“You know Roy Jr.,” said Spence. “He gets all absorbed in a painting and time just stands still for him. He’s unaware that it’s ticking by for the rest of us.”
Christine and Spence looked like their mother—brown-blond hair, blue eyes, chubby cheeks. The last time Diane saw Ozella Barre alive, she was standing on her steps waving good-bye as Diane drove off. She was smiling; she looked cheerful. Diane imagined that under normal conditions, her children had their mother’s and father’s cheerful dispositions. Now they both sat looking like the world was ending.
“We don’t mean to waste your time,” Christine said to Diane. “We would like you to look into our parents’ deaths. Roy Jr. told us you are the one who discovered them.”
“He was a little unclear about why you were there,” said Spence. “Wasn’t it real early in the morning or something?”
Diane could imagine that it would be unclear. She doubted if the authorities in Rendell County had given them the whole story.
“Let me start by telling you about that evening,” said Diane. She hoped the events of the previous evening would give them the context they lacked about how Diane entered their parents’ home in the dead of night after they were in bed. She gave them a clear, brief description, from the time she first arrived at the Barre home to pick up the artifacts, to the time she was at their house again, and found them dead.
The three of them sat openmouthed—much like everyone else had when they heard the story. Brian was the first to speak when she finished.
“Slick Massey? Wasn’t that the guy in high school you used to tell me about?” he asked Christine.
“That’s him. He was always a strange no-account, but this is weird even for him,” she said. “Who was the skeleton?”
“I don’t know,” said Diane. “We know she was an older woman with some disabilities, but we don’t have enough information at this time to make an identification.”
“What is the sheriff doing about it? Nothing, I’ll bet,” said Spence.
“Massey and his girlfriend got rid of the bones. The expert the sheriff consulted . . .”
“Don’t tell me,” said Christine. “They’re saying the bones belonged to some animal.”
“They are saying the bones are too old to deal with,” said Diane. “Do you know a Dr. Linden?”
“Oh, yes,” said Christine. “He was our doctor for years. He’s a sweetie. You’re not saying he’s the expert? He was in practice when we were little. I thought he’d retired.”
“The sheriff called him in to consult about the bones and to do the autopsies. . . .”
“Autopsies?” said Spence, leaning forward. “He was our family doctor, a GP, for chrissake. No wonder Roy Jr. was concerned.”
“As I understand it, he had experience in the army,” said Diane.
Spence issued a derisive hiss. “When? World War One?” he said. “Why is Leland Conrad getting him to do the autopsies and not a real medical examiner? Are they in short supply in Georgia all of a sudden?”
“No, no shortage,” said Diane. “I recommended an excellent medical examiner. But it seems there are very few people Sheriff Conrad trusts.”
“Those people . . .” said Christine. She wrung her handkerchief some more. “That’s why we’re here.” She spread out her skirt with her hands. “The folks of Rendell County are good people,” she began the way people did when they were about to tell you just the opposite. “It’s just those Golgotha Baptists. As kids we called them Gothic Baptists. They were that strange—not like the rest of us Baptists at all. I don’t know why they even called themselves Baptists; they were so different from the other churches. Certainly nothing like First Baptist. We don’t mean to trash their church. There’s some good people there, but . . .”
“It’s Leland Conrad and the rest of the deacons who got themselves elected to public office,” said Spence. “If they had been content to practice their religion by themselves, instead of trying . . .” He threw up his hands, stood up, and walked over to Diane’s refrigerator. “I’ll take that drink, if you don’t mind. Anyone else?” They shook their heads. He opened the door and helped himself to a Coke.
“Look,” said Brian. “We’re just beating about the bush. What we came here for was to ask you to investigate Mr. and Mrs. Barre’s murders. The sheriff just isn’t up to it. You know, with all the forensic shows on TV, everybody in the country knows how to work a crime scene—everybody except the sheriff, apparently. His ‘ignorant and proud of it’ attitude is fine in his personal life, but it has no place in criminal justice. Me and my wife, and Spence here, and their brother, Roy Jr., are very worried that the killer won’t be caught. And now we hear there’s been another murder just like my in-laws’. Can you help us?”
“There are some things I can do,” said Diane. “But I can’t interfere in an ongoing investigation, no matter what I think of the investigation so far. You need to know too that I’ve been forbidden to set foot in Rendell County.”
“What?” said Christine. “By who? The sheriff?”
“Yes,” said Diane.
“Why?” asked Brian. “Can he do that?”
“Because he doesn’t want to be shown up for the ass he is,” said Spence. “Isn’t it obvious?” He took another long swallow of his drink and paced the room.
“What do you need?” asked Brian.
“The autopsy reports, for starters,” said Diane. “The Watsons’ too.”
“I know Kate Watson, their daughter,” said Christine. “She doesn’t like the sheriff any more than we do. Can we ask for the autopsy reports?”
Diane nodded. “If the sheriff balks, you can get a lawyer, or you can ask your parents’ insurance company to request the report.”
“So this means you’ll help find out who killed Mom and Dad?” said Spence.
“I’ll do my best,” said Diane.
Spence finished his drink and sat down. “We appreciate that. Do you think it is a serial killer? It looks like it.”
