“Emory may be a moron,” said Hanks, “but the man who hired him isn’t. He knew how to con Emory into doing what he wanted him to do.”
“How do we find this guy?” asked Diane.
“We don’t know that yet,” said Garnett. “We’re going to start with Emory’s family. There’s a chance he made all this up and it’s actually the family taking revenge because of what happened to Ray-Ray. Maybe they weren’t as estranged as they led us to believe. But if that’s the case, we still have the question, why you? Why not Hanks here, or Daughtry? They were the two officers most closely connected to Ray-Ray’s death.”
“I have to call my security,” said Diane. “The way things are, I can’t use my museum office. I won’t bring a maniac into the museum after me. Until we catch this guy, I’ll use my office in the crime lab. Analyzing the evidence from Marcella’s may be the best way to find the answer to all this.”
Garnett nodded in agreement. “It’s a reasonable course of action,” he said. “That’s all we have at the moment. We keep running into dead ends. Whoever the mastermind is behind this, the guy is good at covering his tracks.”
“Please keep me informed on what you discover,” said Diane to the two of them. “Knowledge is what will keep me safe.”
“We will,” said Garnett.
Diane nodded. “Did you tell Hanks about my talk with Vanessa?” she asked Garnett.
“We talked about it this morning,” Garnett said.
“You think this woman, this Maybelle Agnes Gauthier, is our Mad Potter?” asked Hanks.
“Mad Potter?” said Garnett.
“What else would you call someone who made pots out of human bones?” said Hanks.
“I guess that’s what I would call them,” Garnett said with a laugh. “Just don’t let the press get hold of that.”
“She may have been,” said Diane. “But, so far, we only know that she was a painter.”
“At least we have a name,” said Hanks. “Easier to ask around about a person if you have a name. I was thinking I might send someone over, one of the girls, uh, women, over to the retirement homes to ask around. Some of those old-timers might remember her.”
“Good idea,” said Diane, rising from her chair. “If I’m finished here, I am going to the lab. I’ll be either there or at the house.”
She left the building, followed by her two bodyguards, and drove to the crime lab.
When Diane put the crime lab in the west wing of the museum, she added an outside elevator that went only from ground level to the crime lab on the third floor. She also added a small room, a lobby and guard post, at the ground-level entrance to the elevator. It was comfortable and had its own facilities. There was a receptionist and a permanent guard on duty. Diane invited the policemen to stay there. The crime lab was secure, she assured them.
“What about the entrance to the crime lab through the museum?” one of them asked.
“There’s a guard on duty there as well. It also has reinforced doors and locks.”
Diane left them in the elevator lobby and rode up to the crime lab. Izzy was there, holding down the fort while David and Neva were at the crime scene at Marcella’s house.
Izzy looked at her wide-eyed when she entered the lab. “Are you all right?” he asked when she walked in. “Jeez, what the hell happened? I’ve been hearing some strange stuff. The news and some of my buddies said someone shot his way into your house.”
Diane explained the events of the previous evening and her visit to the police station.
“Those IA inquiries,” he said, “don’t worry about them. They have to do that. Nobody’s going to fault you for shooting some son of a bitch in your house. Jeez, he shot through the back door.”
“It was very violent,” said Diane. “I intend to find out who sent him and why.”
“This case has been strange from the beginning,” said Izzy. “Attacking Dr. Payden and making off with only a few paintings and a little pottery—what is that about? And that crazy writing on the bottom of the drawer. You know, at first it sounded like the writer was the victim, but now it looks like she might have been the perp. I don’t know what to make of it. And what about that poor Lassiter woman? None of it makes a bit of sense.”
“No,” said Diane. “But it will soon. I won’t have people coming after me and messing up Frank’s house like that,” she said. “I’ll be in my office in the osteology lab. There are two policemen downstairs assigned to watch over me.”
Diane went to her office and called her chief of security and told her what was going on. Diane told her she wanted to make the office wing off-limits to all but museum personnel until this was solved. She then called Andie, her assistant.
“Dr. Fallon, I heard on the news. Was it true? Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” said Diane. “I’m working from my osteology office, for the time being. I want you to work from the office up in archives.”
“Why?” asked Andie.
“Because you are in my office and I don’t want anyone in there. I’ve instructed security. And please, don’t talk about this. Just have your workstation routed up there,” she said.
“Sure. You think someone will come here?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. The guy who broke into Frank’s house is in custody. But someone sent him and we don’t know who yet. I just want to be extra cautious and make sure everyone is safe,” she said.
“Sure, I’ll do that. I’m really sorry this is happening,” she said. “You know, people are just crazy.”
“That seems to be the general consensus,” said Diane.
After her talk with Andie, Diane donned her lab coat and walked into her osteology lab. The lab was a large room with bright white walls, white cabinets, and plenty of overhead lighting. It was a bright room and cheery in its own way, with its shiny tables, sinks, and microscopes.
