Dead Hunt dffi-5

by Beverly Connor

  Kingsley lay on his back and wiggled from side to side under the fence as far as he could. He reached for Diane with his good arm. She locked arms with him and pulled hard as he wiggled and pushed with his feet. She knew he was in pain but they both ignored it as he strained to get under the fence. Finally he slid through and stumbled to his feet.

  ‘‘Run like hell,’’ said Diane.

  They ran. Diane heard shots and saw the ground spit out a piece of turf several feet from her. The stand of trees she was aiming for wasn’t tall and thick like Georgia woods, but it would have to do.

  Diane ran faster and realized she was leaving Kingsley behind. She slowed down and grabbed him by the arm.

  ‘‘Go on,’’ he said.

  ‘‘No, come on. Run as hard as you can. They can’t get under the fence easily in those dresses. We have to get out of range of their guns. You can rest up when we’re safe; now, get the lead out,’’ she said.

  He picked up his speed. They were almost to the woods.

  ‘‘Faster,’’ she said. ‘‘Keep going.’’

  There were more shots and one pinged off an outcrop of rocks a few yards away. But they reached the trees.

  ‘‘Keep running,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Need to stop. Go on,’’ he wheezed. ‘‘My lungs are aching.’’

  ‘‘It doesn’t matter. Run,’’ she said.

  Ahead there was a road of sorts and a marsh on the other side. She heard a vehicle coming up the road. She ran toward it to flag it down, then stopped. It was the minivan Joey had brought them in.

  ‘‘Damn,’’ she said. Where are the damn marshals? She needed time to think. To get her breath.

  There was noise behind them. It was the triplets. They had found a way around the fence and were coming in their direction. The van was coming toward them. Across the road was a marsh. No escape in the marsh. The only alternative was to run up the road. And be chased by the van? That wouldn’t work.

  Diane picked up a rock and waited for the minivan to draw closer, hoping that if she waited until the last second and threw the rock at the windshield it would make Joey dodge. Kingsley followed suit.

  Joey aimed for them.

  ‘‘Get behind a tree,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Now.’’

  ‘‘What are you—’’ he began.

  ‘‘Now!’’ she said.

  Kingsley threw his rock toward the oncoming van with no result. He ran to the trees for cover. Diane waited. She saw Joey. His face was contorted in anger. Diane waited. She saw the van accelerate. She stared him down. He gunned the engine, driving directly at her. She threw her rock into the windshield square in front of Joey’s face and jumped away at the last minute. The van crashed into the trees, exploding the air bags. Diane was beside the van almost before it stopped. She jerked open the driver’s side door, pulling Joey to the ground. She felt between the seats for his gun and grabbed hold of it just as she felt Joey bite into her leg.

  ‘‘Son of a bitch,’’ she screamed and kicked at him.

  Kingsley appeared from around the front and kicked him hard in the side of his head. Joey let go of her leg and lay on the ground, not moving.

  ‘‘Give me the gun,’’ said Kingsley.

  ‘‘Why?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Because I’m probably a better shot with a gun,’’ he said.

  Diane handed him the gun. He checked the bullets.

  ‘‘Now you take cover,’’ he said.

  Diane got behind the van and watched Kingsley. He rested his arm on the door of the van and took aim as the sisters came running out of the woods. He shot and one of them fell.

  ‘‘Rose! Oh, Rose,’’ a voice shouted.

  Diane saw a patch of red spread on her upper left torso as she lay on the ground. Diane couldn’t tell if she was dead.

  ‘‘Damn you!’’ either Lily or Iris screamed at him.

  The two of them simultaneously dove for a shallow ditch a few feet from them and started shooting.

  Kingsley dropped to the ground along with Diane. She heard the bullets hitting the van and passing through. This is no cover at all, thought Diane. If they aim just a little lower, we’re dead. She touched Kingsley’s sleeve and started crawling on her belly backward toward the opposite side of the road where it fell off into a drop of about a foot. Not much protection, but better cover than what they had at the moment.

  The firing stopped abruptly.

  ‘‘Put your guns on the ground and lie down with your hands behind your head,’’ Kingsley shouted at them from his vantage. He was in the road halfway between the van and the low shoulder where Diane had taken cover. ‘‘Do as I say.’’

  ‘‘Don’t trust that they are out of bullets,’’ Diane said to him. ‘‘I think they are trying to draw us out in the open.’’

  ‘‘I agree,’’ said Kingsley. He crawled backward to where Diane was hiding.

  From her vantage point, she could see under the van out across to Iris and Lily’s hiding place. She couldn’t see them, but as she stared, she caught sight of their clothes. They weren’t able to completely hide either. Diane turned her head to Kingsley and started to say something, but saw that he was aiming. He fired and they heard a yelp and a scream and more shots.

  The shooting stopped again, and this time Diane thought they were probably out of ammunition. But she didn’t stand up to test her theory.

  ‘‘Rose may still be alive,’’ shouted Kingsley. ‘‘Do you want to risk not getting her help?’’