“I never assume,” said Diane.
“What about that guy you met in the woods?” said Christine. “That was pretty suspicious.”
“It was, and I’m sure the sheriff is trying to find him,” said Diane.
Spence shook his head.
“Travis Conrad has shown more competence than his father,” Diane said.
She didn’t tell them she was helping Travis with the investigation, for fear the information would get back to the sheriff. She might have been able to get the autopsy reports from Travis, but frankly, she wanted the Barre children’s interest in the investigation to shake the sheriff up. There was no reason for him to be so parochial.
“Travis?” said Christine. “I can’t believe he has a job as a deputy.”
“He wouldn’t if his father hadn’t given it to him,” said Spence.
Diane raised her eyebrows.
“We went to school with him,” said Christine. “He was one of the bad boys, if you know what I mean. I wasn’t allowed to speak to him.
“He drank a lot, drove too fast around those country roads, broke into people’s sheds and stole their tools, and was into drugs. You say he’s more competent than the sheriff? I don’t have a lot of respect for the sheriff, but I find that hard to believe.”
“Apparently he’s cleaned up his act quite a bit. I have the impression,” Diane said carefully, “that he wants to show his father up and find the killer.”
“I can believe he’d want to do that. He got a lot of hard whippings from his daddy when he was a little fella,” said Spence.
“His dad was a real believer in not sparing the rod,” said Christine. “Mama and Daddy didn’t spank very much. Daddy not at all.” She smiled and looked over at Spence. “You remember the time Roy Jr. painted that mural on the side of the Glovers’ barn?”
Spence grinned. “What was he, six? He now refers to that as his Jackson Pollock phase.”
“Daddy was supposed to take him out back and
give him a whipping with a paddle. Mama came out later and found Daddy sitting on a log, crying his eyes out. Little Roy Jr. was sitting on an overturned bucket, all dry-eyed. Mama said she put her hands on her hips and looked from one to the other. Turns out Daddy hadn’t hit him a lick. Couldn’t stand the thought of it. Mama made the two of them go over and help Mr. Glover repaint the side of his barn.”
Christine’s eyes began to tear up. Spence started to say something just as his cell rang. He flipped it open and answered it. Diane’s stomach clenched when she saw the look on his face.
Chapter 24
Spence Barre flipped his phone closed. He was so pale Diane was afraid he was about to faint. He looked over at his sister, who was staring at him with a look of dread, her handkerchief held tight in her hands. For several moments he said nothing.
“That was the highway patrol,” he said finally. He ran a hand down the length of his face and looked from his sister to his brother-in-law, then to Diane. “Roy Jr. has been in an accident on the mountain road.”
Christine sucked in her breath and covered her mouth with the palm of her hand. “Is he . . . ? Where is he? We have to go see him.”
Brian put an arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“They didn’t tell me much. You know how they are. They like to tell things in person,” said Spence. “They only said he was taken to the hospital in Rosewood. I don’t know why here and not Helen.”
The three of them looked at one another for a moment, appearing too stunned to know what to do.
“Rosewood has an especially good trauma center,” said Diane, standing up. “I’ll give you directions.” She fetched paper and pen from an end table drawer and began writing directions to get them from the museum to the hospital.
“We appreciate everything,” said Brian. He stood and took the directions from Diane and looked them over.
“It’s not far,” she said.
Spence and Christine managed to rise from the sofa. They clung to each other for a moment, as if fearing they were the only family left, trying to draw strength from each other.
“You say it’s a good hospital?” Christine said to Diane.
“Yes. I’ve had someone I love in there with a trauma and they did wonders for him,” said Diane.
“If they took him to Rosewood and not to Helen, then he’s alive,” said Spence, wrinkling his brow, trying to work out the logic. “If he had died, they would have just taken him to the hospital in Helen, wouldn’t they?”
“I would think so,” said Diane. There’s nothing special about our morgue, she thought to herself.
“That’s good, that’s good,” whispered Christine, as if saying a quiet prayer.
Diane walked with them out of her office, down the hallway. Brian held Christine’s hand. Spence walked with Diane.
“You will help us. Is that what I understood?” said Spence.
“Yes,” said Diane. “I will do all I can.”
“We’re thankful,” Christine said. “I just . . . This is just too much.”
Diane could see she was making an effort not to break down.
“He’ll be all right,” whispered Brian.
“I have a short question,” said Diane, as they walked down the hallway of offices. “The killer apparently took a cigar box containing items that belonged to your great-grandfather. It was among your father’s collection in one of the living room display cabinets. Do you know what was in the box?”
Christine looked at Spence. “Yes, I remember it. Daddy didn’t like us playing with it when we were children, so it was put up, away from little hands. You say the killer took it? It was just rocks and a few marbles. Maybe some doodads from Granddad’s childhood.”
“Yeah,” said Spence. “Nothing in it valuable. Just stuff a kid collects. I think there was a bottle cap and a pocket-knife too. Why would he have taken it?”
“Don’t some serial killers take souvenirs?” said Brian.
