Scattered Graves dffi-6

by Beverly Connor

  ‘‘What happened?’’ Janice was the first to speak.

  ‘‘I need all of you to get out of my crime scene,’’ said Bryce.

  ‘‘Just a minute,’’ said Janice. ‘‘Right now it’s our crime scene. And I want to know what happened.’’

  Colin spoke up first. ‘‘We came here to walk through the crime scene, and this is what we found.’’

  Diane noticed that Colin didn’t elaborate. Neither she nor Garnett said anything. But they couldn’t go with this story for long. Garnett and Janice made eye contact. She knew there was more. Diane looked at Bryce standing holding his case, doing a slow fume, then at Curtis. He had a smirk on his face as he looked from Garnett to Diane.

  ‘‘Eastling,’’ Curtis said to the medical examiner, ‘‘look at the body and tell me what you can. Bryce, you have the scene after that.’’ The sound of his voice indicated he was in charge and no one had better argue with him about it.

  ‘‘I’ll talk to the witnesses outside,’’ Curtis added.

  He said it as if he were going to beat them up. This isn’t going to be fun, thought Diane. All in all, she’d rather be having her teeth pulled.

  Two policemen were outside. Diane didn’t recognize one. The other was Pendleton. He also gave Diane the evil eye. Janice came out after a moment.

  ‘‘Gunshot to the back of the head,’’ she said. ‘‘Like Jefferies.’’

  Curtis nodded. ‘‘What the hell happened?’’

  Garnett began speaking. Colin shot him a look, but Garnett went ahead. He always had such contempt when suspects hid behind lawyers, as he often put it. Diane guessed he was unwilling to do the same—even if there was good reason.

  ‘‘I got a text message for me to come to the house,’’ he said.

  Colin opened his mouth to speak, but Garnett waved him off.

  ‘‘I thought it was from my lawyer. It was not. I got here and found the body. I called the police immedi ately. Diane and Colin arrived a few minutes later. That is all I know.’’

  ‘‘Well, it looks like you are in a bit of hot water,’’ said Curtis. ‘‘You were arrested for killing the mayor. And through some miracle or jurist malpractice you get out on bail, and the first thing you do is go kill the chief of police.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t kill him,’’ said Garnett.

  Curtis called over to the two policemen and told them to take Garnett into custody. Colin didn’t try to stop them. Diane assumed he was going to make his case to the judge, deciding that Curtis wasn’t a person to be reasoned with. Diane agreed.

  ‘‘Don’t say anything until I get there,’’ said Colin.

  ‘‘He’s already said enough,’’ said Curtis.

  Colin ignored him and started for his car.

  ‘‘Just a damn minute,’’ said Curtis. ‘‘I’m not finished with you. The chief of police has been murdered and I find you on the scene. You’ve got to answer some questions.’’

  ‘‘I have a court order saying I have a right to be here,’’ said Colin. ‘‘We entered and found the body.’’

  ‘‘Garnett was already there when you entered?’’ said Curtis.

  ‘‘He had just gotten there, yes,’’ said Colin.

  ‘‘But you hadn’t asked him to come,’’ said Curtis.

  ‘‘What I say to a client is privileged,’’ said Colin.

  ‘‘Garnett just said—’’ began Curtis.

  ‘‘Nevertheless, what we say to each other is confi dential and protected,’’ interrupted Colin.

  Curtis turned to Diane.

  ‘‘She works for me in my representation of Garnett,’’ said Colin. ‘‘Anything that passed between us is protected as well.’’

  ‘‘I could put her in jail until she talks,’’ Curtis said, looking at Diane. ‘‘She may still be arrested for kill ing Delamore.’’

  ‘‘Is that what the GBI said I did?’’ asked Diane.

  Curtis ignored her. ‘‘Did any of you touch the body?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘I did,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I checked to see if he was dead.’’

  ‘‘He was shot in the back of the head,’’ said Curtis.

  ‘‘I didn’t know what his wound was,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I only saw blood. He could have needed help. I had a duty to see if there was anything we could do for him.’’

  Curtis studied her for a moment. Then he turned to Colin.

  ‘‘How did you get in the gate?’’ asked Curtis. ‘‘It was locked.’’

  ‘‘Really? When you got here it was locked?’’ said Colin.

  ‘‘No, smart guy, the gate has been kept locked since the mayor’s death,’’ he said. ‘‘How did you get in?’’

  ‘‘I have a court order, and Peeks was meeting me to walk through the house. He said he was going to leave the gate open for me. Presumably that’s what he did.’’

  Colin didn’t seem to mind lying to the detective. Diane felt uncomfortable with it, but she understood. She kept her mouth shut and her face noncommittal.

  ‘‘He said...,’’ began Curtis, and stopped.

  ‘‘Who said what?’’ asked Colin.

  ‘‘Nothing,’’ said Curtis.

  So, Diane thought, Peeks told at least Curtis he was going to keep them waiting at the gate. That wasn’t a surprise.

