Dead Hunt dffi-5

by Beverly Connor

  ‘‘So, what about the money?’’ he asked.

  Diane told him about receiving a padded envelope filled with packets of one-hundred-dollar bills.

  ‘‘So the guy’s attacking you and sending you money. He sounds conflicted.’’

  Diane smiled. ‘‘He does, doesn’t he? I have no idea what the attacks or the money are about, but we’re following some leads,’’ she said. ‘‘I think I have you up-to-date on what’s going on here. We still have several searches going on. I’ll let you know if something comes of them.’’

  Diane and Chief of Detectives Douglas Garnett had a good working relationship, and that still sometimes surprised her. In the beginning, before the crime lab, she hadn’t gotten along with anyone in the police department or the mayor’s office. It had to do mostly with her not being willing to sell the museum property to a real estate broker.

  The broker told anyone who would listen that unless she sold the property, the city was in line to lose new jobs, extra taxes, and other promised benefits. Diane pointed out that the museum provided jobs and two private businesses—the restaurant and the gift shop. If she had to move, she would move out of the county and all those people would lose, including the city. She was amazed that they wouldn’t listen to her, until the real estate broker was shown to be a crook. But now she was forgiven. The mayor found her useful, and she got along well with Garnett, who was a good buffer between her and the rest of the powers in Rosewood. Today everything worked. In the back of her mind, though, Diane was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  At her stomach’s insistence Diane templating the fickle power structure and went down to eat lunch with her crime scene staff. The restaurant always provided such a pleasant respite. The murmur of the luncheon crowd today sounded soothing. Diane was greeted at the entrance by a waitress carrying vases of spring wildflowers to the tables.

  Over a salmon salad Diane told Neva about the bones she was trying to identify of the little Ohio girl and asked Neva to find time to make drawings of her—not just her face, but of her standing.

  Diane could describe for Neva how the girl would look with one leg a little shorter than the other. How she might rub her fractured forearms because they would hurt, how her eyes would look afraid, and how her face would show pain. Diane’s facial mapping software did a great job, but Neva’s drawings put life into the image. Diane didn’t want the little girl to get shoved aside because her justice wasn’t as urgent. It was urgent and it was important.

  After lunch Diane checked in with Andie and started back up to the crime lab. In the lobby she met Kingsley coming through the door among a group of schoolkids rushing and screaming around him, their teacher calling for them to get in line.

  ‘‘Can’t stay away from the museum?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘There’s just so much going on here.’’ He grinned at her. ‘‘I have some news.’’ He motioned to the lobby elevator. ‘‘Shall we go to the other side?’’ he said.

  When the doors opened, before they could get on, a small kid of about five rushed past them and stood stopped conof Rosewood in the back of the elevator laughing. One of Diane’s docents, a young woman by the name of Emily, came in after him, grabbed him, put him under her arm, and hauled him out.

  ‘‘Emily,’’ said Diane, shocked at the way she handled the boy.

  Emily turned and grinned at Diane. ‘‘It’s all right, he’s my brother. That’s our mother over there with the scowl on her face.’’

  The kid giggled and tried to wiggle out of her grasp.

  ‘‘I’m going to feed you to the dinosaur,’’ she said.

  He laughed harder.

  ‘‘And I think my job is tough,’’ said Kingsley.

  Diane shook her head. ‘‘They sometimes run away and get lost in the museum. Drives the docents nuts.’’

  Diane pushed the elevator button for the third floor.

  ‘‘I have some news too,’’ she said when the doors shut. ‘‘I’m not sure what I’ve told you, but we have information coming in a little faster now.’’

  The doors opened and they got out on the overlook to the Pleistocene room.

  ‘‘Jacobs is very impressed with your museum,’’ said Kingsley, walking over and looking down at the mammoth. ‘‘He said he will be greatly disappointed if it turns out you are involved in buying and selling looted antiquities.’’

  ‘‘I would think by now he would have discovered that we aren’t,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘He believes you’re an honest museum. He’s just cautious. Plus, he says he’s at a standstill.’’ Kingsley laughed. ‘‘He’s hoping Clymene did it.’’

  ‘‘Me too, at this point, but I really doubt it. All this seems a little too much for even Clymene to organize,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Of course, there are three of her.’’

  ‘‘Three Clymenes.’’ Kingsley laughed again. ‘‘Who would have thought it?’’

  They walked through the exhibit preparation room and were stopped by Janine.

  ‘‘I don’t think we should have a dinosaur that poops kids,’’ she said with her hands on her hips.

  Kingsley looked startled and laughed.

  ‘‘I didn’t think so either,’’ said Diane, ‘‘but talk to Emily Fellows and see what she thinks.’’

  ‘‘The docent?’’ said Janine.

  ‘‘Yes. The docents are around kids a lot.’’