“Some do,” said Diane. “But it may also be important for other reasons. I would like to know exactly what was in it,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me now. Just think about it and write down what you remember. And when you can, I would like to talk with you about your parents.”
Christine nodded and Diane walked them through the lobby, hardly noticing the bustle of activity, and outside to their gray Toyota minivan. Brian opened the door for Christine and she climbed into the passenger side. Spence opened the sliding door and got in. Brian walked around to the driver’s side. He had to wait for the people in the car beside him to get out before he could get in. They weren’t in a hurry as they organized their kids and gave instructions to behave and not to wander off. The woman stopped and combed her daughter’s hair, standing where Brian needed to open his door. Diane was about to politely explain that they had an emergency, when the woman’s husband intervened.
“Sharon, move out of the man’s way, for God’s sake. He needs to get in his car. Madison’s hair looks fine.”
The woman looked at Brian as though it were he who had admonished her. Pushing her daughter ahead of her, she moved up on the sidewalk to meet her husband. Brian got in the van, started the engine, and drove away.
Diane watched them a moment, then walked back inside, ignoring the flood of tourists who had just arrived on a tour bus. Christine was right: This was so unfair.
Diane didn’t go to her museum office. Instead, she went to the crime lab to check in with David. Izzy was out working on a break- in. Fortunately, crime was slow in Rosewood lately. With Neva on vacation, the lab was shorthanded.
“Were there any prints on the lipstick?” she asked David as he came out of a carrel with a piece of paper in his hand.
“Yes, indeed. Our girl Tammy Taylor was arrested for shoplifting ten years ago. I e- mailed the mug shot to Frank,” he said, handing the paper to Diane. “Hopefully she hasn’t aged too much.”
Diane looked down at the copy of the mug shot David had printed out. Frank told Diane that if she could come up with a photograph of Tammy, he and Ben would show it at a few free clinics and homeless shelters on their lunch hour. This should make Ben happy. Frank told her that once Ben got something in his head, he wouldn’t let it go until it was solved. Frank said it as if he himself had no such compulsion.
“It still looks like her,” said Diane. “A little younger perhaps, but anyone who has seen her lately would still recognize her. Thanks, David, for running the prints.”
“Sure. How did your meeting go? Must have been short,” he said.
Diane sat down at their debriefing table and looked at the photograph again, wishing there were clues of some kind in the lines of Tammy’s face. David drew up another chair and sat down. She told him about the phone call.
“It’s so sad for them,” she said, looking up.
“Did the highway patrol have any information about what happened?” he asked.
“Not that they would say over the phone,” said Diane.
“I assume they want you to investigate their parents’ deaths,” he said.
“Yes. That’s what I suspected they wanted when they called last night,” she said.
“So when do we start?” said David. He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in the chair.
“You’re assuming I said yes,” said Diane.
“Of course,” he said.
“I said I would do what I could. But you don’t have to get involved. I’ve used you enough already,” she said.
David wagged his finger. “It’s hit too close to home,” he said. “This whole thing in Rendell County needs resolving—all of it. You know, the sheriff’s stubbornness is damned dangerous. If there’s a serial killer on the loose—and it looks like there is—what makes him think the guy’s going to stay in Rendell County? We all have a stake in this, and he’d better get his ass on the phone to the GBI, or the FBI, and get some help. If he doesn’t, he needs to be taken to court and removed from office. I know some judges here
. I could put a bug in their ear.”
Diane smiled.
“Figuratively,” he added, smiling back.
David was an expert in forensic entomology, as well as every other thing they did at the lab. He unlaced his fingers and set all four legs of his chair on the floor with a loud whack just as the elevator doors opened and Izzy stepped out.
“What the hell was that?” Izzy said. “You having a gunfight in here?” He walked over to the two of them and set his evidence case down on the floor and drew up a chair.
“How’d it go?” asked Diane.
“I was diligently working the break- in at that little jewelry shop on Main and Oglethorpe,” Izzy said. “Lifted lots of prints, even got a few fibers on the door-frame where the perp broke in. I’d packed everything up when the owner came and told me and the detective that it was all a big mistake, and he’s sorry, and he would pay any fines for making said mistake. Detective Hanks was pissed. I wasn’t all that happy.”
“What do you think changed his mind?” asked David.
“I think he discovered that his pissant son was the thief,” said Izzy. “So what’s cooking here?” he asked.
Just as he spoke, Diane’s phone rang. She was hoping it was the Barres, but it was Travis.
“Slick and his girlfriend ain’t at home,” he said. “He got a friend to house-sit the dogs. Said he’s coming back tomorrow. We’ll see. The house sitter did say the old lady was with them and she seemed fine,” Travis added.
“Thanks for looking,” said Diane. She told him that Tammy Taylor was in the system.
“I’m not surprised. What’d she do?”
“Shoplifting,” said Diane.
“I’d of expected more than that,” he said. “I suppose that’s just what she got caught at.”
Diane told him about Roy Jr. Barre’s accident. “I don’t have any details.”
“Oh, God, no. Those poor people. Roy Jr. was supposed to come back and go through his parents’ house again with me. I don’t imagine Spence or Christine will feel like it for a while. I’m just real sorry for their trouble.”
The Night Killer Page 13