  There was silence for a moment, then one of them called out. ‘‘Don’t shoot.’’

  ‘‘Throw out your guns and stand up where I can see you. Put your hands behind your head and kneel on the ground,’’ said Kingsley.

  Diane saw two guns come flying out of the ditch and the two of them stand up, lacing their hands behind their heads before falling to their knees.

  Diane cautiously went to pick up the guns. They were empty. She patted the women down while Kingsley held his gun on them. If their gazes could shoot bullets, she and Kingsley would be dead.

  A bullet had grazed Iris’ shoulder blade and there was a small red stain on the back of her dress.

  Diane and Kingsley made Lily and Iris carry Rose as they marched them and a dazed Joey down the road. Just as they arrived back at the house, the U.S. Marshals came driving up along with two FBI agents—and Frank.

  Chapter 53

  Kingsley elected to fly back to Atlanta to have his wound seen about. Diane understood. Sometimes you just want to go home. They left the cleanup with the marshals. The local doctor said Rose would make it. Joey’s gun hadn’t made a very big hole in her, nor had Kingsley hit anything vital.

  Kingsley was in the window seat asleep on the plane. He looked better since the paramedics had pumped him full of their good stuff.

  Diane watched the blue sky and white clouds, glad to be away from Clymene’s island.

  ‘‘Thanks for coming to rescue me,’’ said Diane.

  She snuggled up to Frank, feeling safe and secure— it was not simply that he came looking for her, but that down deep, she knew he would and that he would find her.

  ‘‘It looks like you and Kingsley had things in hand,’’ he said.

  ‘‘How did you find me?’’ she asked.

  ‘‘The police couldn’t locate Eric Tully and I was afraid he might have followed you, so I took a flight here. It looks like that flight was very popular for law enforcement. The marshals and the FBI were on it too.’’

  ‘‘I thought maybe you located me by my phone.’’ Diane was a bit disappointed.

  She rubbed her leg where Joey had bitten it. Fortunately her pants were between her leg and his mouth and he hadn’t broken the skin. But it made a terrible bruise and hurt like hell.

  ‘‘Your phone?’’ he said.

  ‘‘Yes. I forgot to retrieve it,’’ she said. ‘‘I thought maybe you located me by GPS.’’

  ‘‘You mean this one?’’ He smiled knowingly
and took a phone from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘‘It was in that little house out back,’’ he said.

  ‘‘You did find me by my phone. It makes me so happy when a plan finally comes together,’’ she said.

  ‘‘You want to eat out tonight or go home?’’ he said, putting an arm around her and kissing her temple.

  ‘‘I want to go home,’’ she said. ‘‘If I had ruby slippers, I’d click my heels three times. Besides, I want to finish my ice cream.’’ She went to sleep on his shoulder.

  An ambulance was waiting for Kingsley, along with his wife. She was one of the most striking women Diane had ever seen outside a movie screen. She had smooth black hair, green, almond-shaped eyes, and an olive complexion. Diane heard her scolding Kingsley as they were putting him in the ambulance.

  ‘‘Mrs. Kingsley,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’m Diane Fallon. I’m glad to meet you.’’

  ‘‘Lydia, please.’’ She smiled. ‘‘I’ve told my husband that going out with other women will only get him into trouble.’’

  ‘‘It certainly did that,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Next time, you’re on your own,’’ Diane called to Kingsley as they were shutting the ambulance doors.

  As Frank drove Diane home, he told her that the store they stopped at on the Outer Banks had called the police when no one claimed the SUV parked out front. The police traced it back to the rental company, who traced it back to the FBI. A lot of people had been looking for them.

  It was dark when they arrived home. Frank parked the car in the driveway. Diane looked out the window at the house. The lights were on inside. It was her home now—at least until she found her own house. When she got out she didn’t see the shadow behind the tree until it was too late. He raised the gun and Diane thought she was dead. Her reflexes weren’t working anymore. When the shot rang out she thought she must have been hit, until the shadow man fell to the ground.

  Frank rushed around the car and took a gun away from a woman Diane also hadn’t seen in the dark. She was plump, with dark curly hair and a dimpled chin and tears running down her face.

  Frank then retrieved Tully’s gun vitals. He shook his head at Diane.

  ‘‘I followed him here because I seeing someone else. Clymene said he was a liar and I didn’t want to believe her. Little Julie told me he abused her mother. I didn’t want to believe her either. What makes a person be like him?’’ She looked from Diane to Frank for an answer. Diane didn’t have one.

  Diane looked at the dead man on Frank’s lawn. It was happening here at his house just like it did at her apartment building. They took Grace Noel Tully into the house and called the police. Diane didn’t eat her ice cream.

  and checked his

  thought he was

  Epilogue

  Diane was sitting at her desk typing a thank-you letter to the Egyptian ambassador. Agent Jacobs gave all the suspicious artifacts back to Egypt, even though he never found out where exactly they came from. The murder of Randal Cunningham, Jr., was so far unsolved. Even David couldn’t find out anything, a situation he regretted, not only because it was unusual for him, but because he missed a chance to impress Kendel.