  ‘‘We have told you all we know. Now I’m going to my client.’’ Colin turned and walked off.

  ‘‘Let him go,’’ said Janice. ‘‘He’s right.’’

  ‘‘The hell he is,’’ said Curtis, but he didn’t try to follow. Instead he turned his attention to Diane.

  She assumed that Colin figured that anyone who could scale a wall could take care of herself. ‘‘Do you have anything to add?’’ he said.

  ‘‘We came here to look at the house. I don’t sup pose you’d let me do that,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Hell no,’’ he said. ‘‘That court order isn’t any good now. There’s been another murder.’’

  ‘‘I figured as much,’’ said Diane.

  Diane could see that Curtis was in a personal quan dary. He really wanted to do something to her. But at the moment all he could manage was harsh words, and not many of those. He looked as if he would like to smack her right there.

  The ambulance arrived at that moment. It came up the drive and halted a few feet from them. Diane was relieved. That gave Curtis something else to think about.

  ‘‘You know where to find me,’’ she said and turned and walked off as Colin had.

  She half expected him to run after her, tackle her to the ground, and handcuff her, but she heard no footfalls. She walked down the drive and out the gate. It was with some relief that she climbed into her SUV and drove off.

  She didn’t drive far. At the first opportunity she pulled off the road and took out her cell phone. She sent a text message to Detective Janice Warrick and asked her to take pictures of the house and surfaces. She didn’t know if Janice had a camera with her, but if she did, perhaps she would at least get some views of the interior of the house. Diane didn’t know now how long she would have to wait to get inside the house.

  She drove back to the museum and parked in her spot. As she got out and started toward the door, a small Asian woman, about fifty years old, dressed in a pantsuit, with a camera around her neck, ap proached her.

  ‘‘Are you Dr. Diane Fallon?’’ she asked, smiling.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Diane, smiling back.

  The woman handed Diane a sheaf of folded papers. ‘‘You’ve been served. Have a good day.’’

  Chapter 19

  Well, this is just great, thought Diane, standing on the steps looking at the papers she had been handed. I’m being sued. And didn’t the sweet little lady just look so touristy with her camera around her neck.

  Diane opened the paper. Jennifer Jeffcote-Smith vs. the City of Rosewood. Well, thought Diane. I’m not being sued. Rosewood is. She skimmed the document. And for a lot of money.

  She hurried up th
e steps and went to her office be fore any other strange person caught sight of her.

  ‘‘You’ve gotten a lot of calls,’’ said Andie as she handed Diane her mail. ‘‘Reporters are calling every five minutes. They want to know about the woodchipper murderer.

  ‘‘Refer them to Sheriff Canfield,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘I do, but they want to talk with you,’’ said Andie.

  ‘‘Too bad,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘They also want to ask about Delamore,’’ said Andie.

  ‘‘Tell them no comment,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Vanessa phoned. She’s back. I told her about the Neanderthal bones that Kendel bought. I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t help it. It’s just so cool.’’

  Diane smiled as she went through the mail. ‘‘That’s fine. Was she excited?’’

  ‘‘Oh, yes. She’s already planning the opening party for the exhibit.’’

  ‘‘It’s going to be a while. We have a long way to go,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Anything else?’’

  ‘‘You got several calls from someone who wouldn’t leave a name, some woman.’’

  ‘‘Probably the process server who just gave me this.’’ Diane waved the papers.

  ‘‘Process server? Are we getting sued?’’ Andie’s eyes went round and worried.

  ‘‘No. Rosewood is. Ms. Jeffcote-Smith, the newly hired forensic anthropologist, was fired. Her lawyer wants me as a witness,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Oh, well, as long as it’s not us,’’ said Andie. To her, anything associated with the museum was ‘‘us.’’ Diane appreciated her loyalty.

  Andie handed Diane several pink pieces of paper. ‘‘Here are the other messages. Nothing urgent. Some one wants to donate his collection of fossil coprolites. I took his name.’’

  ‘‘That’s redundant,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘Fossil coprolites. Coprolites are fossils,’’ said Diane, opening a letter from the president of the local Rotary Club. They wanted her to speak next month at their meeting.

  ‘‘What kind of fossils are they?’’ said Andie.

  ‘‘Fossilized excrement,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Oooew,’’ said Andie. ‘‘It must have been a prank, like the guy last month who wanted to sell us the carved baculum coffee stirrers.’’

  ‘‘Quite possibly.’’ She smiled at Andie. ‘‘I’ll be in my office. You can field all the scatological inquiries,’’ she said.

  Diane sat down behind her desk and went through the messages. Andie was right. Nothing urgent. Most were from various vendors. Diane sorted through her messages and put most of them aside. She picked up the phone and called Vanessa, who had just returned from a family reunion in Ohio.

  ‘‘How was your trip?’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Lovely, interesting, and a bit tiring. Never seen so many really old people in one place,’’ she said, laugh ing. ‘‘You know it’s going to be either terribly interest ing or terribly boring when your doctors want to come along to your family reunion.’’

