Dead Hunt dffi-5

by Beverly Connor

  David was the insect and spider expert in the crime lab. If insects needed to be reared to discern time of a victim’s death, David was the one with the rearing chambers. He liked bugs. He didn’t particularly like spiders.

  ‘‘They just look evil,’’ he told her on many occasions. That is why he named his creation Arachnid— that and its basic function, to search the Web.

  David had married search engine algorithms and face recognition algorithms. He thought it a terrible invasion of privacy, but he had done it anyway because he loved algorithms. He swore Diane to secrecy—neither Jin nor Neva knew about Arachnid.

  ‘‘It’s probably illegal. If it isn’t, it should be,’’ he had told Diane.

  Arachnid searched the Web for images, picked out faces, and compared them with the photo to be identified. If the faces of Clymene or her sisters were anywhere on the Web, Arachnid would find them.

  ‘‘You know, you could make a lot of money with this software,’’ she told him.

  ‘‘Blood money,’’ he had said.

  Diane had rolled her eyes. ‘‘You know someone is going to come up with this. It just makes sense. They probably already have.’’

  ‘‘I’m sure some black ops have invented it too, but it’s still evil. We can only use it for good.’’

  ‘‘David, you worry me sometimes,’’ Diane told him.

  ‘‘I worry myself,’’ he had answered.

  Diane walked down to the basement and let herself into David’s space. Arachnid was sitting there looking like a sleeping cyclops. That’s what monitors looked like to Diane. Some kind of one-eyed creature. Arachnid’s monitor was black, which added to the illusion. She turned the computer on and waited. The face of a spider came on the screen and told Diane how to proceed, asking her each step if she really wanted to do this, that once it’s done, she couldn’t turn back the clock.

  ‘‘David,’’ she whispered, making a face, ‘‘I swear, you’re nuts.’’

  She scanned Clymene’s mug shot into Arachnid and told it to search. This would take a while—possibly a long while. Diane locked up his study and left.

  While she was downstairs, she went to the DNA lab. It looked like a futuristic medical facility. Everything was glass, metal, or white. Jin was sitting outside the lab at a desk with a computer.

  ‘‘Hey,’’ he said, pulling out a chair for her. ‘‘I’ve got the computer searching for relatives.’’ He pointed to another computer running in the corner. ‘‘Some people post their DNA to look for family and for various other reasons. I’m looking through those files too.’’ He paused while Diane sat down. ‘‘You think we’ll find her?’’

  ‘‘I don’t think she has a chance,’’ said Diane. ‘‘With the number of things we’re trying, one is bound to turn up something. Do you know how the detectives in White County are doing with the Rivers murder?’’

  Jin shook his head and shoved his black hair behind his ears. ‘‘We’ve given them everything we found at the crime scene, which wasn’t much. I think everyone is assuming Clymene was the perp and they aren’t following any other leads. I heard you got kicked out of your apartment.’’

  ‘‘How did you find out?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘Neva called. You going to stay with Frank?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘For a while. I haven’t decided. I might like to get a house,’’ she said.

  ‘‘I think it’s a good thing,’’ said Jin. ‘‘Your neighbors are nuts. You got those people who like funerals and death memorabilia living across the hall and now you have a member of the Donner family in the basement...you need to get away from there.’’

  Diane smiled. ‘‘The apartment was very small and I would like to have a yard.’’

  ‘‘Oh, speaking of dirt, I have the analysis of the soil on that sphinx. The region came up Egypt. Specifically in the area of Abydos. It didn’t have the amount of dust on it to suggest it had been lying around in a warehouse for fifty years. I think it was looted fairly recently. The stone face and the bust both had a mixture of dust that didn’t point to any identifiable region of the world.’’

  ‘‘We know the girdle was stolen from the Cairo Museum fifty years ago, and the sphinx may have been looted recently. That really doesn’t tell us anything, does it?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘That the artifacts are all over the board,’’ said Jin. ‘‘I guess they were selected because they kind of look like what the documents describe. But why do it?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know.’’ Diane looked at her watch. ‘‘I have a meeting with the board.’’

  ‘‘Again?’’ said Jin.

  ‘‘I called it this time. I thought if I keep them upto-date they won’t get so edgy.’’

  ‘‘Good luck,’’ said Jin.

  Diane took the elevator to the third floor and walked to the meeting room. Most everyone was there and it was still early. Must be anxious to hear the latest, she thought. Barclay looked sullen. She wondered if Vanessa had spoken with him.

  ‘‘Since everyone is here, I’ll go ahead and start early. I wanted to bring you up-to-date on the progress so far with the Egyptian artifacts,’’ she said. ‘‘The artifacts that arrived here do not match the artifacts we purchased and do not match the documentation. The documentation does match what we were buying, and those items, wherever they are, are legitimate.’’

  ‘‘So this was a mistake?’’ said Harvey Phelps.