  ‘‘You want to do it?’’ asked Janine.

  ‘‘Not necessarily. I think it’s a ridiculous idea, but then, I’m not five. I’ll leave it up to you,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘I’ll talk to her.’’ Janine shook her head and walked away.

  ‘‘Do I want to know what that was about?’’ said Kingsley.

  ‘‘Museum stuff.’’

  They stopped once more so he could look at the Brachiosaurus, then moved on to the osteology lab and Diane’s office, where she had the pictures from Colonel Kade. There was something she wanted to look at in the pictures that nudged at the back of her mind.

  Chapter 43

  Diane sat down behind her desk in the osteology office. Kingsley pulled the upholstered burgundy chair nearer to her desk and sat down.

  ‘‘This is nice,’’ he said, settling into the deep comfort. ‘‘It is. It’s a nice reading chair.’’

  Diane called up her e-mail and printed out Alex

  Kade’s message to her containing the photographs and the summary of information he had told her over the phone.

  ‘‘I think you will find this interesting,’’ said Diane. She handed him the material.

  Kingsley was smiling when he sat down, wondering about the conversation about exhibit preparations, no doubt. His smile quickly turned to a frown.

  ‘‘This explains almost everything,’’ he said. ‘‘This man Heinrich, or Greene, or whatever you want to call him, was her first kill. He has to be. I’d bet my reputation on it.’’

  ‘‘That’s what I thought,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Diane’’—he gently struck the pages with his hand—‘‘this is just the kind of thing I had hoped for. How did you find this?’’

  She told him about Col. Alex Kade and his crusade.

  ‘‘He deserves all the credit,’’ she said. ‘‘He cropped the photographs out of consideration for my sensibilities. He said he would send the complete pictures if we need them.’’

  The marshals wanted only to find Clymene to put her back in prison. Kingsley wanted more than that. He wanted to understand what had created her. For that he needed detailed information about what she had experienced.

  ‘‘I’ll take his e-mail address from here.’’ He gestured at the page. ‘‘And ask him to send the pictures to my office. You know, I feel sorry for her. She was what, fourteen, fifteen? What kid should have to go through this?’’

  ‘‘I feel sorry for that little girl in the pictures. The adult has a choice,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Does she? Does she really have a
choice when— if we are right—her father sold her to a maniac who enslaved her in the sex trade?’’ He sighed. ‘‘Who really has choices?’’

  Diane didn’t argue with him, but she didn’t agree with him, at least not completely.

  ‘‘I wish we had her real name,’’ he said.

  ‘‘I’ve been thinking about that. Did you ever see Clymene’s cell?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘How was it decorated?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘Simply. She had pictures of flowers in vases. I think she tore them out of magazines.’’

  ‘‘Were they irises, roses, and lilies?’’ asked Diane.

  Kingsley looked surprised. ‘‘Yes . . . they were. Only those flowers.’’

  ‘‘Those are the three sisters’ names,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Clymene’s name is Iris. Her sisters are Rose and Lily.’’

  ‘‘It makes sense—triplets, flowers. Easier than names that rhyme,’’ he said. But how the devil did you come up with that?’’

  ‘‘At lunch I saw the waitress putting wildflowers on the tables and it tickled something in the back of my mind . . . something I had seen. Look at the pictures Colonel Kade sent. Every picture has an iris in a clear vase in the background. When I spoke with Rev. Rivers, we were in the chapel. He said most of the flower arrangements were by Clymene. The arrangements were of three flowers—irises, roses, and lilies.’’

  ‘‘So all we need now is a last name,’’ he said, grinning. ‘‘See, you did this very fast. I knew I was right in bribing you.’’

  Diane gave him half a smile. The phone on her desk rang and she picked it up.

  ‘‘Fallon,’’ she said, still smiling at Kingsley.

  ‘‘Dr. Fallon, I’m Trenton Bernard, an estate attorney in Seattle. I’m calling in regard to your e-mail. It says you are the director of the crime lab in Rosewood, Georgia?’’

  ‘‘Yes, Mr. Bernard. Do you mind if I put you on speakerphone? I have Ross Kingsley, an FBI profiler, with me and we are both working on the case.’’

  ‘‘I suppose that’s all right. I have to say, this is very strange,’’ he said.

  Kingsley’s attention perked up when he heard his name. He leaned forward as Diane switched the phone over to speaker.

  ‘‘Hello, Mr. Bernard,’’ said for speaking with us.’’

  ‘‘Do you know the woman asked Diane.

  ‘‘I know someone who looks very much like her,’’ he said.