Neva had been working on laser mapping the skull. Her computer drawings were spread out on the counter. They showed a pretty girl. She looked so young. Too young to be dead.
The ceramic mask and sherds had been brought up from the archaeology lab and were lying on another table. The bones excavated from Marcella’s well were in plastic containers sitting on one of the metal tables. Diane started laying them out in anatomical order on two tables—one for each skeleton. They were broken skeletons with missing parts. It was a sad group of bones.
She examined the skull of the female. It was small with nice, even teeth, but they were starting to decay. Without intervention they wouldn’t have stayed nice for very much longer. Was she homeless? Poor?
Diane fit the mandible, the lower jaw, to the maxilla, the upper jaw, and held them together with one hand. She placed the reconstructed ceramic mask over the face.
It was a perfect fit.
Chapter 44
Diane set the mask aside, a mask she strongly suspected was made of clay tempered with the crushed bones of its subject. When she had first seen it sitting in Marcella’s workroom, she was struck by its beauty. She saw now that the beauty was in the young girl. The mask was simply the product of a cruel and arrogant mind.
As she was about to lay the mandible aside, Diane’s eye stopped on a disfiguration showing through the dirt stains. It was a healed fracture—a disturbing sign, evidence of an older severe injury. She laid the young girl’s mandible on the table and turned the skull over in her hands and looked at the back of it. The cut extended vertically across the parietal and occipital of the skull. It looked to have been made by a heavy bladed weapon, most likely an axe or a hatchet. From the size and depth of the cut, it was clear the sharp edge of the weapon would have gone into the brain. There was no doubt this wound would have killed her.
Diane picked up the broken pieces of pottery containing what appeared to be an impression of the head wound. Accounting for the thickness of the skin and tissue on the skull at the time the clay was applied to the head, the mold looked to be a fit. At this point she c
ould not say with certainty that the pottery sherds were or were not impressions of this skull wound. A microscopic examination of the pattern of the mold and the wound would be more definitive.
She photographed the skull and the mask to show the direct comparison. Next, she photographed the healed fracture on the mandible. After that, she did the measurements of the skull at all the craniometric points, recording each. Doing the measurements provided some momentary relief to Diane. The math helped her keep the objectivity and emotional distance she needed in the face of the terrible cruelty she saw in the bones.
When she finished examining the skull, she placed it on the table with the rest of the brown-gray stained skeleton. These bones had a sad story to tell, aside from the terrible trauma of the fatal head injury and the severed limbs. There was the healed fracture of the mandible. Three ribs had been broken and healed. Both the left and right radii of the arms contained healed fractures caused by the young girl’s arms being twisted. The femur had been broken and healed in her lifetime. The femur was a big strong bone, not easy to break. If it was broken, it was because it met with a sizeable force. The young teen had been abused for years before she was murdered. Diane wondered whether she ever had any joy in her life.
As Diane finished and packed up the first set of bones, David, Neva, and Scott came in with the remaining contents of the well.
“You doing okay?” David said.
The three of them gathered around her as if there were something they could discern in her appearance if they looked closely enough.
“I’m fine,” said Diane.
“I heard the other guy’s not doing as well,” said David.
Diane frowned.
“I see Garnett sent guards,” said Neva. “They’re downstairs in the lobby.”
Diane nodded. “Until they find out who sent him—and why—I’m using the office here,” she said.
“Good idea,” said David. “It’s more defensible.”
“David said the guy last night is related to what’s his name—that Dildy guy,” said Neva. “Why are you being targeted?”
“I don’t know,” said Diane. “It makes no sense. But I intend to find out. I just don’t know how, right now.”
“If the answer lies in Marcella’s well,” said David, “I think we may be able to crack it.”
“Oh?” Diane pulled off her gloves and washed her hands. “Come into the office and tell me what you found.”
Diane’s osteology office was more spartan than her museum office and it was a good deal smaller. The walls were painted an off-white cream color that she had hoped would give the room a warm glow. It hadn’t. The floor was green slate. She hadn’t wanted the static electricity or fibers that a carpet would generate. The desk and filing cabinets were a dark walnut. The comforts in the room were a long burgundy leather couch that sat against one wall, a matching chair, and a small refrigerator in the corner. A watercolor of a lone wolf hunting was the only decoration.
Scott looked around the room. “This is nice,” he said, sitting down on one end of the sofa. David sat on the other end and Neva took the chair.
Diane got everyone a drink from the fridge before she sat behind her desk.
“How’s Hector doing?” she asked Scott.
He bobbed his head up and down. “He’s doing okay. He’s learning to maneuver on crutches and thinks he can now come back to work. I think he needs a few more days’ healing. They had to put a pin in his leg.” Scott screwed his face into a painful-looking grimace.
“The tibia is a long, thin bone,” said Diane. “It needs the support. Tell him we are all thinking about him.”
“He sure hates to miss all the work,” he said.
Diane could see he meant it. Hector and Scott apparently loved work.
“So,” she asked David, “what have you found? Smoking gun? Fingerprints?”