  The Egyptian authorities made RiverTrail out as heroes for finding their lost artifacts. Vanessa and the board were happy with that. Diane, not looking a gift horse in the mouth, didn’t question their good luck, though she thought perhaps Jacobs and maybe Kingsley had something to do with it.

  Jacobs found some of the artifacts they had ordered—the twelfth-dynasty artifacts. They were in the fire at Golden Antiquities. The stone artifacts survived. The sphinx of Senwosret III was broken in half. The stone face and bust, like the sphinx, were covered in soot. The canopic jar had burst into small pieces. The gold artifacts were lumps of melted metal. Gone to history.

  There are two main philosophies of conservation— preservation and restoration. Years ago restoration was the most popular. These days it’s preservation— keeping artifacts at the state they are in currently, but not making them look like they once did before they were worn by time. Restoration often means adding modern material to the artifact, in fact, changing it from what it was.

  Korey Jordan, her head conservator, was a preservationist. But he decided to try to restore these burned artifacts because they were so recently damaged and because the entire museum was grieving over their loss.

  The phone rang. It was Andie.

  ‘‘I’ve got a transfer from the crime lab. You have a phone call from a Sheriff Maddox in Ohio,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Put him through,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Sheriff Maddox. Did you get the drawings of your little Angel Doe?’’ she said.

  ‘‘That’s what I called to tell you about, Dr. Fallon. When we got those pictures, in particular the one with her standing in that little dress, my deputy, who’s six four and weighs two hundred and eighty pounds, just bawled. Putting a face to her is really going to make a difference. People are going to respond. We are going to find out who this little girl is.’’

  ‘‘Neva Hurley, one of my crime scene crew, is an artist. She did the drawings,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Aging the face for the other drawing the way you did was a great idea. What I’m going to do is put it in the paper with the others and say we’re looking for someone who looks like this as a witness.’’

  ‘‘That’s a good idea. I think someone probably will respond,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘I just wanted to thank you. This other information you sent, that analysis of her bone that said she grew up in central Ohio ...well, uh, we’re a small county with a small budget and...’’

  ‘‘That is paid for by a grant my osteology lab has,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I located a man’s son for him, and out of gratitude he funded the lab for the museum and he set up a trust fund for extras like this, so we can go the distance to identify someone else’s lost child.’’

  ‘‘Poor fellow. He must have loved his kid. That was mighty generous of him.’’

  ‘‘Drop me a line if you identify her,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘I surely will, and thanks again.’’

  Andie brought the mail in to Diane and Diane gave her the signed thank-you letter to send out.

  ‘‘Kendel is still upset,’’ said Andie. ‘‘She thinks this still makes her look guilty and everyone is helping cover it up.’’

  ‘‘I know. I don’t know what to do about it either,’’ said Diane. ‘‘It’s going to take a while to get her reputation back. I think the fact that we aren’t going to quietly fire her will help.’’

  Andie went back to her office and Diane took out the mail and looked through it.

  Andie called again.

  ‘‘Ross Kingsley wants to speak with you,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Put him through,’’ Diane told her.

  She got the copy of Museum World and took off the brown paper wrapper. There was a picture on the cover of the Bickford Museum along with its acquisition of a piece of moon rock. Diane had heard about it and she was jealous. So was Mike. He was ready to go search for extremophiles on the moon. She picked up the phone.

  ‘‘Kingsley,’’ she said. ‘‘How are you? Recovered, I hope. If you’re calling to go on a road trip again, you can forget it.’’

  He laughed out loud. ‘‘I’m doing great. I’m back at work. Joey’s little mouse gun didn’t do much damage. I thought you might want to hear about Clymene and her family. I still can’t think of her as Iris.’’

  ‘‘Go ahead,’’ said Diane. She flipped through the pages of the magazine, looking at the pictures. She heard him sigh.

  ‘‘Where do I start? Ma and Pa are being evaluated. We don’t quite know what to do with them. The sisters had made a lavish apartment for them on the upper floor and locked them in it. Their punishment for being the worst parents of the century was to be forced to live together. When they got too rowdy, they were put in the outbuilding we were in and made to contemplate their behavior. The father, Ala
in Delaflote, had a mild stroke some time ago. I’m wondering if it was induced somehow, but no way to prove that at this point.’’

  ‘‘This is so bizarre,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘That’s not the word for it. I’m talking twilight zone. You remember how lovely Sarah Wallace is— and she is nine years older than her sister, Jerusha Delaflote.’’

  ‘‘Yes, I thought Sarah Wallace was a very attractive woman,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Well, did you ever see a movie called What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? Bette Davis played Baby Jane, an aging former child star.’’

  ‘‘I’ve seen it,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Jerusha is Baby Jane. And at five years younger and a hundred pounds heavier than her husband— well, you said it, payback’s a bitch.’’