  ‘‘I don’t know if it was simply a mistake. One of the pieces turned up in the National Stolen Art File as being stolen from Egypt fifty years ago. We don’t yet know where the rest are from. One shows signs of perhaps being recently looted, but that’s not confirmed.’’

  ‘‘Where does that leave us?’’ asked Anne Pascal. She had a quiet voice and a kind face. She hadn’t said much in the last meeting. Perhaps she felt she could get a word in during this one. But then, Diane was being cynical.

  ‘‘It leaves us without the artifacts we were in the process of purchasing and for which we made a partial payment,’’ she said. ‘‘I think the FBI agent will help us locate them. There is a chance they were burned in a fire that consumed the antiquities dealer we purchased them from.’’

  ‘‘Did you check out this place before you bought from them?’’ Apparently Barclay couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. Still has to scold. It must be embedded in his personal makeup. Must scold every day.

  ‘‘Golden Antiquities is—was—one of the most reputable dealers in the state. However, it just passed from father to son when the elder Cunningham retired. The younger Cunningham might not have been as honest as his father. However, he died in the fire. And the FBI is having a hard time finding witnesses.’’

  ‘‘What has the FBI person said about Kendel?’’ asked Laura.

  ‘‘He has interviewed her. He hasn’t indicated to me that he is interested in her as the culprit who did this.’’ Diane looked around the table at each of them.

  ‘‘One thing; I did discover who called the Lanie LaRu radio program and asked if we were laundering stolen antiquities,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Who?’’ said Vanessa.

  ‘‘My source tells me DA Riddmann asked someone in his office to make the call. He wanted to poke Vanessa in the eye, and he thought trashing the museum on the radio was just too good an opportunity to pass up,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘That runt,’’ said Vanessa. ‘‘I should have known.’’

  ‘‘What can we do about it?’’ asked the history professor.

  ‘‘Nothing,’’ said Diane. ‘‘We just have to absorb some fallout.’’

  ‘‘We need to discuss the damage all this will do to the museum,’’ said Vanessa.

  ‘‘I don’t think it will do any damage,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Not in the long run. We have gotten a couple of calls from people who don’t want to contribute any longer, but I think all that will change as soon as this is straightened out.’’

  ‘‘Well, I think you are doing a te
rrific job,’’ said Kenneth Meyerson. ‘‘You seem to have won the FBI agent over to our side.’’

  ‘‘That’s hard to tell with law enforcement agents. The best thing right now is to be as straightforward as we can with him.’’

  ‘‘What about you?’’ said Harvey. ‘‘I’ve been reading in the paper that your home was invaded and you were attacked. Are you all right?’’ His white bushy eyebrows were brought together in a frown.

  ‘‘I’m fine, thank you. It’s an ongoing investigation so I’m not free to talk about it,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Is all this publicity going to affect the museum?’’ said Barclay.

  ‘‘It hasn’t yet,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘You seem to have too many irons in the fire. I think we need to think about a new director,’’ he said.

  They were all startled by the loud slap on the table. It was Vanessa.

  ‘‘That is not a topic for the board,’’ she said.

  Her voice was up a few decibels and had such an I-mean-business quality to it that no one spoke. Not even Diane.

  ‘‘I’m just saying we should think—’’ began Barclay after a moment.

  ‘‘Diane is running the museum exactly as Milo would have it. That is why he gave the director so much power—to cut out nonsense. We are supposed to advise and assist. That’s the way it is.’’

  ‘‘Okay, Vanessa. I realize this is your museum, but things must be done right,’’ he said.

  ‘‘They are done right,’’ said Anne Pascal. ‘‘This is just the best place. If you will allow yourself time to go to each room and look, really look at the exhibits, I think you will see that. This is a repository of knowledge. You can’t run it like a bank.’’

  ‘‘Well said, Anne,’’ Kenneth said.

  ‘‘I agree,’’ said Vanessa. ‘‘That is what Milo envisioned—a repository of knowledge. If Diane will adjourn the meeting, we can let her get on with her work.’’

  ‘‘Okay, the meeting is adjourned. I’ll update you with e-mail as I find out more about the disposition of the artifacts.’’

  Her cell rang and she fished it out of her pocket. It was Andie. Diane had a phone call from an estate attorney.

  Chapter 38

  Diane hurried to her osteology office on the third floor of the west wing. It was a quick trip from the thirdfloor boardroom. She sat down and took a deep breath before she picked up the phone.

  ‘‘Thank you for waiting,’’ she said into the phone. ‘‘I want you to know that was a wholly inappropriate message you left on the Estate Attorneys Listserv. That list is for discussing professional issues. It is not there to do your job for you.’’

  ‘‘Excuse me, and you are?’’ said Diane. Disappointment stung her throat. She thought it was the first hit in the search for Clymene. It was someone else who wanted to scold her.

  ‘‘I’m Attorney Emma T. Lorimer, and I want to know what right you have to plaster this woman’s photograph all over the Web saying she’s a criminal.’’