“Funny you should mention that,” he said. “Under the remaining bones we found several items of interest. You know how there were two hammers—a large one and a smaller one? There were two axes, actually an axe and a hatchet.”
“Possibly the murder and dismembering weapons,” said Diane.
“That’s what we think,” said Neva.
“They are rusted, and the wooden handles are mostly rotted away, but we may be able to do something with them,” said David. “But what was under the axes is really great,” he said. “We found a zippered case with sculpting tools in it. Because they were closed up, the wooden handles are in better condition. They have dark stains that I think are blood and—drum roll, please—there are fingerprints in the blood.”
Diane opened her mouth in surprise. “Fifty-year-old fingerprints? Are you serious?”
“It gets better,” said David. “They also threw unused clay down the well. You know how clay is. Think about those little bull figures from Çatal Höyük in the Old World archaeology section of the museum. They have those ancient fingerprints all over them. Clay is really good for that.”
“That’s a gold mine,” said Diane. “That’s amazing.”
“We think so,” said Neva. “They just threw all the incriminating evidence down the well and covered it over. We can do a lot with it.”
“Well-done,” said Diane.
“The credit goes to those who tried to get rid of the evidence,” said David. “I wish all our perpetrators were so accommodating.”
“It’s almost as if they put the evidence in a time capsule,” said Scott. “We’re going to try to get DNA from the blood. No guarantees, but if we do, it will be a good paper. Speaking of which, there is just no DNA in the pottery sherds. Even in a bonfire kiln, it’s just too hot,” he said.
“I didn’t think it would work, but I appreciate your trying,” said Diane. “You never know until you try.”
Just as she was about to heap more praise on them, the phone on her desk rang.
“Yes,” she said.
“Diane, this is Ross. I know this is short notice, but Detective Fisher from Gainesville, who was the detective in charge of the Stacy Dance case, wants to come over and have a look at the evidence. He wants to bring the medical examiner, Doppelmeyer, and he wants Dr. Webber to be there.”
“Is that all?” said Diane. “Does he want dinner?”
“Just about. He’s bringing his supervisor and he wants your supervisor to be there too. I tried to explain that this doesn’t have anything to do with Rosewood, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“I see. I wonder if Vanessa’s free. She would find it interesting,” said Diane.
“Funny. I’m sure he meant Garnett,” said Ross. “Is that a problem?”
“No problem. He’ll just have to be disappointed. Garnett has nothing to do with it. I won’t have the mayor or the parks director here either, because they didn’t have anything to do with the Stacy Dance case either,” she said. “I will ask Jin to join us. He’s analyzed all the trace evidence.”
Kingsley laughed. “Okay. I can handle that. I hope Detective Fisher can.”
“He’ll have to,” said Diane. “Have you called Lynn?”
“Yes, she’s willing. A little too willing if you ask me,” he said.
“When do they want this to take place?” said Diane.
“This evening, they said. After work.”
“Good, I’ll be able to get some more work done before then.”
She had already hung up before she remembered that she didn’t tell him that Frank had translated the diary pages. She could tell him later when she saw him.
She called the restaurant and ordered steak dinners to be delivered to the lobby of the crime lab for her two security guards. Then she dialed the DNA lab and asked for Jin.
“Yo,” he said.
“What is the status of the Stacy Dance evidence?” she said.
“Done. I put it in the evidence vault in the crime lab. We ready for a transfer?” he asked.
Diane explained about the meeting. “Can you attend?” she asked
“Sure, Boss. Glad to,” he said.
She looked at her watch. She’d have time to get started on the other set of bones before the meeting.
Chapter 45
The teenage male skeleton looked similar to the female skeleton as it lay on the paper atop the metal table. It was stained the same earth-toned colors. It had similar wounds in the skull—sharp-force trauma to the back of the head. His limbs had been removed from his body, not with any surgical precision, but with an axe, and evidenced all the clumsy damage that came with a coarse instrument.
Looking at the arms that had been severed, the sliced head and trochlea of the humeri, Diane wondered whether the woman, MAG, could have been the artist who created the bone-tempered pottery. Could she have dismembered these bodies by herself? No, she would have needed help. Lynn Webber needed a diener to grapple with the cadavers, put them on the table for autopsy, arrange them for photographs. Most medical examiners did. The deadweight of a human body would have been extremely hard to move around. There had to be at least two perps—or one burley man. It would have been next to impossible for one woman to do this. Especially at a time when women were not as buff as they are now.
Perhaps it was a true artist colony and several people lived in the house. Maybe the message on the desk drawer meant MAG knew what was going on and she was afraid for her life. She or her mother was the landlord. Why didn’t she move in with her parents? Or get them to throw the others out? But sometimes it isn’t that easy. Bullies can intimidate some people into emotional paralysis. And the writing on the drawer came from an emotionally distraught person.
Diane had finished with the measurements of the skull when she heard raised voices coming from the crime lab. She took off her gloves, washed her hands, and went out to see what was happening now.
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