Thanks for doing this,” said Diane. “We owe you a big one.”

Neva often complained that Diane had to stroke Lynn Webber’s ego a little too much, which might be true. But Diane also used Lynn. Lynn Webber was in a traditionally men’s field and had to work doubly hard to make sure she stood out. Diane knew that Lynn would be willing to do anything that was intriguing and would give her an edge in her field.

“Like I said, it will make a good paper. I’m going to make casts of the vertebrae as I did with the others. I’m getting quite a collection. Interesting that this was a couple too—but a young couple. And they were killed in a cave, the agent said?”

“They were killed outside nearby and dumped in the cave,” said Diane.

“And they were killed before the Barres. I wonder what a profiler would make of that,” she said.

“I don’t know,” said Diane. “Raises lots of questions.”

“I’ll send you my report,” Lynn said. “Hector and Scott are quite excited that their samples will be used to pinpoint time of death in these two—unlike their samples in the other cases.”

Diane thanked her again and hung up the phone. Before tackling the e-mails, she called Beth in Archives to see how the speed-readers were progressing. Beth put Fisher on the line.

“Hi, Dr. Fallon,” he said. “We’re making good progress. The gold mine you wanted to know about is mentioned in the second diary. Only he identified it as a cave. The author of the diary and a friend were exploring a cave when they found a cavern with deposits of gold—a vein about three to six inches thick and bits of sparkling pieces in the wall. The two were very excited and made a pact to keep it a secret between them and to come back and mine it themselves.

“There was no further mention of it in that diary or in any of the others written when he was a kid. He actually seemed more interested in arrowheads. That’s his main focus throughout. There was a big event when he was sixteen. They had several days of hard rain that caused widespread mud slides. He found a whole cache of arrowheads that had washed out of the hillside road embankment not far from his home. That was the highlight of his year.

“In the diaries written after he became an adult, Mikaela found an entry mentioning the childhood gold discovery and him taking a sample to someone in the geology department at Bartrum, where he found out it was pyrite. From the tone of the entry, he seemed to take the news with good humor. We are still reading and have quite a few diaries to go,” Fisher said.

“Was there any mention of where the cave was located, or a description of it?”

“Not exactly. Early on, when he was a kid, he wrote that he wasn’t going to write down the location, in case someone read his diary. In his older years he didn’t mention it at all, so far. Like I said, we are still reading.”

“Thanks, Fisher. That’s good information. Thank Mikaela for me too,” she said.

“Sure. Oh, and there is something else. Sometimes he drew pictures of what he found. Some of the stones he thought were gold were round shaped. He wrote that he intended to polish them. We compared his drawings to some of the exhibits in Geology and think they were pyrite spheres. I imagine polished up, they would look like marbles.”

Diane was silent for a long moment.

“Dr. Fallon?” he said.

“I’m still here. Fisher, that is very helpful. Thank you.”

“Sure, Dr. Fallon. We’ll write a report for you when we finish,” he said.

After she hung up, Diane had a flurry of ideas running through her head. It looked like a gold marble, probably with nicks because of the strong isometric crystal habit. What was in the cigar box wasn’t a shooter marble, but a pyrite sphere. Possibly the one he drew in his diary, possibly the one he found in the cave. It all seemed to come back to gold—but where did the Watsons fit in? They weren’t connected to the gold. She was beginning to think the Watson murders were a red herring. Or maybe there were multiple motives in play. Something connected to gold and something connected to progressive changes in the county.

Diane sighed and opened one of the e-mails. She stopped, realizing that she hadn’t told Liam Dugal everything about the list. She called his cell.

“Liam,” he said, answering.

“I haven’t had a chance to speak with you about the note you recovered at the campsite,” she said.

“Why don’t we do it now?” he said.

“Hold the phone while I call up the e-mail from Korey.”

“Why don’t I come to your office?” he said.

“I really don’t have time to wait,” she began.

Her door opened and Liam stuck his head in. “Hi. I was visiting Andie,” he said.

“Please come in.” Diane cradled her phone.

She printed out a copy of Korey’s e-mail, handed it to Liam, and waited while he read it.

“Foolish kids,” he said. “This CND is Cora Nell Dickson—his inspiration for the gold hunt—I suppose.”

“I’m assuming,” said Diane. “I’m also assuming the notation refers to a relative, because of the possessive punctuation. Who are her relatives?”

“She has a grandson who visits her fairly often but at random times. She calls him Dicky, and Dicky Dickson is all the name that is on her emergency contact sheet. The address for him is a post-office box, and the phone number is a prepaid cell phone. I don’t know who it belongs to. The service provider didn’t have any information on file. Dicky didn’t submit his personal information when he activated the phone. I tried calling the number and got an answer once. I explained what I wanted and he hung up. He never answered again. I staked out the PO box, but he never showed. I don’t think it was ever used for anything except an address of record. I tried to ask his grandmother about Dicky and she got upset and the staff wouldn’t let me speak with her again. The nursing home staff described the grandson as medium height and medium build with light brown hair. They frankly didn’t pay much attention to visitors. They are shamefully understaffed. I did talk with a visitor who thought Dicky looked familiar, but for the life of her couldn’t remember who he looked like. I tried staking out the nursing home, but the security guard told me to leave or he would call the police. There wasn’t another place I could wait and still see who was coming and going. I was a spectacular failure at finding out anything about the boy.”