  Kingsley. ‘‘Thank you

  in the photograph?’’ ‘‘How do you know her?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘She was married to a client of mine. But I have

  to tell you, this can’t be the same woman you e-mailed about. The woman I know is just the nicest woman. However, I was persuaded by my secretary that I should probably call because the woman in the photograph looks so much like her,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Can you tell us about her?’’ said Diane. ‘‘Her name is Estelle Redding. She and my client Glenn Redding were married about three years altogether. Glenn is now deceased,’’ he said.

  Kingsley raised his eyebrows at Diane. Diane nodded.

  ‘‘He was one of Seattle’s most prominent citizens and they were a good couple. Very much in love.’’

  ‘‘How did he die?’’ asked Kingsley.

  ‘‘It was tragic. He had

  tracted a staph infection.

  bypass surgery and conThey just couldn’t get it under control. As soon as they thought he was getting over it, it would flare up again. Hospitals are so bad these days for staph infections. Now I hear that sports locker rooms have the same problem. It’s frightening. Poor Glenn suffered terribly before he died.’’

  ‘‘When was this?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘He died in 2001,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Who inherited?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘Estelle inherited the bulk of the estate. I know that sounds suspicious, but it wasn’t,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Why do you say that?’’ asked Kingsley.

  ‘‘About a year before Glenn died, he came in to change his will. It stands out clearly in my mind. Estelle was with him. He had children from a previous marriage—two sons and one daughter. They were all grown. He was furious with all of them because of some irresponsible behaviors, which I won’t go into. He wanted to cut them out of the will. He was adamant. Estelle told him that they were his children and even though he was angry with them now, he wouldn’t always be. And that they may be irresponsible now, but they wouldn’t be forever. She told him to make some provision he could live with, but he shouldn’t cut them out. Estelle had a very calming effect on Glenn. She was that way. Then I remember she stood up and said that the two of us could figure out something that would work and she was going shopping. Now, does that sound like a woman who is a gold digger?’’

  ‘‘What did Mr. Redding do?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘He had a few special bequeathals and a few charities he wanted to give money to, but the bulk of everything went to Estelle, along with a letter saying that when she felt the children were mature and responsible, she was to give them their portion.’’

  ‘‘Did she?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘She was angry at the boys. They had demanded money before their father was even buried. After the will was probated, she came to me and said she was going to wait on the boys to see how they turned out, that she was still angry with them. However, she set up a generous trust for the daughter with a bonus if she graduated from a good college. She also did something which I thought was very kind and not many women would do.’’

  ‘‘What was that?’’ asked Kingsley.

  ‘‘Glenn and his first wife had a very acrimonious divorce. Just before he died, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. It went into remission for a while but returned with a vengeance. Estelle told me that she knew Glenn hated Marilee when he was alive, but where he was now he would approve of what she was about to do. She gave Marilee two million dollars so she could be comfortable before she passed. Now, does that sound like a woman who would do the things described in your e-mail?’’

  ‘‘That was very kind and decent,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘How much money was in the estate?’’

  ‘‘Roughly two hundred million dollars total value. Some in cash and the rest in investments and real estate,’’ he said.

  Both he and Diane looked at each other. Kingsley shook his head. ‘‘Wow,’’ he silently mouthed to her.

  ‘‘What did Estelle look like?’’ asked Diane.

  ‘‘In the face, very much like the photograph in your e-mail. Not as much makeup. And her hair was platinum, I think it’s called. She was quite a striking woman.’’

  ‘‘Would you know if she liked flowers?’’ Diane asked.

  ‘‘Yes, she did. Her greenhouse was filled with roses, lilies, and irises.’’

  ‘‘Does she keep in touch?’’ asked Kingsley.

  ‘‘She did up until about two years ago. She said she was going to travel. Go to some of the places she and Glenn went to. She called several times and asked how the boys were doing. Unfortunately, I could never give her good news.’’

  ‘‘Thank you for speaking with us,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘We may be calling to speak with you again.’’

  ‘‘I hope I’ve been helpful,’’ he said. ‘‘As I said, I cannot believe that she is the same woman you are inquiring about . . . but I thought that I should call.’’

  ‘‘You have been very helpful,’’ said Diane. ‘‘You did the right thing. Thank you.’’

  Diane hung up the phone, sat back, and looked at Kingsley.

  ‘‘What do you think?’’ asked Kingsley.

  ‘‘I think she’s a clever girl. I believe she maneuvered her husband ahead of time in the decision about the will. It’s like the card trick where I keep asking you to pick a card out of several that I show you. When I finally reveal the card you chose, you are surprised and wonder how I knew, when
all the time I was guiding you to the card I wanted you to pick.’’

  ‘‘I agree,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘That’s exactly what she did. She had Redding primed before he went into the attorney’s office. She made herself so reasonable and trustworthy, talked about all the different ways he could handle the will. By the time he got to the lawyer’s office, he probably thought the whole idea was his. What about the gifts to the daughter and the mother?’’