  Vanessa’s family was long-lived and the object of study for the Center for Research on Aging. Her grand mother had recently died at 114 years old. Her mother was approaching a hundred, and several other mem bers of her family were centenarians. Diane imagined the whole family together was too much of a tempta tion for the researchers to resist.

  ‘‘I imagine they reveled in the data,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘Oh, yes. Mother has a cousin who just turned a hundred and three, and of course my father’s side has several over a hundred.’’

  ‘‘Your father’s side? I don’t think side was long-lived too. Coincidence Diane asked, smiling into the phone.

  ‘‘That is one of your science fiction allusions, isn’t it? Heinlein,’’ said Vanessa.

  ‘‘I didn’t know you were so well versed in science fiction,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘I’m not. I think it’s dreadful, but I have a cousin who kept going on about Methuselah’s Children.’’

  ‘‘One of my favorite books,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I can see how it appealed to your cousin.’’ Diane paused a moment, absently fingering the summons on her desk. ‘‘Andie said she told you about the Nean derthal.’’

  ‘‘Indeed she did, and I am elated. Have you seen the bones yet?’’ she asked. ‘‘Are they nice ones?’’

  ‘‘Kendel says they are,’’ said Diane. ‘‘She’s deliv ering them herself.’’

  ‘‘Let me know the minute they arrive,’’ said Vanessa.

  ‘‘And I’ve filed notice for the crime lab to move out of the museum,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘You’ve been busy. I’m glad we are reclaiming the space. I liked the crime lab; it was fascinating, but it’s just not the same without you in charge,’’ Vanessa said.

  I realized that or arranged?’’

  Diane took a breath. ‘‘I suppose you’ve heard the news in Rosewood,’’ said Diane.

  ‘‘I heard that the mayor and chief of police have been murdered. I must say, I’m shocked. I didn’t like Jefferies, but to be murdered in your own home, that’s a frightening thought. And this just a month after Judge McNevin. What is happening to my town?’’ said Vanessa.

  ‘‘I don’t know.’’ Diane filled her in on the meeting with the mayor before the murders, including the fact that he wanted to have her replaced as director of the museum.

  ‘‘What? How on earth did he plan to manage that?’’ asked Vanessa.

  ‘‘I don’t have any idea. I think they were just talking through their hats,’’ said Diane.

  She told Vanessa about the debacle with the new forensic anthropologist and about the subpoena. As she spoke she heard a commotion in Andie’s office. It sounded like someone was pushing their way in.

  ‘‘I need to go. There’s apparently someone insistent on seeing me. Let’s have lunch at the museum this week and talk about the primate exhibit.’’ Diane fin ished the call with Vanessa and went into Andie’s office.

  A middle-aged woman wearing a flowered dress stood in front of Andie’s desk. She had dyed blond hair with gray roots and carried about fifty extra pounds evenly distributed over her body. She had a large black purse hanging on one arm and two-inch black heels that looked to be too small for her feet.

  ‘‘I need to see her. I’ve been calling all day. Now, let me see her. I’m not leaving ’til I do.’’

  ‘‘Is there a problem, Andie?’’ asked Diane.

  The woman turned toward Diane. ‘‘You’re Dr. Fal lon. I recognize you. I need to talk to you. I’ve been everywhere else. Please just give me a minute.’’

  ‘‘This is Mrs. Donovan,’’ said Andie. ‘‘Her son has been arrested for killing Judge McNevin.’’

  ‘‘Why do you need to see me?’’ asked Diane. ‘‘I’m the museum director.’’

  ‘‘Everybody knows you’re more than that,’’ she said.

  Mrs. Donovan’s face was haggard and worn, wrin kled before her time, but she had beautiful blue eyes that now beseeched Diane.

  ‘‘Come in. I’ll give you a few minutes,’’ said Diane. She stood aside and gestured to her office.

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ she said and walked past Andie’s desk and into the office.

  Diane followed, leaving the door open a crack, and sat down at her desk.

  ‘‘I’ll get to the point. I’m Clarice Donovan,’’ she said, sitting down in the chair in front of Diane’s desk, scooting it closer at the same time. ‘‘My son is Evan Donovan. He’s been accused of killing the judge that put Bobby away for life. Bobby’s my other son. I know my family’s troubled. It would be what they call dysfunctional on the Dr. Phil show. I know Bobby’s done some bad things, and now he’s in jail paying for it. But Evan’s a good boy—I mean, he might do some little things, but he wouldn’t kill nobody, and he didn’t do this. I can’t find anybody to look into it for me. The lawyer they assigned to him won’t do nothing but try to get Eva
n to plead guilty. Well, he’s not guilty. Isn’t that lying in court if you say you done something and you didn’t?’’

  ‘‘What is it you think I can do?’’ asked Diane. The woman must be truly drawing at straws if she ended up here, she thought.