  ‘‘She is a criminal,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Has she been convicted?’’

  ‘‘Did you read the message? Yes, she has. Convicted, imprisoned for murder, and now she’s escaped from prison. This is a dangerous woman who preys on wealthy families. Do you know her?’’ said Diane. ‘‘No, I don’t know her. I called because I am incensed that you would use a private list in this way.’’

  It was strange to Diane that someone would take the time to call her about what they felt was an unauthorized e-mail. There had to be something else going on.

  ‘‘The woman who is now going by the name Clymene O’Riley is very adept at getting people to trust her. Do you know who she is?’’

  ‘‘No. Why do you keep asking me?’’

  ‘‘Because you took the time to call. I appreciate your championing the innocent. There are more innocents accused of crimes than people realize, but this woman is not one of them. Do you know her or someone who looks like her? Her sisters look very much like her.’’

  ‘‘For the last time, no, I don’t know her. I’m just infuriated that you would spam my list and fill my mailbox with crap like this. It isn’t what estate law is about.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t spam the list. I asked permission from the list owner,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Well, he used bad judgment in granting it.’’

  ‘‘Maybe he just wanted to protect your clients from a predator.’’

  ‘‘Just don’t do it again.’’

  The phone went dead with a loud click.

  ‘‘Well, hell,’’ said Diane.

  Diane Googled Emma T. Lorimer to discover where she was from. She found an address for her in Richmond, Virginia. This was probably just someone with a strong sense of political correctness, but she also may be someone who recognized Clymene’s photo. Diane copied the information from her screen.

  She walked back over to the board meeting. Not that she wanted to interact with them again, but she had rather rushed out on them. They were still there, arguing about putting a letter to the editor in the newspaper.

  ‘‘What do you think?’’ Harvey asked Diane. ‘‘We were thinking a little letter might reassure some of our contributors.’’

  ‘‘I think it might be more reassuring to write to each contributor personally and let them know we’re investigating. When we know more, we can write a public letter.’’

  ‘‘Well, we agree on something,’’ said Barclay. ‘‘I’ve been telling them you have to watch what you say publicly.’’

  ‘‘On that note, then,’’ said Harvey, grinning, ‘‘why don’t we all leave while we’re ahead?’’

  ‘‘I’ll write a letter and send it to each contributor,’’ said Diane. She was happy too, to have some common ground with Barclay.

  Vanessa talked Diane into having dinner with her, Laura, and Harvey in the museum restaurant. It was a pleasant meal, mainly because they didn’t talk about any problems. As Diane rose to leave, Vanessa put a hand on her arm.

  ‘‘Is all this about me?’’ Vanessa asked. ‘‘Is someone trying to hurt me through the museum?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Riddmann was trying to get at you, but my source tells me he isn’t behind the artifact problem. He was just taking advantage of it.’’

  ‘‘I’ve made a lot of people mad in my time,’’ said Vanessa.

  ‘‘We all have,’’ said Harvey.

  ‘‘It could be me,’’ said Diane, ‘‘or Kendel, or Jonas for that matter. He’s the curator of the archaeology section. It’s probably something completely different. Whatever it is, I will find out.’’

  Diane went up to the osteology office and phoned Deputy Marshal Merrick. She got his voice mail. She explained that it was probably nothing, but Attorney Emma Lorimer might know Clymene. She gave him the details and repeated that it was probably nothing— just a feeling on her part.

  It was still early and she had done all she could for the moment regarding Clymene. She would be spending the night in her museum office, so she decided to stay a while longer in the lab and work on the box of bones sent to her from Ohio.

  She lay the bones out and saw several things immediately. The bones were young—the victim was between twelve and fifteen years of age. Both radii had healed spiral fractures. She saw healed ribs and finger bones. This was an abused child. She was female and she was malnourished. These were the saddest set of bones Diane had seen in a while. She recalled that the sheriff who asked her to look at them said the bones had been on the shelf in the medical examiner’s office for fifteen years. A hunter had found them in the woods those many years ago.

  The skull was in a separate box. The face was completely shattered. Diane stood looking at the shattered bone and decided she was going to find out who the little girl was even if it took another fifteen years. She began by piecing the facial bones together.

  Diane worked until the early hours of the morning. She had pi
eces of the face setting up in a sandbox while the glue dried. It was almost finished. When the glue was dried and she had the skull whole again, she would use the laser scanner and have the computer reconstruct the face. She would also age it to see what the girl would have looked like as an adult. Who knew, she might have looked like her mother or an aunt and somebody might recognize them in her. Diane took a sample of bone to be packaged and sent to a lab in California. Maybe they could tell her where the little girl grew up.

  She washed her hands, took off her lab coat, and turned off the lights. Her museum office was on the other side of the building and down on the first floor. She started to call a security guard to walk her to her office but decided that she wasn’t going to live like that. This was her museum and she wasn’t going to be afraid of walking through it. Only the exhibit rooms would be dark. The custodial staff would be working. She would be fine.